MALACHI'S NEW BOY SCOUTS TROOP consisted of a whole host of characters. There was Josh, who still openly picked his nose. Little Jake, the shorter Jake, and Big Jake, the taller Jake. Nick, who carried Hot Wheels in the front pocket of his back-pack. Carter, who was severely asthmatic and always had an inhaler in his hand. Tony, who really liked frogs. And then there was Drew, the troop leader's son.
Drew wasn't loud and aggressive and rambunctious like the other boys. Malachi thought Drew got along with them fine, he was just more soft-spoken. When they started getting rowdy, he'd take a step back and watch them, laughing at their dumbassery but not getting involved. He was really good at science and knew a lot about space and volcanoes and rocks and dinosaurs.
His neat blond crew cut was gelled up in the front. His skin still had a summer tan, making it look golden. His blue eyes twinkled when he laughed and dimples formed when he smiled. He looked strikingly like young Luther in The Umbrella Academy, Malachi would realize years later with an appropriate amount of repulsion and horror.
When Malachi got to the first meeting, the troop leader, Mr. Holland, passed him his uniform out of a cardboard box. Malachi followed the other boys to the bathroom to change. They laughed and shoved each other, too engrossed in their horseplay to even notice him. Well, other than Drew, who smiled back at Malachi as they walked.
Back in the classroom, they formed themselves into a lopsided circle on the ground while Mr. Holland watched from the corner. They took turns interrogating Malachi, but they didn't wait for his answer, and he barely said two words by the end. He wanted nothing more than to disappear.
Eventually, Nick's dad showed up to help Mr. Holland drive the troop to a hiking trail not far from the school. Malachi ended up in Mr. Holland's minivan. Tony, Little Jake, and Carter sardined themselves together in the far back while Drew and Malachi sat in the middle row. The boys in the back played music from Little Jake's iPod and yelled at each other over the bass. Drew and Malachi sat in silence. Drew looked out the window at the passing trees, while Malachi stared at the headrest in front of him, too scared to move.
Drew leaned over the armrest to talk to Malachi over the din. "We're having a troop sleepover at my house Saturday. If you want to come or whatever. That'd be cool."
Malachi wanted nothing to do with the troop sleepover. Just being with them for this long had been agony. But he nodded. "Oh. Sure."
Drew grinned. He pulled a Sharpie and a sticky note from his bag and wrote his address down, passing it to Malachi. "Everyone's coming at six. I got this new video game we're all gonna take turns playing. It's gonna be sick."
"Cool." Malachi hoped he sounded cool. For some reason, he wanted to impress Drew. He didn't care what the other boys thought of him. He'd already made up his mind he hated them.
"You don't talk much. You scared of us?"
Yes, Malachi very much was. "I talk when I want."
"Then want." A mischievous grin spread across Drew's face. "Go on. Say 'penis.' Loudly. I double-dog dare you."
Malachi knew only pussies backed down from double-dog dares, and he knew a pussy wasn't something he wanted to be. He made a face. "Why?"
"It'll be funny! C'mon. Just do it."
That was reason enough for Malachi. "Penis," he whispered.
Drew cupped his hand over his ear, his mischievous grin turning to a shit-eating one. "What was that?"
"Penis," Malachi repeated in his normal speaking voice.
"What?"
"PENIS!" Malachi yelled.
Laughter erupted out of Drew's shit-eating grin. The boys in the back fell silent and looked at each other, giggling.
"PENIS!" Drew yelled back, even louder.
Malachi knew a challenge when he heard one. "PENIS!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.
The boys in the back laughed, instantly understanding the game. They all started yelling 'PENIS,' each yell louder than the last. Malachi laughed so hard no noise came out. Drew doubled over in his seat. Finally, Mr. Holland yelled at them to settle down. They didn't. They all kept whispering 'penis' to each other and laughing. Malachi had never laughed that hard in his life. But it wasn't Carter, Tony, or even Little Jake he was laughing with. It was Drew, it was all Drew.
***
MALACHI SAT CROSS-LEGGED in a hard plastic chair, handcuffed to the table. The cop that had caught him in Mila's room had brought him in for "questioning." (Thank God they were too busy with him to notice Reza hiding in the closet.) They'd searched him, everything that was on him, including his computer. And they'd found something they hadn't liked.
A white plainclothes detective paced back and forth, his hands neatly folded behind his back.
Malachi's lawyer, Biermann—a fidgety public defender who looked like Flo from Progressive—sat beside him, holding a pen to her lips as if that made her look any smarter.
"I'm going to ask you one more time, Mr. Abramtzik," the detective said. "What were you doing in Camila Santos' room?"
Malachi gave the same answer he'd given each time before. "Looking for any evidence the police missed." Beside him, Biermann nodded.
"And where," the detective asked, "did you get footage of the crime scene?"
"I was the one who found it. I thought it might be useful."
"And yet you didn't turn it into the police."
