More Than Enough
Page 26
“You work?” I ask in disbelief.
He laughs. “I also pay half the mortgage if that means anything.”
“What the hell do you even do?”
His eyebrows rise. “Ah, baby brother. If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.”
“Fuck off.” I throw a cushion at his head. Clearly, I’ve been hanging around Riley too much. “Tell me.”
He throws the cushion back. I catch it. “I work for a secret government agency. I try to find online predators, kiddie porn, all that stuff.”
“No shit?”
He nods.
I stare at him. “Yeah. You really look like you’re doing a good job with that.” I point to him sitting in his boxer shorts with a beer in his hand.
“Fuck off, dickhead. I work nights. That’s when the assholes come out.” He shrugs. “It works out, though. I get to be home all day and Sydney and I both work the same schedule so we can see each other as much as possible.”
“You really like her, huh?”
“Yep,” he says, now unashamed. “Thinking of asking her to take it to the next step.”
“What? Like marriage?” My voice is loud. Too loud.
“No. Not marriage.” He’s looking at me like I’m stupid. Maybe I am, but what else could the next step be?
“I’m thinking about asking her to date me, you know. Not just fuck me.”
I shake my head. “You’re fucking gross.”
“Okay, guy who’s on The Drug.”
“I’m not on The Fucking Drug.”
He laughs. “I know. Sydney told me about the girl next door. How’s she coping anyway?”
“What do you mean coping?”
“After the accident. She kind of went a little…” He spins his finger around his ear and whistles.
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Oh,” he says, his eyes wide while he nods slowly. “So you’re more than boning her?”
“I’m not boning her,” I snap. And now I’m pissed. Maybe because he’s talking shit—or maybe because he seems to know more about her than I do. Sighing, I drop my head forward. “What accident?” I ask.
“She hasn’t told you?”
“Obviously not. How the fuck do you play detective online and you can’t even work that out?”
He shakes his empty beer and stands up. “Just look up her name online. I’m sure you can find out.”
“Can I borrow a computer?”
He shakes his head as he passes me. “Just use your phone.” He smacks the back of my head. “How the fuck are we brothers?”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and search for the Internet app. When I finally find it, I don’t type her name. I type his: Jeremy Walters into the search window, and when the results load, my eyes scan the headlines, my breath leaving me completely.
Freak cliff jumping accident takes life of promising teen.
North Carolina teen dies after taking “The Leap.”
I continue to scroll down the page, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
Then I see it—the one headline that causes my heart to stop and my head to spin.
Pre-college rite of passage tradition ends in tragedy for teen couple. One dead, one injured.
She was there.
She was there the exact moment the love of her life took his last breath.
I click on the link and start to read the article, but a message pops up, blocking my view. Riley: Exactly how needy would I come across if I told you I was missing you already?
I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and read the text over and over. I picture her in her room, in the corner with all her cushions… the way her gaze lifts when she watches me in her bed. I picture her smile when I say something stupid, her head as it tilts back with her laughter. And then I picture her eyes, her clear gray eyes full of hope.
Dylan: Aboutxas needy asxit would sound ig I tolf you that Is deal wit th wra th of your mpther just to saee you.
Riley: What?
Dylan: Im reakky bas at this.
Riley: Um. Maybe go on your computer because I’m not kidding. I’m needy. And I need you to keep me sane right now.
Dylan: Ok. Hanfxin.
Riley: What? Lol. Wtf are you on?
I find Eric on his laptop in his room. “Yo. Can I borrow a computer?”
He faces me. “What? You can’t google on your phone?”
“No. I’m texting with Riley and I can’t type on my phone for shit.”
He laughs and gets up from his chair. Then he opens his closet where more than ten laptops are piled up high. He grabs one and turns to me. “You need me to set it up so you can text from here? Or are you on Facebook?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, set up the text thing.”
Riley: Dylan?
I start to reply with Eric hovering over me. “Jesus Christ,” he says, taking the phone from my hand. His fingers fly across the screen and when he’s done he hands it back to me and gets to work on the computer I’ll be using. I look down at the text he just sent.
