I sighed. “Jonah. It’s important to take responsibility when we do the wrong thing. If you can’t tell me what you did, then how am I supposed to believe that you’re sorry?”
His bottom lip stuck out. “I’m sorry that you hate me.”
I sighed. “I’m mad that my guitar is broken and I’m mad that you touch my things without asking. But I don’t hate you. I will never hate you.”
“I didn’t do it.”
It was a lost cause. One day the truth would come out. And even then, it wouldn’t matter. My guitar would still be broken. “Okay, go eat.”
I sat down on my bed and docked my phone on my stereo, turning it up as loud as I could stand. Listening to Blackout didn’t necessarily accomplish its intended purpose of relaxing me—because now they made me think of Cade and the letters. But I would not let him ruin my favorite band for me. I turned the music up another notch.
I opened my notebook and stared down a sketch I had started in detention. I wasn’t sure what I wasn’t liking about the design.
Jonah appeared at my door, his mouth moving but only music sounding. I switched off the song.
“Someone’s at the door,” he said.
“Oh, okay.” I stood up. I figured it was the mom of one of Wyatt’s teammates, coming to pick him up.
When I rounded the corner though, Cade Jennings was standing in the open doorway.
I’m sure my face fell in shock. Cade’s expression was also one of utter surprise.
I was so shocked, in fact, that I slammed the door in his face.
What was Cade doing here? Did he figure out the truth about the letters? My heart was pounding. It was probably too late to go run and change my clothes. He’d already seen me and my knee high socks. I took one step back and then I heard Cade knock three times. I tried to pat down my crazy hair once before giving up and opening the door again.
Cade’s initial look of shock had softened to his normal look of smugness. He took in my hair and outfit.
“Shut up,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“Really? And what did my face say?”
“You know what your face said.”
He laughed a little and shrugged.
“Why are you here?” I demanded.
“I’m Wyatt’s club coach. We have practice today.”
“Oh.” Ugh. Cade was my brother’s coach? No wonder he’d been surprised to see me. He probably hadn’t realized I was Wyatt’s sister. “Okay. Just be nice to my brother … please,” I added.
I wouldn’t have felt the need to add that if the real-life Cade was like the one in the letters. But he wasn’t, so I did.
Cade shrugged with a smirk. “I will. He can’t help who his sister is.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Right. I’ll go get him.”
I hoped Cade would stay by the door but instead he followed me into the kitchen. Wyatt wasn’t there, though; only Jonah sat at the table, eating his cereal.
I glanced back at Cade, and saw that he was looking at the underside of his expensive sneaker. He’d clearly stepped on the crunched-up pile of Fruity Pebbles on the floor. Great. I watched as he brushed his foot against the kitchen tile, then leaned against the counter, almost knocking over a bunch of bowls that were still half-full of milk.
I groaned inwardly. Cade was in my house judging me all over again with new criteria to add to his list. I stacked the bowls and set them in the sink.
Wyatt came running into the kitchen. “Hi, Coach!” he said to Cade. “I’m ready!”
“You must be Wyatt.”
My brother nodded, then glanced at me. “What’s wrong, Lily?” he asked. “You look mad.”
“I do?”
“Are you still mad that Jonah—”
“Ate all the Lucky Charms?” I quickly interrupted. “Yes. I am.”
“I didn’t eat all the Lucky Charms!” Jonah protested from the table.
“Then where are they?”
Jonah hummed an “I don’t know” and kept eating his cereal.
Wyatt scrunched up his nose and was probably about to contradict me when I said, “You better be on your way. You don’t want to be late.”
Cade headed for the door and I stopped Wyatt. “Hey,” I whispered. “Don’t mention my broken guitar to your coach, okay?”
“Why not?” Wyatt whispered back.
Because if he thought about it too hard, he might figure out that my brother breaking my guitar was too similar to a certain letter he’d read recently. “Because I don’t want him to think badly of Jonah.”
“He wouldn’t like Jonah if he knew?” Wyatt asked.
“We just don’t need to talk badly about Jonah to people.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said, and hurried out the door.
For two hours I waited anxiously for my brother to get home. I tried to distract myself with sewing and then writing and then sketching, but each attempt was useless. When I saw Cade’s car pull up around seven thirty, I opened the front door and stood on the porch as Wyatt came running up. I waited for him to turn and wave to Cade. As soon as Cade drove away, I said, “So? How was it?”
Wyatt was beaming. “It was great! I love baseball. We all got nicknames. Want to know mine?”
Of course Cade would give them all nicknames. “Yes,” I said, already worried.
“Pink Lightning!”
“Pink? Lightning?”
Wyatt held up one foot. Across the side of his baseball cleat was a hot pink Nike swoosh. My mom must’ve picked them up at the thrift store like she did a lot of things.
“Yeah. The kids thought it was funny when Coach Cade said it. They laughed. But then everyone was cool with it.”
I swallowed the anger in my throat for my brother’s sake. I did not want him to feel bad. That was a name everyone was going to laugh at every single week and have to keep remembering they were cool with.
“That’s a fun nickname,” I said at last.
“Yeah. It’s good.”
“Well, go shower.”
He started to walk away then stopped. “Lily?”
“Wyatt?”
He looked down at his feet. “Um … never mind.”
I frowned. Had Cade made him feel stupid? I didn’t want to ask him that if it wasn’t true. But I wanted my brother to be able to talk about it with me. For him to know he wasn’t alone in that feeling.
“Are you sure you don’t need to tell me something?” I asked gently.
Wyatt nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Wyatt may not have needed to talk about it, but I was going to talk about it. With the source.
I searched the halls before school on Friday, not sure what Cade’s morning routine was. I’d seen his car in the parking lot, so I knew he was here. I usually tried to avoid him. Today would be the opposite. My blood was on fire. Even my eyes were hot.
He was standing alone at his locker, staring at it, like he’d forgotten the combination or something.
I marched straight up to him and poked his shoulder with my finger. “How dare you.”
He turned to me, a tired look on his face. “What do you want?”