"I don't trust the police," he admitted, softly.
The detective spread his hands on the table, leaning over so he was the same height as Malachi. He locked eyes with Malachi, who quickly looked away. "Do you understand the seriousness of what you're being charged with?"
Malachi nodded.
The detective tilted his head. "Where were you on the afternoon of March twenty-first, between noon and three o'clock?"
Malachi flinched. He knew it didn't look good: the crime scene footage on his laptop, breaking into an active crime scene... but they seriously thought he'd done something to hurt his best friend. And now he was locked behind bars when he could be out there looking for her. "You think I did something to Mila?" Maybe they'd done this on purpose. Maybe they knew he was onto something, onto them. Maybe they'd actually done something to her and were trying to keep him from finding out.
"I don't know. Did you?"
"Of course I didn't! She's my best friend!"
Biermann placed a well-manicured hand on his arm. "Malachi," she warned, "calm down."
"Get your hand off me. I'm not going to calm down. He thinks I killed my best friend."
The second the k-word came out of his mouth, Malachi's stomach deflated. He kicked his legs out in front of him, leaning as far back in his seat as the handcuffs would allow. Was Mila really...? Had she really been...?
The detective held up his hands. "I'm not saying that at all. There's overwhelming evidence that—"
"I was in class until one," Malachi interjected.
"Could anything place you there? Attendance records, a quiz or test, something with a date on it?"
Malachi scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. His class that day was a lecture with over a hundred students. The professor never took attendance. Malachi was sure she didn't even know his name. "Maybe security cameras." Even then, with all those kids rushing in and out, he doubted it would show his face—but it was better than nothing.
"And what about after? There's still two hours in the window of time in which Camila could have been killed in which you're unaccounted for."
"I went to get coffee. And then I went back to my dorm."
"This coffee you got—could anything place you there? Maybe a receipt? And what about in your dorm, are there cameras there?"
"I keep all my receipts in an envelope in my dresser. Maybe the security cameras would have me on video there too."
The detective sighed and checked his watch. "Mr. Abramtzik, that's all I want from you today. I'm going to check the security footage and your receipts. Could you give me the name of the coffee shop?"
Malachi gave it to him. He left the room, leaving him alone with his lawyer.
"Just between us," Biermann whispered, "did you do it?"
Malachi rolled his eyes. Public motherfucking defenders.
***
AFTER THE PENIS-BONDING INCIDENT, Malachi and Drew became inseparable.
At the troop sleepover, they sat back-to-back on the floor of Drew's basement sending each other PictoChats. At every subsequent meeting, they talked together and sat side-by-side. When they needed to partner up, they automatically flocked to each other.
The day after Malachi's first meeting, they even realized they were in the same class. They sat on opposite sides of the room and never strayed outside their own groups—Malachi never talked to anybody in class other than Aisha, and Drew had a handful of friends he stuck to—so they'd never noticed each other before. Malachi walked into class that morning and saw Drew sitting by the window showing his friend a handful of Pokémon cards.
Drew looked up and noticed him, his lips splitting into an openmouthed grin, revealing his dimples. He waved at him, full of energy at seven in the morning. "Malachi! Over here!"
All Malachi wanted to do was put his coat and bag in his cubby, sit down at his desk, and wait with Aisha for class to begin. But he waved hello to Aisha and his feet moved by their own accord. The next thing he knew, he was standing next to Drew.
"Wow!" Drew exclaimed. "I didn't know we were in the same class. Have you been here the whole time?"
Malachi nodded and tugged on the strings of his sweatshirt. The teacher ordered everyone to their seats. Drew waved goodbye, and Malachi rushed off to put his stuff away and headed off to his seat.
"Who's that?" Aisha asked, pulling out her Lisa Frank folder.
Malachi shrugged. "Some kid in my Boy Scouts troop."
While he listened to the teacher drone on and on about his plans for the day, Malachi's eyes flicked over to Drew, who scribbled on a piece of paper. Eventually satisfied, he folded it in half and handed it to the girl sitting next to him, whispering in her ear. The little piece of paper slowly made its way around the room, students whispering to each other, until Aisha plopped it on his desk with a face like she knew the world's juiciest gossip.
"It's for you."
Malachi unwrapped it. In messy all-caps, it read:
WANT TO PLAY POKEMAN WITH ME AT RESESS? - DREW
Malachi smiled and looked across the room. Drew grinned back at him and gave him two thumbs-up. Aisha poked him in the side. He wrote beneath his messy message in his own neat hand:
I don't have any cards. - Malachi
He folded it back up and passed it to Aisha. The paper eventually circled back around. Drew grinned at Malachi again, unfolded it, read it, scribbled out a reply, and passed it on. The response read:
THATS OK U CAN USE MINE - DREW
***
"ABRAMTZIK! You've got a visitor!"
Malachi jumped up from the blue bench he'd spent the night on. He stretched and rubbed his eyes, disoriented. Where was he?