Dylan: Turns out my brother’s a Neanderthal… doesn’t understand technology and has fat as fuck fingers. Give him five. I’m setting up a comp for him. Hopefully that’ll help his cause. The kid can build an engine in his sleep but he can’t fucking type to save his life.
Riley: lol. K. Thx.
I show him the message. “What the fuck does this mean?”
“Laugh out loud. Okay. Thanks.”
“Why doesn’t she just type that?”
He shakes his head with his chuckle. “You’re such a fucking noob, D.”
“What the hell is a noob?”
He ignores me and says, “All done.” He sets the computer on his bed. I sit down on the mattress and place the computer on my lap.
Dylan: Can you hear me?
Riley: See you? Yes. OMG. Lol.
Dylan: okay. What is OMG?
Riley: Oh my god. I feel like I’m writing to my grandpa.
Dylan: Shut up. Seriously though. What is OMG?
Riley: Oh my god.
Dylan: Just tell me.
Riley: O = Oh. M = my. G = God.
Dylan: Oh.
Riley: Yeah…
Dylan: So…
Riley: So…
Dylan: What are you wearing?
Riley: rly? Lmfao.
I stay in Eric’s room while he works and I type (slower than Riley’s grandpa, apparently). I don’t know how long we stay in there, occasionally laughing at and with her, while Eric eyes me every so often, but I don’t care. I could talk to her all night like this. And I do. Even during Friday night dinner with Dad and E. I have to revert back to my phone when I’m at the table, which makes for more typos than the history of typewriters has ever seen (so Riley says). But now I know what lol, lmfao, omg, k, brb, btw and w00t mean. Though I’m still a little confused on the last one.
I skip the “Friday night insert random sport here” and opt instead to lock myself in my room with the computer Eric has generously let me keep.
Dylan: Hey. Can you send pictures through this?
Riley: Yep.
Dylan: Send me a picture of yourself.
Riley: A random picture or you want me to take one?
Dylan: Take one of you right now. I want to see you.
He laughs. “I also pay half the mortgage if that means anything.”
“What the hell do you even do?”
His eyebrows rise. “Ah, baby brother. If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.”
“Fuck off.” I throw a cushion at his head. Clearly, I’ve been hanging around Riley too much. “Tell me.”
He throws the cushion back. I catch it. “I work for a secret government agency. I try to find online predators, kiddie porn, all that stuff.”
“No shit?”
He nods.
I stare at him. “Yeah. You really look like you’re doing a good job with that.” I point to him sitting in his boxer shorts with a beer in his hand.
“Fuck off, dickhead. I work nights. That’s when the assholes come out.” He shrugs. “It works out, though. I get to be home all day and Sydney and I both work the same schedule so we can see each other as much as possible.”
“You really like her, huh?”
“Yep,” he says, now unashamed. “Thinking of asking her to take it to the next step.”
“What? Like marriage?” My voice is loud. Too loud.
“No. Not marriage.” He’s looking at me like I’m stupid. Maybe I am, but what else could the next step be?
“I’m thinking about asking her to date me, you know. Not just fuck me.”
I shake my head. “You’re fucking gross.”
“Okay, guy who’s on The Drug.”
“I’m not on The Fucking Drug.”
He laughs. “I know. Sydney told me about the girl next door. How’s she coping anyway?”
“What do you mean coping?”
“After the accident. She kind of went a little…” He spins his finger around his ear and whistles.
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Oh,” he says, his eyes wide while he nods slowly. “So you’re more than boning her?”
“I’m not boning her,” I snap. And now I’m pissed. Maybe because he’s talking shit—or maybe because he seems to know more about her than I do. Sighing, I drop my head forward. “What accident?” I ask.
“She hasn’t told you?”
“Obviously not. How the fuck do you play detective online and you can’t even work that out?”
He shakes his empty beer and stands up. “Just look up her name online. I’m sure you can find out.”
“Can I borrow a computer?”
