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“Well who’s next in line now, you think?” I yell out from the back of the closet, tossing out garment after garment. “Bernadette? One of those new guys?”
“Who cares,” he huffs.
I finally find a pair of black dress pants and decide those will have to do. I’m not in the mood to dress up too much anyway.
“Anyway…even if I can’t talk to Bridgett, I should at least be there as…I don’t know. A sign or something. It might make her feel better to have me around,” I explain as I slide on a dark, sheer sweater. “She didn’t like Malcolm any more than we did, but he was still her cousin.”
I leave him to sulk as I finish getting ready in the bathroom. He’s still sitting there looking miserable when I come out.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, walking over to drag him out of the chair.
“Jameson Automobiles,” he answers quietly, looking almost shameful. “I guess I shouldn’t care. But at least with Malcolm around, I knew things would be in his hands when Liam croaked. Even if Malcolm was just as messed up as his dad. Now who will it go to? One of those strangers they brought into town? Malcolm may not have been a blood relative, but we still grew up together.”
“Why wouldn’t Bernadette take it over?” I suggest.
“Yeah right,” he scoffs. “She’d never sign up for something like that.”
“I don’t know…she seemed pretty concerned with the welfare of the company when she was working to rob you of everything,” I remind him. “Why do you care anyway? Jameson was fucked the moment they stole it from you. I’d think you’d enjoy watching it crumble right before their eyes.”
He stares off into the distance. “It’s bred into me to care I guess,” he shakes his head. “Even if it’s not mine anymore, it’s still my family’s legacy.”
I want to comfort him, but I’m still angry with the way he teamed up with the rest of my family to attack me. Pile that on top of everything else that’s been going on, and I don’t exactly feel like a top-notch girlfriend at the moment. I just want to get this funeral over with and pick a school so I can get the hell out of here. I don’t care anymore about whatever happens with these car companies or the Elites after that.
“I better get going,” I tell him. “You staying here…or…?”
“No,” he snaps to. “I’m going home.”
I head for the door, hating how lost Emmett looks. Ordinarily, I’d drop everything to try and help him find his way, but I just don’t have it in me right now.
The funeral service is cold and traditional. As is the burial afterward. The men stand around in their expensive suits and the women in their big black floppy hats. Everyone in sunglasses, as if it’d be too awful to imagine anyone seeing the Elites and their friends and family showing real emotion. They have to hide their tears like ice queens.
I still feel out of place, even as I sit and stand among them. I wonder if I’m welcome at all, so I stand back a ways from the burial site. Once it’s over, I wait for the rest of the crowd disperse before leaving. But as I wait, I notice I’m not the only one lingering in the cemetery. A tall, dark figure stands over the grave in privacy. As I walk closer, I realize it’s Coach Granger. I want to leave him alone and get away without disturbing him, but a twig snaps under my shoe as I turn to go.
“Ophelia,” he calls out for me.
“Oh, hey,” I spin around in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
“It’s no bother,” he says, looking back down to the grave. “I was wondering if you’d be here or not.”
“I’m kind of surprised you’re here, honestly,” I confess as I step closer. “After what Malcolm did to your son…”
“It’s sad any time someone young dies so suddenly,” he replies. “My son…Malcolm…my heart hurts for both of them.”
“But your son would probably still be here if it hadn’t been for Malcolm,” I blurt without thinking, quickly realizing it was probably a harsh, unnecessary reminder.
He nods with a somber sort of acceptance. We’re both quiet for a moment as we stare down at the fresh dirt. I wish I had more thoughts on his death. I wish it brought up feelings about the meaning of life and the shortness of it, and why are we all here anyway? But all I can think is I know exactly why this happened. One way or another, Malcolm is just another victim of Jameson. I don’t trust any event like this being a natural occurrence. Not anymore.
“You’ll be the last runner I ever train, Lopez,” he says suddenly. “Once you’re gone, I’m retiring and leaving Jameson.”
“You can’t!” I plead. “You’re such a great coach. You could help so many more students.”
“I’m tired,” he says sternly. “I knew what I was getting myself into at WJ Prep. I thought if nothing else I could take a few of the spoiled brats and be one of the only people in their lives who demanded genuine excellence from them. The only person who didn’t put up with their twisted hierarchy and let them get away with their games. But I didn’t count on finding people like you mixed up in it all. And then…my son.”
I stare back down to the flowers piled on top of the grave and wish Malcolm’s death would change something, but Emmett is right. When one goes down, another one pops up in their place.
“It’s a shame,” he adds somberly. “If Malcolm had been given a chance, maybe he could have changed eventually.”
“People never change,” I scoff.