"ABRAMTZIK!"
Oh, right. A jail cell. Malachi rubbed his eyes again and stood, meeting the guard at the bars. His heart soared—it had to be Talia or Auntie Isabel or even Becca, someone he wanted to talk to. Or maybe Nathan and Simran, Adrian's rich brother and sister-in-law, had come to bail him out and get him a better lawyer.
The guard stepped aside, revealing Reza behind him. He still had on the same flannel pajama pants and navy sweatshirt from last night.
Malachi groaned and pressed his forehead against a horizontal bar. He'd rather see his mom than Reza. "What are you doing here?"
Reza looked at his Vans, shoving his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt. "To tell you I still have those papers you found," he whispered in Farsi.
Malachi stared at him. He'd found out yesterday Reza was half-Persian, but he had no idea he spoke Farsi. "Thanks," Malachi replied in the same tongue.
Reza tilted his head back. Something was off about his energy. Something was off about this whole thing. Was he gloating...?
"Are you happy it was me?" Malachi asked. "And not you?"
Reza wrapped his hands around the bars. "Would I be a dick if I said I was?"
"No." Of course he'd be happy to be on the other side of the holding cell.
"Thank you. For saving my ass back there."
"You know they saw the footage on my computer?" Malachi didn't know why he was confiding in him. He hadn't trusted Reza, hadn't even liked him, from the get-go.
Reza narrowed his eyes. "Of the crime scene?"
Malachi nodded. All he wanted to do was erase this whole thing from his memory. He was such an idiot. Stupid, stupid, stupid—
"Jesus Christ, Malachi." Reza ran a hand over his mouth. "What are they—?"
"They think I killed her."
"Did you?"
Malachi stared at Reza, open-mouthed. "Do you think I did?" he spat.
Reza's eyebrow twitched upward. "I've had my suspicions."
Malachi's anger swelled in his chest. It rose to the top of his head, a wave strong enough to knock him off his feet. He gripped the bars so hard his knuckles went white. He couldn't believe himself. Letting his guard down. Especially with Reza Gutiérrez, of all people. He was so stupid. So, so stupid. But everything was horrible and he couldn't believe Reza for being so awful. He'd come all this way just to gloat in his face and tell him he thought he'd killed his best friend.
"You've had your suspicions?" Malachi shot back.
Reza rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's what I just said."
"Don't be a dick about this. You think I killed my best friend."
"I just think there's a possibility you did."
"Is that why you've done everything for Mila that you have? To keep an eye on me, because you thought I might have done it? And here I was thinking you cared about her wellbeing."
"You never thought that! You've been suspicious of me since day one!" Reza crossed his arms over his chest. "I've done all I've done for Mila because the same thing almost happened to me. She deserves the justice I couldn't get."
Malachi faltered. He'd had no idea Reza's involvement was so personal. "Reza..."
"Enough!" A guard stepped up to Reza's side and placed a hand on his shoulder, making him jump. "You're being too loud and scaring the others by yelling in Arabic."
Reza blinked at him. "It's Farsi. And that's xenophobic, you shi—"
The guard roughly grabbed Reza's arm and yanked him from the bars. "I don't care."
Seething, Malachi watched as he led Reza out the door. Malachi held onto the bars and rocked back and forth on his feet, not knowing what to do with all this anger, all this fear. He'd never felt anything so strongly in his life—he thought it would kill him. His entire world was made of anger and fear. He slammed his fists into the bars and burst into tears.
"Hey!" a different guard barked. "Abramtzik! Settle down."
Malachi sank to the floor, his back to the bars, and cried into his knees.
***
TOWERING PINES SOARED overhead. Malachi tilted his head back to look at them, pressing his hands into the log that made a makeshift bench beneath him. Even farther above, the stars burned in the night sky, brighter than he'd ever seen them. He squinted at the stars, seeking out any of the constellations Drew had taught him. There, he thought, was Orion, but he wasn't sure...
A bonfire crackled and snapped in front of him, sending sparks shooting up into the night sky. A thin plume of smoke wafted over Malachi, tinged with the scent of pine needles and the chocolatey, ashy scent of s'mores. The night was full of laughter and loud voices, ruining the sanctity of the woods. Malachi wished everyone around him would disappear—except for Drew.
Drew took one last bite of his s'more and leaned over to whisper in Malachi's ear, "Be my pee-buddy."
Malachi rolled his eyes. No one was allowed to go anywhere alone. Even if you just went to pee, you needed a buddy. Drew called it the pee-buddy system.
Malachi nodded. Drew licked the residual marshmallows off his fingers. The two stood and told Mr. Holland their plans. With his approval, Malachi followed Drew down the trail past their campsite to the outhouses. As they got away from the fire, they pulled out their flashlights to light the trail ahead of them.
"Do you have your compass?" Drew asked, dodging a branch that hung low over the path.
Malachi ducked beneath the branch, screwing his face up at the back of Drew's head. The outhouses were only a couple paces off the trail. Why would they need a compass? "Yeah?"