He shakes his head as he passes me. “Just use your phone.” He smacks the back of my head. “How the fuck are we brothers?”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and search for the Internet app. When I finally find it, I don’t type her name. I type his: Jeremy Walters into the search window, and when the results load, my eyes scan the headlines, my breath leaving me completely.
Freak cliff jumping accident takes life of promising teen.
North Carolina teen dies after taking “The Leap.”
I continue to scroll down the page, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
Then I see it—the one headline that causes my heart to stop and my head to spin.
Pre-college rite of passage tradition ends in tragedy for teen couple. One dead, one injured.
She was there.
She was there the exact moment the love of her life took his last breath.
I click on the link and start to read the article, but a message pops up, blocking my view. Riley: Exactly how needy would I come across if I told you I was missing you already?
I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and read the text over and over. I picture her in her room, in the corner with all her cushions… the way her gaze lifts when she watches me in her bed. I picture her smile when I say something stupid, her head as it tilts back with her laughter. And then I picture her eyes, her clear gray eyes full of hope.
Dylan: Aboutxas needy asxit would sound ig I tolf you that Is deal wit th wra th of your mpther just to saee you.
Riley: What?
Dylan: Im reakky bas at this.
Riley: Um. Maybe go on your computer because I’m not kidding. I’m needy. And I need you to keep me sane right now.
Dylan: Ok. Hanfxin.
Riley: What? Lol. Wtf are you on?
I find Eric on his laptop in his room. “Yo. Can I borrow a computer?”
He faces me. “What? You can’t google on your phone?”
“No. I’m texting with Riley and I can’t type on my phone for shit.”
He laughs and gets up from his chair. Then he opens his closet where more than ten laptops are piled up high. He grabs one and turns to me. “You need me to set it up so you can text from here? Or are you on Facebook?”
I shake my head. “Yeah, set up the text thing.”
Riley: Dylan?
I start to reply with Eric hovering over me. “Jesus Christ,” he says, taking the phone from my hand. His fingers fly across the screen and when he’s done he hands it back to me and gets to work on the computer I’ll be using. I look down at the text he just sent.
Dylan: Turns out my brother’s a Neanderthal… doesn’t understand technology and has fat as fuck fingers. Give him five. I’m setting up a comp for him. Hopefully that’ll help his cause. The kid can build an engine in his sleep but he can’t fucking type to save his life.
Riley: lol. K. Thx.
I show him the message. “What the fuck does this mean?”
“Laugh out loud. Okay. Thanks.”
“Why doesn’t she just type that?”
He shakes his head with his chuckle. “You’re such a fucking noob, D.”
“What the hell is a noob?”
He ignores me and says, “All done.” He sets the computer on his bed. I sit down on the mattress and place the computer on my lap.
Dylan: Can you hear me?
Riley: See you? Yes. OMG. Lol.
Dylan: okay. What is OMG?
Riley: Oh my god. I feel like I’m writing to my grandpa.
Dylan: Shut up. Seriously though. What is OMG?
Riley: Oh my god.
Dylan: Just tell me.
Riley: O = Oh. M = my. G = God.
Dylan: Oh.
Riley: Yeah…
Dylan: So…
Riley: So…
Dylan: What are you wearing?
Riley: rly? Lmfao.
I stay in Eric’s room while he works and I type (slower than Riley’s grandpa, apparently). I don’t know how long we stay in there, occasionally laughing at and with her, while Eric eyes me every so often, but I don’t care. I could talk to her all night like this. And I do. Even during Friday night dinner with Dad and E. I have to revert back to my phone when I’m at the table, which makes for more typos than the history of typewriters has ever seen (so Riley says). But now I know what lol, lmfao, omg, k, brb, btw and w00t mean. Though I’m still a little confused on the last one.
I skip the “Friday night insert random sport here” and opt instead to lock myself in my room with the computer Eric has generously let me keep.
Dylan: Hey. Can you send pictures through this?
Riley: Yep.
Dylan: Send me a picture of yourself.
Riley: A random picture or you want me to take one?
Dylan: Take one of you right now. I want to see you.
