But when Alex had asked why the frat had been kicked off campus, he’d only shrugged
and underlined something in the book he was reading. “Times changed. The university wanted the property and not the liability.”
“Maybe they should have kept them on campus.”
“You surprise me, Stern. Sympathy for the brotherhood of keg stands and misplaced aggression?”
Alex thought of the squat on Cedros. “Make people live like animals, they start acting
like animals.”
But “animal” was too kind a term for Blake Keely.
Alex took the plastic packet from her pocket and downed the powder inside. She
gagged instantly and had to pinch her nose shut, covering her mouth with her fingers to keep from spewing the substance back up. The taste was fetid and salty and she
desperately wanted to rinse her mouth out, but she forced herself to swallow.
She didn’t feel any different. Jesus, what if Mike had been messing with her?
Alex spat once in the muddy yard, then climbed the stairs and tried the front door. It was unlocked. The living room stank of old beer. Another busted couch and a La-Z-Boy
recliner were arranged around a chipped coffee table covered in red Solo cups, and a banner with the house’s letters had been hung above a makeshift bar with two mismatched
stools in front of it. A shirtless guy in a backward baseball cap and pajama pants was picking up scattered cups and shoving them into a big black garbage bag.
He startled when he saw her.
“I’m looking for Blake Keely.”
He frowned. “Uh … You a friend of his?”
Alex wished she’d been in less of a hurry back at Manuscript. Just how was the Starpower supposed to work? She took a breath and gave him a big smile. “I’d really appreciate your help.”
The guy took a step backward. He touched his hand to his heart as if he’d been punched
in the chest. “Of course,” he said earnestly. “Of course. Whatever I can do.” He returned her smile and Alex felt a little ill. And a little wonderful.
“Blake!” he called up the stairs, gesturing for her to follow. He had a bounce in his step. Twice on the way up he turned to look at her over his shoulder, grinning.
They reached the second floor and Alex heard music, the thunderous rattle of a video
game being played at full volume. Here, the beer smell receded and Alex detected the distant whiff of some very bad weed, microwave popcorn, and boy. It was just like the place she’d shared with Len in Van Nuys. Shabby in a different way maybe, the
architecture older, dimmer without the clean gilding of a Southern California sun.
“Blake!” the shirtless boy called again. He reached back and took Alex’s hand with an
utterly open smile.
A giant poked his head out of a doorway. “Gio, you fuck,” he said. He wore shorts and
was shirtless too, cap backward like it was some kind of uniform. “You were supposed to
clean the toilet.” So Gio was a pledge or some other kind of lackey.
“I was cleaning downstairs,” he explained. “Do you want to meet … Oh God, I can’t
remember your name.”
Because she hadn’t said it. Alex just winked.
“Clean the fucking toilet first,” the giant complained. “You cockshiners can’t just keep
shitting on top of shit! And who the hell is—”
“Hi,” said Alex, and—because she never had—she tossed her hair.
“I. Hey. Hi. How are you?” He tugged his shorts up then down, removed his cap, ran a
hand through his tufty hair, set the cap back in place. “Hi.”
“I’m looking for Blake.”
“Why?” His voice was mournful.
“Help me find him?”
“Absolutely. Blake!” the giant bellowed.
“What?” demanded an irritated voice from a bedroom down the hall.
Alex didn’t know how much time she had left. She shook off Gio the Lackey’s hand and forged ahead, making sure not to look into the bathroom as she passed.
Blake Keely was slouched on a futon, sipping from a big bottle of Gatorade and
playing Call of Duty. He was at least wearing a shirt.