My eyes stung. I just needed to get out of there, I thought as I walked as quickly as I could away from the office, trying to figure out where I could go. I made it out of the gym and around one corner before I slammed into Jackson. The award, the envelope, and I went flying backward. The clatter of metal bouncing along cement had me searching the ground where I had landed.

“Are you everywhere?” I growled.

“Moore. I’m sorry.” He held out his hand to help me up.

I picked up the plaque and saw the gold plate that spelled out the distinction was missing. It sat by Jackson’s foot. He bent over and picked it up.

“Nice,” he said, after reading it. “Congrats.”

I ripped it from his hand, scooped up the envelope where it had landed, and shoved the two now separate pieces of my award inside. Then I left. Of course he followed me.

“I’m trying to understand you, Moore.”

“Stop.”

“You hate me.”

“Hate is a strong word.”

He laughed. “Wow. I thought you’d deny it, but that was definitely not a denial. That was probably the furthest thing from a denial I’ve ever heard. Why don’t you like me?”

“Why do you care?” I asked quite suddenly.

He shrugged like he really didn’t.

My heart was pumping and my head was spinning and I just wanted Jackson out of my face. “You want to know why, Jackson? Why people like me don’t like people like you?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Because you’re a goof-off. You do nothing. Life is a joke to you. You just sail through it. All you think about is yourself and what you need to do to make people look at you. I work hard. Every day. And I try my best and I push myself in everything I do so they’ll notice me and do you know who still gets all the attention? Who everybody talks about? Who everyone is still more proud of and happier with and can’t forget about? Who everybody loves the most? You, Eric.” I stopped and swallowed hard. “I mean, Jackson. You . . .”

He had gone silent. I swiped at the tears that were trailing down my face, mad that I hadn’t been able to hold them back for a few more minutes. Then I turned and fled. I didn’t make it far before I couldn’t see through the blurriness. Worried I was going to run into a wall, I turned a corner and pressed my back against the building. If I had thought now was the time Jackson would grow up and leave me alone, I was mistaken.

He rounded the corner a few seconds after me.

“Please don’t,” I said.

For once he looked serious, somber. “I promise I’ll leave if you want me to, but is there anything I can do? Do you want me to go get Amelia? Or call your parents?”

I shook my head no.

“Could you use someone to cry on? I think I’m good at that. I wore an extra absorbent sweater today.” He opened his arms like he expected me to melt into them. When I didn’t, he said, “How about a different offer, then?” He pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “The bell is about to ring and these halls are going to fill with people. My car, you remember it, the classic, is a great place to cry. I know it doesn’t have music, but it does have doors that can close people out. Even me if you want. Or I can drive you to a completely new location. I won’t even talk.”

My tears started anew. Why was he choosing now to be thoughtful? I had just yelled mean, awful things at him, and he stood there offering me salvation. I nodded.

“Yes?”

“Please.”

He held out his hand like a question and I took it. I could still hardly see, so I was glad he was guiding me. Like he’d warned, the bell rang. He brought me closer and put his arm around me. I hid my face against his shoulder, hoping nobody would know it was me. We made it to the parking lot without anyone calling out to me. I hoped that was a good sign. He unlocked the door to his car with his weird two-lefts-and-one-right-turning method and opened it wide. I dropped all my stuff onto the passenger-side floor and practically dived inside. He shut the door behind me. I laid my head on the seat and let it all out.

Twenty-One

Like Jackson promised, he didn’t say a word. He was quiet as he started the car and drove. I didn’t sit up to see where he was driving us, but I was glad he was leaving the school. Eventually he parked and shut off the car. He still hadn’t said anything. I wondered if this was a record for him.

The seat smelled a little of gas or grease or something—that old-car smell. I sat up, wiped my cheeks with my sleeve, and peered out the front window. He’d driven us to Lookout Point above the lake. My lake. This wasn’t the side of the lake I swam on. This was the side where everyone at school went to drink or make out. I turned my gaze to him and he held up his hands.

“It was the first quiet place I could think of.”

“You come here a lot?”

He laughed. “Yes.” Then, after a minute of silence added, “But not in the way you’re thinking. I like to walk. It helps me think. I like nature.”

It really was beautiful. The trees were in full spring green. Wildflowers covered the ground where the cars hadn’t driven. And the lake was a dark sheet of glass below us. I pulled my sleeves over my hands and used them again to wipe beneath my eyes, sure they were black with mascara.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I’m sorry for what I said about you.”

“Don’t apologize for how you feel.”

“I’m sure you can guess that it’s not really about you.”

He nodded slowly. “Who’s Eric?”

“My brother.”

“So your brother is a screwup like me and he gets all the attention for it?”

“You’re not a screwup.”

“I didn’t realize you had a brother.”

Did I want to tell him? I knew it would clear up some of the bad feelings he might have over what I’d said. But it would turn those feelings into pity and I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. “I kind of live in his shadow and have been trying to get out of it for years.”

“Hence the swimming for hours on end?”

“I like to swim.”

“I know. But . . .”

“Yes, I always have to be better and do more. I don’t know. . . . I guess I thought if I did the most and did it the best maybe I could make them . . . see me.” I had been competing with my dead brother. No wonder why I hadn’t been crying at his ceremonies. I had started seeing him as the enemy, the competition. Was I seriously just now realizing my motivations for how hard I pushed myself? And in front of Jackson Holt? That was my fear, wasn’t it? The one I couldn’t articulate to Heath Hall the other night. The reason I feared expressing my frustrations to my parents. I feared that if I told my parents how I really felt, they would admit that there was no competition. They would admit that Eric had already won. And if they admitted it, then I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. I couldn’t talk myself out of that truth.

I turned toward the window and wiped at a fresh set of tears that silently slipped down my cheeks. It took a few deep breaths for me to regain my control and turn back again.

Jackson pointed to the padded envelope on the floor. “So you won an award for your parents?”