that I knew we were different. In another world, maybe I’d come to this bridge all red faced and embarrassed and confess to Jake how I stupidly kissed my best friend.
“Good to see you again, Jake,” Mallory says from behind me. Jake nods at the dark water, otherwise motionless. I don’t know what he wants or if he’ll even talk with Mallory around, so I motion her back to the truck. Mallory hesitates, then walks away. When she’s leaning against the truck, I turn to Jake, but he is still facing the river.
“Is Mom freaking out?” I ask.
“Mom’s always freaking out,” he says.
“True,” I admit. I try to read his face, his body. Searchingfor any indication that he might do something dangerous to himself. He’s had the same pair of pants on for three days, and Dad has been itching to tell him to shave for longer than that. His gray army T-shirt is covered in stains and hangs from his shoulders. More than anything, he seems smaller. Not in size. Just in everything else. He sets the backpack on the ground again and scratches his face, his other hand still cupping the rocks.
I stare back at the river for a few seconds before I say, “So why are we here?”
“I haven’t gotten you ready,” he says. “That’s on me. And we need to change that before you go tomorrow.”
“Get me ready? Jake, c’mon.” I touch his shoulder, and he shakes his head, more a twitch than a denial. “I’m ready. I’ve done the PT. I can do one hundred push-ups now—probably more than you.”
It’s a weak joke, and I surprise myself by letting it fly. Of course he ignores it.
“I’m not talking about push-ups. Listen to me,” he says. “Everything you do follows you. And you need to know about it before you go. Every action has a reaction. Every good or bad thing you do has a way to fix it.”
It sounds like a mash-up of something he learned inscience and a greeting card. It’s so bankrupt of sense, of meaning.
“I fucked up,” he says. “And I need to fix it. For both of us.”
He takes a step toward the bridge, and my body seizes. I reach a hand toward him. “Maybe we should go home and talk to Mom and Dad.”
This would normally make him laugh, and I can’t believe I’m even saying it. But I don’t know what else to do. How to make him stop being so vague.
Jake reaches back and throws another rock high into the air. The moon catches it, a flash against the sky, before it drops into the water. Something goes cold inside me.
“What was that?”
He cocks his arm again, but before he can throw anything, I grab him by the shirt. There’s a medal in his hand, a simple brown star dangling from a red, white, and blue ribbon.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Let go of me.”
He tries to wrestle free, and for the first time in my life I stop him. For the first time I’m stronger than he is. I put him against the railing, and the medal he was holdingfalls to the ground. As soon as it happens, Jakes stops struggling. He goes limp in my arms.
“Jake, what are you doing?”
“I’m doing this for you. Don’t you get it? First the medals and then—” He motions to the backpack.
“Jake, man. I don’t understand. What are you doing for me?”
He’s fading in front of me, and I can’t let that happen now. I want to slap him, the way Dad did to one of his army buddies who passed out on our porch one night. Right in the face.
“Where are the other medals?”
“They’re gone,” he says.
I look out into the river, impossibly black and who knows how deep. I let go of him and walk in circles, trying to think. Should I call Mom and Dad? Maybe they would finally take him to the hospital; maybe this will finally force them to see who Jake has become. But then I would be stuck, too. There’s no way they’d let me walk out of the emergency room or psychiatric ward—wherever they put him—and go to the recruiter’s office alone.
Mallory yells just as I see Jake’s arm move. The last medal
“Good to see you again, Jake,” Mallory says from behind me. Jake nods at the dark water, otherwise motionless. I don’t know what he wants or if he’ll even talk with Mallory around, so I motion her back to the truck. Mallory hesitates, then walks away. When she’s leaning against the truck, I turn to Jake, but he is still facing the river.
“Is Mom freaking out?” I ask.
“Mom’s always freaking out,” he says.
“True,” I admit. I try to read his face, his body. Searchingfor any indication that he might do something dangerous to himself. He’s had the same pair of pants on for three days, and Dad has been itching to tell him to shave for longer than that. His gray army T-shirt is covered in stains and hangs from his shoulders. More than anything, he seems smaller. Not in size. Just in everything else. He sets the backpack on the ground again and scratches his face, his other hand still cupping the rocks.
I stare back at the river for a few seconds before I say, “So why are we here?”
“I haven’t gotten you ready,” he says. “That’s on me. And we need to change that before you go tomorrow.”
“Get me ready? Jake, c’mon.” I touch his shoulder, and he shakes his head, more a twitch than a denial. “I’m ready. I’ve done the PT. I can do one hundred push-ups now—probably more than you.”
It’s a weak joke, and I surprise myself by letting it fly. Of course he ignores it.
“I’m not talking about push-ups. Listen to me,” he says. “Everything you do follows you. And you need to know about it before you go. Every action has a reaction. Every good or bad thing you do has a way to fix it.”
It sounds like a mash-up of something he learned inscience and a greeting card. It’s so bankrupt of sense, of meaning.
“I fucked up,” he says. “And I need to fix it. For both of us.”
He takes a step toward the bridge, and my body seizes. I reach a hand toward him. “Maybe we should go home and talk to Mom and Dad.”
This would normally make him laugh, and I can’t believe I’m even saying it. But I don’t know what else to do. How to make him stop being so vague.
Jake reaches back and throws another rock high into the air. The moon catches it, a flash against the sky, before it drops into the water. Something goes cold inside me.
“What was that?”
He cocks his arm again, but before he can throw anything, I grab him by the shirt. There’s a medal in his hand, a simple brown star dangling from a red, white, and blue ribbon.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Let go of me.”
He tries to wrestle free, and for the first time in my life I stop him. For the first time I’m stronger than he is. I put him against the railing, and the medal he was holdingfalls to the ground. As soon as it happens, Jakes stops struggling. He goes limp in my arms.
“Jake, what are you doing?”
“I’m doing this for you. Don’t you get it? First the medals and then—” He motions to the backpack.
“Jake, man. I don’t understand. What are you doing for me?”
He’s fading in front of me, and I can’t let that happen now. I want to slap him, the way Dad did to one of his army buddies who passed out on our porch one night. Right in the face.
“Where are the other medals?”
“They’re gone,” he says.
I look out into the river, impossibly black and who knows how deep. I let go of him and walk in circles, trying to think. Should I call Mom and Dad? Maybe they would finally take him to the hospital; maybe this will finally force them to see who Jake has become. But then I would be stuck, too. There’s no way they’d let me walk out of the emergency room or psychiatric ward—wherever they put him—and go to the recruiter’s office alone.
Mallory yells just as I see Jake’s arm move. The last medal
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