"Good. I don't actually have to pee."
Malachi could still smell the smoke from the campfire. "Then what are we doing?"
Drew paused, rifled through his pockets, and pulled out a folded map. "I want to show you something." He unfolded the map, shining his flashlight over it.
Malachi stepped beside him and squinted at the map. "We're going to get in trouble."
"It's not that far," Drew assured him. "We can always pretend we ran into Bigfoot if they give us trouble."
Malachi spun around, sending the light from his flashlight in a wide circle, looking for the big man himself. Excitement coursed through his veins. "Are we looking for Bigfoot?"
Drew laughed and shook his head. "No. We're looking for Poo Poo Point."
"What?!"
"Look." Drew pointed at a spot on the map, seemingly on top of their campsite. Sure enough, it was labelled Poo Poo Point.
Laughter spilled out of Malachi's mouth as he looked up at Drew's stupid, shit-eating grin. Which made Drew laugh back at him until they were both clutching their stomachs, leaning over, laughing into the ground. Tears sprang from their eyes. Poo Poo Point was the most hilarious thing they'd ever heard, and it was a real place they were sneaking off to.
Once their laughter subsided, Malachi straightened up and followed Drew farther down the path. Every couple of feet, one of them would giggle again. Eventually, the trees split in front of them, revealing a clear grassy knoll stretching toward the sky. Side-by-side, they climbed up the gravel path to the top and looked out at the dark, gently rolling mountains, nothing more than shadows in the moonlight. Drew tilted his head back to look at the stars twinkling above, the half-moon glinting down at them. This far from the campsite, all Malachi could smell was pine and fresh mountain air, so pure it made the ground spin beneath him.
Drew pumped his fists in the air. "I'M THE KING OF POO POO POINT!"
Malachi cupped his hands over his mouth and echoed, "HE'S THE KING OF POO POO POINT!"
They both fell backwards onto the knoll, howling with laughter. They lay side-by-side on their backs, staring up at the stars. The cold grass itched Malachi's hands, his only exposed patch of skin other than his face. As their laughter subsided, Malachi located what he thought was Orion. He pointed it out to Drew.
"Is that Orion?"
"No, dumbass, that's not even a constellation." Drew reached up and grabbed Malachi's hand, moving it to a different part of the sky. "Orion's over there. See him? There's Betelgeuse"—he moved Malachi's hand to a bright star near the top of the constellation, and Malachi saw Michael Keaton as Beetlejuice flash in his head—"and there's Rigel"—he pulled it toward another bright star at the bottom—"and there's Orion's belt."
Malachi's eyes followed their hands as Drew traced the constellation. Drew's hand was surprisingly smooth and soft. Malachi would have expected it to be rough and calloused, but it... wasn't. It was nice. He liked how it felt against his own. It wasn't fair that girls could hold each other's hands, but boys couldn't.
Drew let go. Malachi's hand flopped to his stomach. Drew sat up, his head tilted backward, still looking at the stars. But all Malachi could look at was him. His usually perfectly styled hair was messy and shaggy from the day outdoors. The tilt of his chin, his smooth skin. His jawline. Malachi didn't know what it was, but he couldn't take his eyes off him. He looked like an angel. Maybe he was jealous. Maybe he wished he looked more like him. But that couldn't be it—
Malachi tore his eyes away and sat up. He couldn't look at him like that. It wasn't right. He was looking at him like he wasn't a "him" at all. He looked down the gravel path leading toward the trail back to camp. If they stayed any longer, Mr. Holland might start looking for them. They could get in trouble. "We should get back."
"Aw, come on," Drew protested. "We can stay another minute. We'll say I had to poo poo."
Malachi laughed and turned to face Drew as he tilted his head toward him, grinning. A shadow covered half his face. Malachi had never noticed how blue his eyes were, or the sprinkling of freckles on his forehead. He smelled like the remnants of the fire, like smoke and embers. (And, unfortunately, of Axe. Malachi had yet to develop taste.) He was so beautiful and so, so close. Malachi desperately wished he was a girl. He could even keep the same name. Everything else could stay the same, too. He'd have the same hair and he would smell the same and act the same and be the same, except Malachi would be allowed to kiss him—because he wouldn't be a him anymore. And everything would be all right and Malachi wouldn't have to—
Drew kissed Malachi.
Malachi pulled away the second Drew's lips touched his. His skin was on fire. His heart thrummed in his chest. Drew's eyes widened. He cupped his hands over his lips.
"Malachi, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—please don't tell—"
Tears welled in Drew's eyes, threatening to spill over. Malachi's heart ached to see him in pain, and to know he had caused it. But he didn't know what to do. He felt trapped. Boys weren't supposed to kiss other boys. And yet Drew had done it—what did that make him? And Malachi wanted nothing more than to wipe the tears from Drew's eyes and kiss him again—what did that make him?
