The Last Song (5 page)

5

W
ill

N
o matter what he was doing, Will could always feel the weight of the secret pressing down on him. On the surface, everything seemed normal: In the last six months, he’d gone to his classes, played basketball, attended the prom, and graduated from high school, college-bound. It hadn’t been all perfect, of course. Six weeks ago, he’d broken up with Ashley, but it had nothing to do with what had happened that night, the night he could never forget. Most of the time, he was able to keep the memory locked away, but every now and then, at odd times, it all came back to him with visceral force. The images never changed or faded, the images never blurred around the edges. As though viewing it through someone else’s eyes, he would see himself running up the beach and grabbing Scott as he stared at the raging fire.

What the hell did you do?
he remembered screaming.

It’s not my fault!
Scott had screamed back.

It was only then, however, that Will realized they weren’t alone. In the distance, he noticed Marcus, Blaze, Teddy, and Lance, watching them, and he knew at once they’d seen everything that happened.

They knew…

As soon as Will grabbed for his cell phone, Scott stopped him.

Don’t call the police! I told you it was an accident!
His expression was pleading.
Come on, man! You owe me!

News coverage had been extensive the first couple of days, and Will had watched the segments and read the articles in the paper, his stomach in knots. It was one thing to cover for an accidental fire. Maybe he could have done that. But someone had been injured that night, and he felt a sickening surge of guilt whenever he drove by the site. It didn’t matter that the church was being rebuilt or that the pastor had long since been released from the hospital; what mattered was that he knew what had happened and hadn’t done anything about it.

You owe me…

Those were the words that haunted him most.

Not simply because he and Scott had been best friends since kindergarten, but for another, more important reason. And sometimes, in the middle of the night, he would lie awake, hating the truth of those words and wishing for a way to make things right.

Oddly enough, it was the incident at the volleyball game earlier in the day that triggered the memories this time. Or rather, it had been the girl he’d collided with. She hadn’t been interested in his apologies, and unlike most girls around here, she hadn’t tried to mask her anger. She didn’t simmer and she didn’t squeal; she was self-possessed in a way that struck him instantly as different.

After she’d stormed off, they’d finished out the set, and he had to admit he’d missed a couple of shots he ordinarily wouldn’t have. Scott had glared at him and—maybe because of the play of light—he’d looked exactly as he had on the night of the fire when Will had pulled out his cell phone to call the police. And that was all it took to set those memories loose again.

He’d been able to hold it together until they’d won the game, but after it ended, he’d needed some time alone. So he’d wandered over to the fairgrounds and stopped at one of those overpriced, impossible-to-win game booths. He was getting ready to shoot an overinflated basketball at the slightly too high rim when he heard a voice behind him.

“There you are,” Ashley said. “Were you avoiding us?”

Yes,
he thought.
Actually, I was.

“No,” he answered. “I haven’t taken a shot since the season ended, and I wanted to see how rusty I am.”

Ashley smiled. Her white tube top, sandals, and dangly earrings showed off her blue eyes and blond hair to maximum effect. She’d changed into the outfit since the final volleyball game of the tournament. Typical; she was the only girl he’d ever known who carried complete outfit changes as a regular rule, even when she went to the beach. At the prom last May, she’d changed three times: one outfit for dinner, another for the dance, and a third for the party afterward. She’d actually brought along a suitcase, and after pinning on her corsage and posing for photographs, he’d had to lug it to the car. Her mother hadn’t found it unusual that she packed as though she were heading off on vacation instead of a dance. But maybe that was part of the problem. Ashley had once taken him to glimpse inside her mom’s closet; the woman must have had a couple of hundred different pairs of shoes and a thousand different outfits. Her closet could have housed a Buick.

“Don’t let me stop you. I’d hate for you to be out a dollar.”

Will turned away, and after zeroing in on the rim, he sent the ball arcing toward the basket. It bounced off the rim and backboard before dropping in. That was one. Two more and he’d actually win a prize.

As the ball rolled back, the carnival worker sneaked a glance at Ashley. Ashley, meanwhile, hadn’t seemed to have even noticed the worker’s presence.

When the ball rolled down the net and back to Will, he picked it up again and glanced at the carnival worker. “Has anyone won today?”

“Of course. Lots of winners every day.” He continued to stare at Ashley as he answered. No surprise there. Everyone always noticed Ashley. She was like a flashing neon sign for anyone with an ounce of testosterone.

Ashley took another step forward, pirouetted, and leaned against the booth. She smiled at Will again. Ashley had never been one for subtlety. After being crowned homecoming queen, she’d worn the tiara all night.

“You played well today,” she said. “And your serve has gotten a lot better.”

“Thanks,” Will answered.

“I think you’re almost as good as Scott.”

“No way,” he said. Scott had been playing volleyball since he was six; Will had taken up the game only after his freshman year. “I’m quick and I can jump, but I don’t have the complete game Scott does.”

“I’m just telling you what I saw.”

Focusing on the rim, Will exhaled, trying to relax before shooting the ball. It was the same thing his coach had always told him to do at the free-throw line, not that it ever seemed to improve his percentage. This time, though, the ball swished through the net. Two for two.

“What are you going to do with the stuffed animal if you win?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Do you want it?”

“Only if you want me to have it.”

He knew she wanted him to offer it to her as opposed to asking him for it. After two years together, there were few things he didn’t know about her. Will grabbed the ball, exhaled again, and took his final shot. This one, however, was a touch too hard, and the ball bounced off the back rim.

