Page 39 of Down Bad

Biting my lip. Grunting. Panting.

Diego … he moans in my ear, from far away.

Suddenly I’m out of bed, sheets kicked off. I’m heading down the hall to the back door because this house is too full of thoughts.

The second I’m outside, I can breathe again.

Middle of the night.

Precious, tasty oxygen.

I drop my ass right beneath the oak tree that keeps tapping on the roof, seated next to a pair of tiny solar-powered lights my tía and tío stuck into the ground to light up the backyard at night. It isn’t much light, but it keeps me from knowing whether I’m sitting on a fresh mound of grass or an anthill, so there’s that.

I lean my head back against the bark and watch the branches high above me sway from one side to the other, all of their leaves crunching up together and spreading apart like a weird accordion with no music, hiding the stars one second, then letting them out the next.

That’s when I hear the humming.

No. Talking.

Muffled talking. Nearby.

After a second, I get up and follow the sound to the fence.

It’s Wyatt.

I’ve never seen his backyard. There’s a kind of greenhouse thing attached to the side of his back patio full of potted plants, vines growing this way and that, spurts of color here and there. He’s got fairy lights strung up everywhere, from the back door to a nearby tree, wrapped around a tall stick, draped across some stone birdbath, and tracing the edge of the greenhouse.

I see Wyatt inside it. His phone to his ear. Talking to someone at whatever-it-is-o’clock, hours before sunrise. He’s quiet enough, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one in all of Spruce who can hear him right now.

“I know, I know.” His arms are folded. He’s pacing inside the greenhouse, now and then bending slightly to peer at one of the plants. “I never learn, right? You always seem to know when …” He pinches the bridge of his nose. Rubs his eyes. “… when to say no. And I never say no.” He laughs. Even from all the way over here, I can hear a strained, fake-ass laugh. “Yep. You know better. I’m sure lucky to have a … a big sis like you.”

Hmm.

Didn’t know he had a sister.

“No, no, don’t call him.” He stops pacing. “Connie. I’m serious. Why? Because—Connie.”

I frown.

Don’t call who?

“Because threatening a customer of mine with litigation you are in no way licensed to provide is—Connie, I know, but—” Wyatt throws his eyes up to the ceiling like he’s praying for strength. “I know you’re trying to help. Yes, I’m grateful. No, I didn’t mean to sound like—Yes, you know how to get things done. Always do.”

I hear crunching in the grass that isn’t my own. I look to my left to find a pair of big cat eyes staring back. The cat looks wary for half a second, seems to decide I’m no big deal, then leaps all the way up to the top of the fence where it perches.

The sound of Wyatt’s laugh brings me back.

It’s the same fake, soft, strained laugh as before.

“Yep, I remember. Ninth grade, wasn’t it? Not tenth?” He goes to the door of the greenhouse, right by his back patio. I can hear him even clearer. “I … Yes, Con, I remember the milk carton. You hit Darren Pike right in the nose with it because he called me a—” He scuffs a shoe on the ground as if to rub out a spot. “I also recall getting detention because I apologized to Principal Whitman for you and somehow got dragged into it all. No, no … it was fine.”

He makes a strange face like he’s got a bad taste in his mouth.

He listens for a while.

“Mom sure wasn’t happy, was she? Yep. Yeah, I …” He takes a breath and shuts his eyes tightly. “Of course. I owe you a lot. Yes.” He puts the back of his wrist to his forehead. “You have a lot going on, too, huh? Of course. Go ahead, tell me the story. Yes, it’s late, but … No, it’s okay. Yeah, I … I napped earlier, I’m fine. Mm-hmm.” He smothers a yawn with his hand so his sister can’t hear it.

Then it’s just him listening.