Malachi's dad had a word for boys like Drew. Sometimes it was three letters and ended in a hard g. Sometimes it was twice that and went all the way to t. But no matter what, it always started with an f.
Maybe Malachi was one, too.
Malachi shook his head. He wanted to wipe the tears from Drew's eyes, but he was scared to death to touch him, too scared he would shatter beneath his fingers. "Do it again," he whispered.
Drew blinked at him. "What?"
"Kiss me again."
He did. It was fumbling and awkward, neither of them knowing what they were doing, mouths awkwardly forming around each other and heads tilting one way and the other to figure out a spot where their noses didn't ram against each other, trying to decide where to put their hands and their foreheads and what to do with their tongues, if anything at all. Drew's hands were still sticky from the s'mores. His lips tasted like sugary chocolate. Malachi forgot how to breathe.
It was a quick kiss. When they pulled away, Malachi's head spun. He wanted to kiss Drew again and again and again and never leave this place, but they were pushing their luck. They needed to get back to camp before the others went looking for them. Before they found them like this...
"We should get back now," Malachi insisted. He didn't want to.
Drew got to his feet and reached out for Malachi's hands. Malachi was dizzy and weightless. He used Drew's hand to steady himself as he stood. The second he was steady on his feet, he let go, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. Even though all he wanted to do was hold Drew's hand...
They headed back down the gravel path to the woods, Malachi trailing behind Drew. Drew alternated between looking at the stars and the trail ahead of them. Malachi stared at the back of his head, wondering why if this was wrong, he wanted it so badly, wondering why if this was wrong, it felt so good. Guilt gnawed at his chest, turning his cheeks bright red. He hoped the cold would be enough of an excuse for his blush. They reached the bottom of the knoll and ducked back beneath the cover of the towering pines.
Drew kicked at a rock. "So," he said, uncomfortably. "Are we boyfriends now?"
Malachi froze. His mind raced his heart. Boyfriends? Was he serious? Boys could be friends. They could be boyfriends to girlfriends. They couldn't be boyfriends to each other. But the thought of it—of Malachi getting to call Drew his boyfriend and Drew getting to call Malachi his boyfriend—made him just as dizzy as the kiss.
Drew took a couple more steps and turned to look at Malachi, his eyes nearly as wide as they'd been when Malachi had first pulled away. "Malachi?"
"Doesn't there need to be a girlfriend?" Malachi whispered. They were too far from the camp to be overheard, but he could barely say the words out loud.
"What?"
"A girlfriend," Malachi repeated. "Doesn't there need to be one?"
"Oh, no." Drew shook his head, his eyes still wide. His lips trembled. "My uncle has a boyfriend. There doesn't need to be a girlfriend. We can—we can be boyfriends. If you want."
"Oh."
Malachi did want. But guilt still gnawed at his stomach. And he still felt trapped. Like in front of him was Drew, and kissing Drew, and being boyfriends with Drew. Like in front of him was everything he wanted, everything that would make him happy. And like behind him was his father and the way he talked about boys like Drew—boys like him. Like behind him was the way his father used to look at him, disappointed and worried, talking to his mom in hushed voices in the kitchen. Like in front of him was what the boys and the other kids at school would think of them. Like in front of him was the fear of humiliation, of being different, of never quite belonging. Like in front of him was his fear of his father.
There wasn't a right option. No matter what he said, he would be unhappy. No matter what he chose, it would be the wrong choice.
Malachi looked at Drew's face, the fear in his eyes. He thought of his hand on his, pointing out the constellations. He thought of how he could always make him laugh, no matter what was going on around them. He thought of the notes they passed in class, the Pokemon cards they played with at recess. He thought of the way his lips felt on his, still sticky with s'mores and smelling of smoke from the campfire.
And he knew what he wanted.
"Okay," Malachi said. "Sure."
***
A GUARD BURST THROUGH the visitor's door. "Abramtzik! You're free to go."
Malachi sat against the wall, one leg bent and the other stretched in front of him. His arm rested on his knee. He cocked his head. How could he be free to go? They hadn't finished questioning him. They still thought he'd killed Mila.
And then Auntie Isabel stepped out from behind the guard. She offered a sad, awkward wave. Malachi's heart jumped out of his chest.
The guard pointed his thumb at Auntie Isabel. "This one paid your bail. You're free to go."
Malachi leapt to his feet. He was free? He could leave? He couldn't help but grin. He had one last shot at finding Mila, at saving her. He ran to the door, tugging impatiently at the bars. "Auntie Isabel!"
She jogged to him, the guard leisurely following her. He opened the door, slamming it the second Malachi stepped out so none of the other pre-prisoners could escape. Malachi hugged Auntie Isabel, bathing in her familiar scent—warm cookies and spices: home. The guard detailed the rules and regulations of his bail, but Malachi didn't hear a word of it. All he knew was that he was free, at least for now.
Out of his body, Malachi followed Auntie Isabel out of the police station.
