Chapter 55

“Is Ryan mad at me?” Monica asked, at the most crucial moment of the day, when Allison had approached Ryan to take him away.

Jacky had no doubt Monica’s grief was real; she’d been Ryan’s “girlfriend” for years, and she definitely knew his mother. Throughout the funeral, she blew her nose into tissue after wadded up tissue. At one point, Mrs. Johnston gave her a look and Monica scrambled to shove all her tissue balls into her purse, and Jacky wished he’d slapped that phone out of Mrs. Johnston’s hand a little harder.

And the one time he had reached for Ryan’s hand, Ryan had jerked away. After that, Jacky had left a good amount of distance between them.

After last night, Ryan’s distance hurt. Jacky thought it had been good, Ryan talking about his feelings like that. But maybe it had just been the magic of nighttime, how the dark made it easy to confess things, throwing words out into a void like they were mere thoughts. All morning Ryan had been quiet and as emotional as a wooden block.

The one time Jacky had touched him had been in the car, and for the most part it had felt like Ryan wasn’t even aware that Jacky had his hand in a death grip while he had a minor panic attack. When they’d arrived at the church, Jacky’s mom had pulled out some tissues and hugged him and mopped the sweat from his face while Ryan drifted toward the church. He had pushed her away with an, “I’m fine, Mom,” but then when he saw Ryan walking away like he hadn’t even noticed what Jacky was going through, Jacky turned back to his mom and hugged her and whispered, “Thank you.”

And then there was the moment in the church. Jacky knew he shouldn’t have even tried. Ryan had made that very clear yesterday, but Jacky had thought Ryan was doing that thing where he bottled everything up and if he just had someone to cling to, he would open up and actually grieve for his mother. But no. And Lance had given him a look that said he didn’t think Jacky should have been standing where he was, either. Jacky hadn’t been Ryan’s friend for years and years.

“I don’t know,” Jacky told Monica finally. “He’s been… not in a good place, all day. I don’t think he’s mad at you, though, if my opinion matters at all.”

Monica was wringing her hands and watching Ryan talk to Allison. “Okay. I just—I thought he’d be happy about it, you know? Having a place to live. I don’t know. I feel terrible about this whole thing.” Monica devolved into sobs again. “I feel like, if I hadn’t been trying so hard to get him to want me, maybe he would have told me about his mom, and then he’d be coming to live at my house and he wouldn’t be going off to some… some… place.”

“I’m sure it’s not a bad place,” Jacky offered. It was looking like the only way to fix this particular situation was going to be hugging Monica. “I mean, we’ll still see him at school. He’s not going to disappear.”

“But he could have lived with meeee…” Monica wailed.

So Jacky hugged her.

This at least gave him something to do that didn’t earn weird looks from Ryan’s friends. It also gave him a chance to really see who was here. Of course the football team, which meant Tyler Gomez (not Billy, though, thank god) and Matt Welch. Jacky wasn’t sure why he thought Cody should have been there, since he hadn’t mentioned the funeral to him, but then saw a familiar redhead. Of course, because the cheerleaders were all here too.

Why hadn’t Nina come over and talked to him after the funeral? Jacky wondered, watching her fill a Styrofoam cup with coffee. Then he had his answer. She headed straight for Matt.

Of course. It had been less than a week since Nina and Matt had broken up. It was not out of the realm of possibility that Nina had needed a break to think about her feelings for Matt and now decided it would be a good time to get back together with him. Fuck. Cody was going to kill him.

And now Allison had her arm around Ryan and was guiding him over to Jacky’s mother, and then Jacky’s mom was looking for him and making eye contact that said, Ryan is leaving, he’s getting his stuff out of the car, come say good-bye.

“I, uh, I have to go to the bathroom,” Jacky said.

“O-oh, okay, uh, sorry,” Monica blubbered. She wandered off into the receptive arms of Peyton Demarco.

He made it outside as his mother was popping the trunk. “Are you leaving now?” Jacky asked. His voiced sounded whiny and plaintive and he hated it, especially when Ryan gave no hint of feeling one way or another about leaving.

“Yeah,” Ryan said.

Jacky shifted from foot to foot as Ryan slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed his bookbag and another bag. “Can you call me tonight? Or text me?” When Ryan didn’t answer, he redirected the question to Allison. “Can he?”

Allison’s answer was noncommittal. “We’ll see. It might be late by the time he’s all checked in.”

“I’ll still be awake. I’ll wake up.” He reached out and grabbed Ryan’s arm when Ryan started to walk past him.

Ryan shook him off, and extended his hand. A handshake? Jacky stared at it, his face heating up, until the moment went on a little too long and he grabbed that hand and shook it.

Then Ryan was gone, going away, and Jacky couldn’t do anything but watch him go. “Bye,” he managed to say.

Ryan gave no indication that he had heard.

Then Ryan was in an office where two staff members were going through his stuff. “An inventory,” they had called it.

“It’s basically just so we know what you’re coming in with, because sometimes things get lost or stolen, and it helps to have a list,” said the twenty-something man with a goatee and a t-shirt for a band called Arctic Monkeys. Ryan didn’t remember his name.

“And to check for contraband,” added the also twenty-something woman with most of her blonde hair buzzed except for a shock of pink that hung in her eyes. Ryan didn’t remember her name, either.

“Sharps, drugs, things like that,” the man agreed.

Ryan nodded and otherwise stared at various spots around the office. His eyes might land on a patched-over spot of wall that hadn’t been painted yet, or the scuffed tabletop, or the list on the whiteboard titled “Restricted.” He wasn’t worried about them finding anything.

“Razor,” said the man, and the woman recorded it on her list, then put it on the desk.

“We’ll have to keep this in the office,” the woman told him. “We’ll keep your shaving cream too. Anytime you need to shave you just have to ask. It’s just precautionary.”

Ryan nodded.

“Blue polo shirt, striped,” the man said. “White polo shirt. White t-shirt, plain. Gray t-shirt, plain.”

All of his possessions, recorded on sheets of paper. He barely owned anything.

In the other room, a television blared. From the kitchen came the smells of food cooking. Two boys had been in the beginning stages of making dinner when Ryan had first arrived. One was a Hispanic boy wearing low-slung jeans and a tight black t-shirt. The other was a white boy so skinny his clothes drowned him. His hair hung from his scalp in greasy clumps.

“Ohhh-kay, what’s this,” said the man.

The rattle of pills in bottles woke Ryan up a little.

“Ryan? Can I ask why you have two bottles of your mother’s prescription narcotics in your bag?” the man asked.

His mouth had gone dry. He just stared at the two bottles he’d almost completely forgotten about.

“Leigh, maybe you should grab his social worker.”

Ryan watched the pink-haired woman named Leigh get up and lean out into the living room, where Allison had gone to sit and talk with another one of her clients.

“Ryan, this is very serious. Do you have an explanation for this?” the man asked again.

“It was…” Ryan’s voice cracked. He swallowed. “It was just in case.”