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“Know what I’m gonna do, Merc? Have faith in Rhett, even if it kills me.”
“That sounds fucking scary, kid, but if you’re doin’ it, so am I. That mean you’re watching the game tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Alright, I’m going to put in some calls, we’ll talk again later.”
* * *
Ichange out of Jack’s sweatshirt, put his disgust-o hat in his room, and then I dig through my closet for my other Rhett jersey. I keep one at school, and one here. When he’s back—because he is coming back—I’m stealing way more of his clothes. Two jerseys aren’t enough.
I open the fridge, looking for something I can choke down. Jack has someone keep this place stocked so he doesn’t have to grocery shop. He’s also got a shit load of sports supplements. Maybe I’ll … fuck. Maybe I’ll make a Rhett-o-nator. How pathetic am I?
My phone buzzes. It’s Kam. Again. He’s been texting me all week.
Is it true?
No way this is true.
Fuck it. True or not, don’t worry. We’re besties for life. *fist emoji*
I wasn’t worried about our friendship status. But Kam might be just what I need right now. I don’t know if I can trust him with this. I don’t usually trust anyone with anything let alone something major. How would I even go about telling him?
Wanna come over and watch the game?
It’s a whim. I am not the initiator of events.
I was hoping you’d ask! I was downstairs just in case.
I might be friends with Kimmy Gibbler. We need boundaries. And yet, my instincts don’t repel the guy.
Yeah. I’ll buzz you up.
We’re ordering pizza. I’m buying.
Why’s he still texting me? He couldn’t have told me that when he got here?
“How did you get my address?” I ask as soon as I open the door.
“How I got all your information—team directory.” He looks around. “This place is great. I’ve already got a pizza on the way.”
I just shake my head. I don’t even want to know why it’s on the way so fast. “I’m making a shake that’s a Rhett specialty. Want one?”
That’s all I get out and then it’s tears city. Silent bombs of wetness dripping down my face. What the fuck? Why can’t I stop crying today?
“Aw, man. Tell me it’s not true.” He kicks his shoes off and follows me to the kitchen. It’s weird to see his socked feet without his chunky white Converse shoes.
“It’s not true.” I wipe my face with the sleeve of Rhett’s jersey. It barely smells like him. Soon, it won’t smell like him at all.
Kam crosses his arms, and the brightness of his intelligence flashes in his eyes. He’s a handsome guy. I wasn’t looking before, but now that we’re friends—I guess—I’m looking at him harder.
“Something fishy is afoot. C’mon, tell me, Lo. I can be trusted. I’ve watched a lot of Sherlock Holmes and every crime show out there,” he lists as if they’re qualifications.
What have I got to lose at this point? It would be nice to talk to someone with a fresh perspective. “Sit there. I have to eat something, or I’ll expire, but I’ll tell you everything.”
I tell him the little we know—Rhett’s father’s up to something, involving Jack—and then we spin off into a million conspiracy theories. By the time the pizza arrives, we have Rhett sold off to the Italian mafia to secure Maxwell’s campaign win, which isn’t funny, but is also hysterical.
Merc calls me back.