"I couldn't bear the thought of you sitting in that jail cell all by yourself." She shook her head, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. "I've already lost my daughter. You're practically my son. I couldn't—I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, too."
Malachi's words caught in his throat. He tried to think of something to say that could encompass how grateful he was for her, for everything she'd done for him. He couldn't. "Thanks."
She froze, causing the businesswoman walking behind her to swear at her and circle around her. "I could never... just leave you in there, sweets."
Tears brimmed the corners of his eyes. He wiped at them and turned to face the busy street. "I'll pay you back. Every penny."
"That's not necessary." She still wasn't moving. "You don't owe me anything."
He sighed and pulled at his collar. He didn't know how to talk about things like this. "What about Adrian?" he asked instead.
"His brother paid his bail." Auntie Isabel led Malachi down toward the subway station. "Would've been better if he'd stayed locked up. The internet's having a heyday. They all think he did it, poor kid."
"Do they think I did it?" Malachi whispered.
Auntie Isabel padded down the stairs into the station. "No one thinks you did, sweets. Adrian was a low-hanging fruit. I mean, I loved the kid, I really did. I don't think there's even a chance he did it. But in cases like these, people need someone to blame. Someone to get mad at. A scapegoat. And people just—I mean, they always hated him. They thought he was..." she trailed off and gestured with one hand.
"A talentless douchebag," Malachi offered.
Auntie Isabel nodded. "A talentless douchebag. Exactly." She looked around the station as if making sure no one was listening. No one was. It was New York. No one cared. "And there's something else."
Malachi arched an eyebrow, tilting his head toward her.
"It was all over the news this morning. There was a sighting of someone... matching Mila's description. And then when that sighting went public, so did a bunch of others. Most of them were fake. But there were two credible ones."
"Where was it?"
"Indiana. Some cop pulled a girl over for reckless driving. She looked like Mila, but the hair was all wrong—short and blonde, with bangs. He said the girl punched him, knocking him out. When he came to, she was gone."
"Sounds like Mila."
Auntie Isabel nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it does. There were other alleged sightings, but only one other I thought was credible. It had her with blonde hair, too. This girl, I think her name was Kalani, watched a car drive into a lake and offered the girl driving it a ride. Said the girl introduced herself as Sofía. The way she described her and talked about her was all Mila. Kalani said they got in a fight, 'Sofía' left, and she never saw her again." She paused. "This was in Amarillo. Texas. Sofía said she wanted to go to Arizona." She took a deep breath. "I think Mila might be alive."
"So what do we do?" Malachi asked.
She rubbed her gloved hands together. "I don't know. I really don't know. I can't leave Cruz here by himself. But I can't bring him with me, either..."
"I'll go."
"Malachi," Auntie Isabel said, "I could never ask you to do that. You're just a kid. Your safety—"
"How safe is it for me here?" Malachi replied. "Assuming Mila really was murdered, her murderer is still on the loose. Maybe targeting people like me who were close to her. Or other kids our age. We don't know if anywhere's safe."
She tugged on the strings of her jacket. "I don't know. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."
"And I'd never forgive myself if something happened to Mila while I just sat back and did nothing."
Her hands dropped. She turned to look at him. "What about your bail? If you don't show up to court..."
"Mila's more important."
"I don't want you to get into anymore trouble than you're already in."
"Fine." Malachi threw up his hands as if he was giving in. "I'll stay here."
"Good." Auntie Isabel smiled softly. "We'll hang up more flyers. We'll contact some people out there that can help us. You can keep making videos. We'll do everything we can to bring her home."
Malachi nodded, but he had no intentions of complying.
***
TOWARD THE END OF THE SUMMER as the nights got shorter and the air cooler, Malachi's dad took him and Drew on a fishing trip to Puget Sound. After a long day on the water, they dropped Drew off at his place. Malachi and his dad headed back to their apartment, the windows rolled down. The cool, late-summer air rushed over them. A David Bowie CD blared from the car's junky old radio. Malachi's dad turned the music down and looked over at him, one hand on the wheel and the other folded against the window.
"You know," he said, "I'm glad you met that Holland boy. He's been a good influence on you, son."
Malachi nodded and stuck his arm out the window, letting his hand float on the breeze. His dad had never called him "son" before. "Yeah. Me too."
***
MALACHI LINGERED in front of the door, his hands in his pockets. He didn't want to sink this low. But he had to. For Mila.
He knocked.
A second went by.
A male voice asked, "Shit, was that us?" Jesus, the walls here were way too thin.
Reza's stupid voice followed. "Dunno. I'll check."
Reza Gutiérrez. Of all the people in New York, it had to be him. Malachi swore under his breath. Reza was the only person he knew who owned a car or even knew how to drive. And Malachi needed a getaway driver. He'd reached a new low, asking for help from him.
