Page 59 of The Fall of Iris Henley
“I just don’t know what he was trying to get. He didn’t ask for nudes or money or anything, he just wanted to talk.” I look out the window and see a half dozen brindle steers grazing.
I feel a sudden pressure on my hand, and I turn to look at Max. His eyes are still on the road, but his hand has closed gently around my fingers. The contact steadies me.
“Do you remember back in middle school when I was a total pariah?” he says.
“Sort of.” But of course I do.
He gives me a half-amused sidelong glance, like he knows there’s no forgetting it. “It was actually Carter and Rocky that started it. We were in math together, and Carter snatched my notebook to copy my answers. So there he is, leafing through all the problem sets I’ve done, when he comes to a page or two in the back that had some… uh… private fan art I’d done.”
When he sees my blank expression he shakes his head and sighs. “I drew a bunch of porny pictures of female video game characters.”
“Ohhhhh.” A memory suddenly floats back my way. “Oh my God, that’s why they called you…”
“Zelda-Fucker. Yeah. They weren’t very creative,” he says. “Anyway, they told everyone in school. It was pretty miserable. I had panic attacks every night thinking about having to go to school the next day. Mom and Dad didn’t know what to do with me.”
“That’s really awful,” I say.
He shrugs. “It was dumb kid stuff. It was a bad year. But you and… and Lynette were the only ones that didn’t treat me like some weird pervert.”
The sound of her name catches me by surprise. I feel it like a punch to the gut.
“That was honestly all her.” My voice is low and even, but there’s a knot in my throat at the thought. “I mean, I wouldn’t haveexcludedyou. But she was the one who dragged me over to your table at lunch and made a big show of sitting across from you.”
“Well, you both came.” He lets go of my hand and puts it back on the wheel. “I never forgot that.”
It’d been such a strange lunch group. I didn’t go out of my way to torment Max—but I also wouldn’t have had the guts to be seen with him if not for Lynette. Lynette’s social standingwas fragile even then… but maybe that was why she’d been willing to take the risk. She knew something about reputation. She knew Max needed our protection—and she knew we could afford to give it.
The thought comes with a sharp pang of grief. I’ve lost Lynette so many times now. It feels like another loss, remembering her bright, daring face in middle school, remembering the way her chin would jut forward when she was determined. Remembering that she wouldn’t let the rest of the kids treat Max like he didn’t exist, back when he needed it the most. And I think about how I let her down.
I’m sorry, Lynette, I think.
And now… I understand.
CHAPTER 32
MONDAY, OCTOBER 17, 4:23PM
MCKINNEY HIGH SCHOOL
We’re slowed down by roadwork outside Houston, so when we arrive at Jonah’s school, the tournament has already started.
McKinney has eight courts with bleachers lining each side. A big difference from Varda’s single net—though Varda doesn’t even have enough players to make a team. The bleachers are sparsely populated, and the claps, when someone gets a point, are soft and scattered. A very different vibe from Friday nights on the football field. I wonder who the fans are—family and friends of the players, or fans that come to watch high school games?
As we approach the courts, Max glances at me. “You look really nervous.”
“Me? No way. Cool as a cucumber,” I say. The truth is, now that we’re here, the only thing I want to do is get back in the car and get back on the highway, pointed west-by-northwest. I know I have to do this if I want to clear my name, if that’s even possible. I know I have to confront him.
But yeah. I’m nervous.
We walk along the chain link, trying not to block anyone’s view. Thepock, pock, pockof balls hitting pavement creates a strange arrhythmic heartbeat. Every now and then you can hear someone grunt or even shout. There’s the scuff of shoes and the intermittent applause. It all seems a little too genteel. I’d rather show up here under cover of a football game, the noise of the pep band and the thud of full-body tackles and the roar of the crowd and the chants of the cheerleaders hiding my approach. This strange quiet game makes me feel exposed.
I scan the players. Girls with ponytails, guys with sweatbands, no one I recognize. My blood pulses loudly in my ears, and I can feel I’m already blushing. I’m realizing that I’m not just scared to confront Jonah—I’m scared toseehim. I don’t know what I’ll feel, how I’ll react, when I do.
He’s been my life raft for months. He’s been the one thing in my life that made me feel normal.
It’s hard to let go of that, even knowing what I know now.
And then, all at once, I see him. I recognize his posture before I see his face, his frame loose and relaxed. He moves less efficiently than his competitor—a sculpturally muscled guy with a shaved head and tight, sharp movements—but somehow, Jonah makes it to the ball every time with his loping stride.