“That was close,” the worker said. “You should try again.”

“I know when I’m beat.”

“Tell you what. I’ll take a dollar off. Two dollars for three shots.”

“That’s all right.”

“Two dollars and I’ll let both of you take three shots.” He grabbed the ball, offering it to Ashley. “I’d love to see you give it a try.”

Ashley stared at the ball, making it obvious she’d never even contemplated such an idea. Which she probably hadn’t.

“I don’t think so,” Will said. “But thanks for the offer.” He turned toward Ashley. “Do you know if Scott is still around?”

“He’s at the table with Cassie. Or at least that’s where they were when I went to find you. I think he likes her.”

Will headed in that direction, Ashley right beside him.

“So we were talking,” Ashley said, sounding almost casual, “and Scott and Cassie thought it might be fun to head over to my place. My parents are in Raleigh for some event with the governor, so we’d have the place to ourselves.”

Will had known this was coming. “I don’t think so,” he said.

“Why not? It’s not like anything exciting is happening around here.”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Is it because we broke up? It’s not like I want us to get back together.”

Which was why you came to the tournament, he thought. And got dressed up tonight. And came to find me. And suggested going to your place, since your parents aren’t home.

But he didn’t say those things. He wasn’t in the mood to argue, nor did he want to make things any harder than they already were. She wasn’t a bad person; she just wasn’t for him.

“I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow morning, and I spent all day playing volleyball in the sun,” he offered instead. “I just want to go to sleep.”

She grabbed his arm, bringing him to a stop. “Why don’t you take my calls anymore?”

He said nothing. There was really nothing he could say.

“I want to know what I did wrong,” she demanded.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what is it?”

When he didn’t answer, she gave him a beseeching smile. “Just come over and we’ll talk about it, okay?”

He knew she deserved an answer. The only problem was that it was an answer she wouldn’t want to hear.

“Like I said, I’m just tired.”

“You’re
tired,
” Scott bellowed. “You told her you were
tired
and you wanted to go to
sleep?
”

“Something like that.”

“Are you insane?”

Scott stared at him across the table. Cassie and Ashley had long since headed up the pier to talk, no doubt dissecting everything Will had said to Ashley, adding unnecessary drama to a situation that probably should have remained private. With Ashley, though, there was always drama. He had the sudden sense that the summer was going to be a long one.

“I
am
tired,” Will said. “Aren’t you?”

“Maybe you didn’t hear what she was suggesting. Me and Cassie, you and Ashley? Her parents’ place at the beach?”

“She mentioned it.”

“And we’re still here because…?”

“I already told you.”

Scott shook his head. “No… see, that’s where you lose me. You use the ‘
I’m tired
’ excuse on your parents when they want you to wash the car, or when they tell you to get up so you can make it to church. Not when it comes to an opportunity like this.”

Will said nothing. Though Scott was only a year younger—he’d be a senior at Laney High School in the fall—he often acted as if he were Will’s older and wiser brother.

Except that night at the church…

“See that guy over there at the basketball booth? Now him, I get. He stands there all day trying to get people to play the game so he can earn a little money and buy himself some beer and cigarettes at the end of his shift. Simple. Uncomplicated. Not my kind of life, but one I can understand. But you, I don’t get. I mean… did you
see
Ashley tonight? She’s gorgeous. She looks like that chick in
Maxim
.”

“And?”

“My point is, she’s hot.”

“I know. We were together for a couple of years, remember?”

“And I’m not saying you have to get back together with her. All I’m suggesting is that the four of us head over to her place, have some fun, and see what happens.”

Scott leaned back in his seat. “And by the way? I still don’t understand why you broke up with her in the first place. It’s obvious she’s still into you, and you two always seemed perfect together.”

Will shook his head. “We weren’t perfect together.”

“You’ve said that before, but what does that mean? Is she, like… psycho or something when you two are alone? What happened? Did you find her standing over you with a butcher knife, or did she howl at the moon when you went to the beach?”

“No, nothing like that. It just didn’t work out, that’s all.”

“It just didn’t work out,” Scott repeated. “Can you even hear yourself?”

When Will showed no signs of relenting, Scott leaned across the table. “C’mon, man. Do this for me, then. Live a little. It’s summer vacation. Take one for the team.”

“Now you sound desperate.”

“I am desperate. Unless you agree to go with Ashley tonight, Cassie won’t go with me. And we’re talking about a girl who’s ready to ‘Romance the Stone.’ She wants to ‘Free Willy.’”

“I’m sorry. But I can’t help you.”

“Fine. Ruin my life. Who cares, right?”

“You’ll survive.” He paused. “You hungry?”

“A little,” Scott grumbled.

“C’mon. Let’s get some cheeseburgers.”

Will got up from the table, but Scott continued to pout. “You need to practice digging,” he said, referring to the earlier volleyball games. “You were sending the ball in every direction. It was all I could do to keep us in the games.”

“Ashley told me I was as good as you are.”

Scott snorted and pushed up from the table. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

After standing in line for their food, Will and Scott moved to the condiment stand, where Scott drenched his burger in ketchup. It squeezed out the sides as Scott put the bun back on.

“That’s disgusting,” Will commented.

“So get this. There was this guy named Ray Kroc and he started this company called McDonald’s. Ever heard of it? Anyway, on his original hamburger—in many ways the original American hamburger, mind you—he insisted that ketchup be added. Which should tell you how important it is to the overall taste.”