Floorboards creaked. The lock in the door clicked. Reza, bleary-eyed and pajama-clad, opened the door. It was unclear if the pajamas were a result of the time of day or because of who Reza was as a person. He blinked. "Malachi? Weren't you in jail?" From deeper in the room, his roommate snorted.
A hockey stick leaned against the entryway, a pair of skates hanging from a hook beside it. Malachi hoped Reza wasn't a jock. He already hated him enough. A ferret slinked around Reza's neck, which took Malachi off-guard. He was pretty sure they were illegal in New York. He doubted NYU would approve one as an emotional support animal. With its long body, light fur, and dark rings, it looked like someone had tried to draw a honey badger from memory. Malachi felt bad for the poor animal, but also scared of it. He watched it out of the corner of his eye, just in case it tried any funny business.
"I'm out on bail." Malachi tried to steady his breathing. Just being around Reza raised his blood sugar. "Listen, you're the last person I'd want to ask, but I don't know who else to turn to. I need to ask you a favor."
"Hmm. Let me think about it. No." Reza slammed the door.
Malachi wedged his foot in the door before he could, wincing as it slammed against the side of his foot. He forced himself, for once in his life, to make eye contact. Reza's eyes were two dark, empty pools. "Please."
Reza rolled his eyes. "What are you, five? The magic word isn't gonna work here."
"It's about Mila."
"What, did you finally admit you killed her?"
Blood thrummed in Malachi's ears. "She might be alive."
"Is this one of your dumb conspiracy theories?"
"There were sightings."
"Oh, is she Bigfoot now?"
"Can you stop being such a smartass for five seconds?"
"I don't know." Reza gave a shit-eating grin. "Can I?"
"Whatever." Malachi wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around Reza's throat. He pulled his foot out of the door and turned around. He'd take a Greyhound. No idea where he'd get the money. Maybe he'd steal it. He'd already committed one felony. Might as well commit another. "I should've known you wouldn't help me."
Reza grabbed his wrist. "Malachi. Wait. What do you need?"
"Don't touch me." Malachi pulled his arm loose. "Why do you want to help me?"
Reza ran his hand through his messy hair. "I never said I would. I just wanted to know why you graced my presence."
"Like I said. There were sightings. Two credible ones: one in Indiana, another in Texas. I'm going to check them out. In case she's... you know, alive. You're the only person I know with a car. I was going to ask you to drive me."
Reza leaned against the door, his arm above him in the doorframe, his elbow resting on top of his head. It drove Malachi crazy that he was taller than him. It was only an inch or two, but it filled him with rage. "Will I get paid?"
Malachi scratched the back of his neck. "I'll pay for... you know, gas and food and the hotel rooms."
"And twenty bucks a day," Reza added. "I may be a whore, but I'm no cheap whore."
Malachi didn't have that kind of money. He didn't even know how he'd scrounge together enough to finance the trip. But that was the furthest thing from his mind. He'd figure it out along the way. "Ten."
"Make it fifteen."
Malachi groaned. "Fine."
"Wonderful! I'm in. When do we leave?"
Malachi blinked at him. He'd thought asking Reza was a long shot. "Right now." They needed to get back before his first court hearing. Even though hopefully they'd find something that cleared his name.
Reza nodded. "I'll have to pack. You better bring snacks."
Malachi tried not to smile. He didn't want to, not at Reza. But if he had a ride southwest, that would make all this a lot easier. "Do you still have the stuff I found in Mila's dorm?"
"Yeah, yeah. One sec." Reza let go of the door, which slowly shut on its own, disappearing into his dorm. He reappeared a second later with the flyer and the phone number, handing them to Malachi.
"Thanks." Malachi tucked them into his backpack. "Seriously, man. That was..." He trailed off, at a loss for words. Kind? No, it was more than that. Especially since Reza thought Malachi'd maybe killed Mila.
"It's no problem, really. Especially considering what you did for me. I mean, I don't think I can ever repay you."
But Malachi hadn't sacrificed himself for him. He'd sacrificed himself for the evidence. "Oh."
Reza ran his hand along his ferret's back. "Do you have any idea how long we'll be? So I know what to pack?"
Malachi shrugged. "No idea." He hadn't pegged him as someone who would care what to pack. He basically wore the same outfit every day. "Just bring whatever."
"Okay. Give me a minute." Reza shut the door again, then opened it. "Malachi?"
"Mhm?"
"I'm sorry I'm so awful to you. I'm sorry, really. I just..." Reza trailed off and gestured vaguely into the air. "Don't entirely trust you. But I wanted to thank you again for what you did. Seriously. I know you must hate my guts. But I just wanted to let you know how thankful I am. I mean, if I'd been arrested, I would have lost everything."
"What do you mean?"
Reza rubbed his eyes. "I mean, I would have lost my scholarship. I wouldn't be able to afford to go to school here anymore. And that's even if they didn't kick me out. And they—I mean, they probably would have deported me, too."
