Josh: No. I mean, it’s good you’re not mad about that but that’s not what I wanted to tell you.

Becca: Oh no.

Josh: Where’s your car?

Becca: Dad likes for me to keep it in the garage. Why?

Josh: Oh.

Becca: Why?!

Josh: Because when you told me you had a job and you wouldn’t tell me why, I assumed it was because you were saving for a car. So I kind of maybe ordered you one online while you were sleeping. It’s being delivered today.

Becca: What?! You can’t just “order me a car”!!!

Josh: Clearly I can, because I did. Also, I accidentally stole your bra and panties. Please don’t tell your dad.

34

—Joshua—

“Wake up, white boy,” Nico says, slapping my face. “Funny. Your hair still looks stupid today.”

“Fuck off.”

“Wheels up in three hours.”

“It’s like the ass-crack of dawn. Who the hell flies a plane this early?”

“Maybe if you’d gotten some sleep instead of chatting with your girl all night, you’d be well-rested like me.”

“How long is this flight again?”

“Fifteen hours,” he sings.

“Fuck.”

“We’re flying commercial, too. And Chris could only get four seats in first class, so you’re in coach.”

“When the hell was that decided?”

“In Mexico when you were in the hotel room chatting with your girl.”

“Ugh.”

“Ugh all you want, but that’s what happens when you decide not to take part in team activities.”

“Catching food poisoning and spending the next few days hugging a toilet bowl is team development now?”

He shakes his head at me. “Just get your ass dressed and meet us outside. My grandma’s driving us to the airport.”

“She finally got her U.S license?” I ask, slipping on a shirt.

“Nope.”

*     *     *

Becca: I’m about to get on the plane. By the time I land, you’ll be in the air. Sigh. I miss you, Skater Boy.

Josh: I’m going to video call you as soon as I land. I don’t have the mental capacity or mathematical knowhow to work out what time it will be for you so I won’t be mad if you don’t answer. Give your grams a kiss for me. I love you.

Becca: In all ways. For always.

*     *     *

It’s easy to jump to conclusions, to let your worst fears take hold of you and not think logically. Especially when you get off a fifteen-hour flight, switch on your phone and get a message from your mom saying that you needed to call her right away.

“Josh,” she says, her voice a whisper.

“What’s going on, Ma?” I ask, trying to work through the crowd at Hong Kong International while not losing sight of my teammates. “Is it Tommy? Is he okay? Becca? Chaz?”

“Josh,” she says again.

“Just say it, Mom.”

She sobs into the phone, making me freeze in my spot. I drop my luggage, causing someone to trip over it. People move around me, shoving me from side to side and all I can do is stand there, listening to my mother cry. “Mom?”

“Tommy’s fine. But there’s been an accident, sweetheart, and you need to come home.”

PART IV

35

Journal

Darkness seeps in my veins like acid poured in my soul until grief is my only burden.

I have no concept of time.

Of lights and shadows.

Of sounds and silence.

There’s only pain.

Too afraid to sleep,

Yet too afraid to breathe.

I lie on the floor.

In her room.

Right where her bed used to be.

I stare at the ceiling.

Unblinking.

Unthinking.

Unexisting.

I block out the voices in my head.

The constant humming of voices downstairs.

The car rounded the corner too fast, they said.

But I know.

I saw it in her eyes.

Right before she walked in front of it.

I saw her.

I saw it all.

I wish her God had taken my sight instead of my voice.

Because then I wouldn’t have to see it.

Over and over.

And maybe, I could’ve begged her to stop.

Just… stop.

~ ~

—Becca—

“I hate you the most, Becca.”

I wake up gasping for air and blinking back tears… tears caused by the nightmare. It’s light out, the curtains are wide open, and I try to recall when I did that. I didn’t. I fell asleep where I lay, forced numbness on my mind. Voices sound, filtering from downstairs, but none of them belong to the one person I want to hear. “He caught the company jet from LAX,” I hear Josh’s mom say. “He should touch down within an hour.” I don’t know how long I’ve slept. I don’t know what time it is. What day it is. All I know is the nightmare is still there, infiltrating my mind, just like it has many times, only this time I don’t treat it as a dream. I treat it as a memory. As a sign. And with false determination, I pick myself slowly up off the floor and make my way to Grams’s bathroom. I shower, get lost in the heat of the water, and make sure to clear my face of the tears that have lived there. I need to do this, I convince myself. I need to be this.