"Back to Iran?" Malachi asked. "I thought you were from here." His last name was Spanish. Gutiérrez. Maybe he was from somewhere in the Spanish-speaking world...
"No, you idiot. I'm Canadian."
"Canadian?" Malachi shot back. But suddenly it made sense. The hockey stick. The skates. The accent. Dear God, he was Canadian, wasn't he? "But you're such an asshole."
Reza laughed. "Are all Americans loud, arrogant, gun-toting patriots? No. We're not all nice. Some of us are assholes."
"I'm sorry," Malachi stammered, "I didn't mean—"
"How dare you?" Reza carefully enunciated each word. "How dare you insult my beautiful country?"
"Reza—"
He pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. "My beautiful, beautiful country. And your horrible, horrible stereotypes. Shame on you, Malachi. For shame!"
"Reza—!"
Reza dropped the act. "What?"
But Malachi didn't have anything he wanted to tell him. He just hadn't known how to handle him actually joking around and not being awful for once. And he'd wanted to make it stop. He stared at him awkwardly. Then: "You have a ferret."
"Oh, this little sweetie?" Reza booped his ferret on the nose. "Her name's Lasagna."
Malachi didn't laugh. He didn't see the humor in it. "Ferrets are illegal."
"Are they, now?"
"So how do you have a ferret?"
"She's registered as an emotional support cat." He held up a finger to his lips. "Shh. Don't tell."
Malachi didn't know how to handle this new version of Reza that was only a tiny bit awful. He crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. "You could get in serious trouble."
"For ferret crimes." Reza nodded seriously and held Lasagna out to him. "Do you want to hold her?"
"No. Just go pack."
Reza arched an eyebrow and wrapped Lasagna back around his neck. "Fuckin' fascist."
***
NOTHING MUCH CHANGED in Malachi and Drew's friendship. Whenever they were sure they were alone, they kissed. Whenever they knew no one from school would see them, they held hands. That was it. Sometimes, they went on "dates," where they had Drew's dad or Malachi's parents drop them off at the mall so they could wander aimlessly and have a romantic dinner at the Panda Express.
Everything was in secret—naturally. That went with the territory, being young and gay and terrified.
Their mall was a wasteland. In a world of dying malls, it already was a dead mall. The overhead fluorescent lights constantly flickered. Even during the holiday rush, there were never more than fifteen shoppers in the mall at any given time. The upper floor shook when too many people walked on it. The last time any renovations had been made or any stores added was 1997. It was used more often to exchange drugs than shop for clothes. When Malachi was little, a guy had overdosed on heroin in Claire's while he and his mom shopped for Talia's Hanukkah presents.
But it was so old, so outdated and sketchy and barren, so close to being shut down, that none of their classmates would be caught dead there. Not when downtown had better, bigger, nicer malls with stores and food and no junkies shooting up behind Justice.
It was the perfect place for two closeted young gays.
Their favorite place in the mall was an old photo booth behind the broken escalator. The mall itself was relatively safe, but there was always the fear that someone would see them together. And if they were in one of their bedrooms, there was always the fear that someone would walk in on them. But in the photo booth, there wasn't any fear. There was just Malachi and Drew.
Their photo booth was their sanctuary.
Until it wasn't.
They left the photo booth hand-in-hand, giggling and blushing. There was another "couple" waiting in line—a boy and a girl, the same age as them, also hand-in-hand and full of nervous giggles. Probably with the same idea the boys had, although infinitely less tragic. Malachi froze. He didn't recognize the girl, but he knew the boy.
Tony.
The frog-obsessed boy from their troop.
Malachi's eyes widened. His blush turned a deeper shade of red, embarrassment and shame heating the back of his neck. He pulled his hand out of Drew's and hid it behind his back.
"Tony!" Drew's usual enthusiasm fused through his voice, but his face was as red as Tony's blazing ginger hair and his eyes were wild with fear. "How's it hangin'?"
"Hey." Tony looked between Malachi, Drew, and the space where their hands had been clutched a moment earlier. His eyes trailed up Drew's arm to his blushing face, then flicked to Malachi's, to the sweat beading down his forehead. He looked at the photo booth. His eyes widened in understanding. The girl giggled and buried her face in his shoulder.
"We won't be keeping you for much longer. See ya later." Drew forced a grin across his pained face. He patted Tony's shoulder, winking at him. "Have fun in there. But not too much fun."
"Yeah, yeah, see ya later," Tony agreed, absently nodding.
Drew nodded back at him and confidently strode off, though the fear in his wide blue eyes gave him away. Malachi chased after him, trying to walk far enough away that they'd seem like two straight friends. The whole time he felt Tony's stare burning into the back of his head. When he finally thought he'd gotten far enough to sneak a peek, he swiveled his head around. Tony and the girl stood in front of the photo booth—their photo booth—their heads bent together, whispering. They dove into the booth and pulled the curtain shut behind them. Even that far away, Malachi heard them giggling.
That was the first time Malachi wanted to die.
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