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“What, even though we’re stone cold sober?” She glances over to me and throws me a little grin like she’s testing the waters. I grin back, trying to let her know I’m glad teasing’s back on the table. If she’s teasing me, I guess that means I’m forgiven.
“Yeah, actually. I literally can’t remember the last time I had any fun that didn’t involve substances of some kind.”
“Don’t you ever worry about what that’s doing to your insides?”
“Not really,” I say, contemplating mortality for the first time. “Maybe I should, though.”
Even though she’s definitely casting judgement upon me, her tone is caring, almost. Like she’s really my friend and she’s not just here for attention or money or status. “Yeah, you probably should.”
“I’ve never had a friend like you. Maybe that’s why I’ve never had sober fun before.”
She pauses. We’ve hit the fork in the middle of the park — the path follows a Y shape and, in the summer, kids always set up a baseball diamond in the V. It’s barren now, except for the birds and occasional scrawny squirrel. I never understand how they manage to stay alive. Same as me, I guess.
Anna looks squarely at me, her expression unreadable. She has all these faces that she pulls, and I have no idea what any of them mean. It’s probably bad that I can’t recognize the full scope of human emotions. She makes me want to learn. “Don’t you ever want to change?” she asks.
I point right and she nods in agreement. In perfect sync, we continue our adventure.
CHAPTER16
ANNA
As we set off back on our walk, Joel contemplates my question out loud. “I don’t think I’ve ever thought that much about it. I guess some part of me knows that I’ve been getting worse because that’s the only way people notice me for more than the net worth.”
“And the pretty face,” I add, both teasing and trying to see how he reacts. Trying to see if he realizes I’m pretending to be less sincere than I am.
He chuckles. “And the pretty face. I was homeschooled, you know.”
I don’t bother to hide my surprise. “Really? I don’t think I know anyone else who never went to real school.”
“There’s more of us than you think.” He shrugs. “I had the best tutors that money can buy.”
“Of course.”
“And that’s when I started becoming the Joel you know and love today.”
I’m glad I’m tipping the last of my drink into my mouth because the cup obscures the panicked look on my face. He’s joking. I know he’s joking. He doesn’t know quite how close to the money he is though. Not that Ilovehim. I’m not going that far, even if there’s a little voice in the back of my head that’s sayingyet.
“Actually, it was Nanny Padilla that started it. She was an enormous woman with an enormous voice and I loved her so much. She was basically a mother to me because my mom’s always off in Dubai or Milan or Delhi or wherever doing something glamorous. But Nanny Padilla used to read me a story every night, and she always told me,Mijo, to get noticed in this world you have to be something fabulous.”
He doesn’t look at me while he speaks, his attention focused instead on passing crows and the dark, swaying branches of the trees. I don’t interrupt. This is Joel unfiltered, honest. My heart is racing with the knowledge that he doesn’t say this stuff to just anyone. He trusts me. He wants me to know him. So I listen.
“She got fired when I turned eight. Never knew why. I cried for weeks about it and when I got a new nanny I used to draw on all the walls to get her into trouble.”
“Now it’s all making sense,” I say, unable to help myself from chipping in.
He smiles but it’s sad, a brave kind of smile trying to hide the real feelings beneath. I don’t want to feel sorry for him — as far as tragic backstories go,my parents were mildly absentisn’t the biggest sympathy winner. But it does explain a lot about him and it’s making me see just how lonely he is. Even all the money in the world can’t buy its way out of that.
“From that point on, it became all about underage drinking and minor acts of arson and trying to be as outrageous as possible because then I would be noticed. Maybe I could have been noticed for doing something else, I don’t know. I donate to charity. I write off medical debt. I buy books for schools, all that kind of shit. But that never gets younoticed. You get a pat on the back and a faint glow of doing good, but no one really sees you. But jumping on a casino table and getting your dick out? That gets headlines and a call from your dad.”
“You’re kind of messed up, you know.”
He gives me the hollowest chuckle I’ve ever heard. “I know. There’s like, starving kids in Africa — hell, there’s starving kids right on the streets of this city and here I am whining on about being a billionaire.”
“So do better,” I say as if it’s that simple. I’ve been living in Ben’s shadow forever, I know how much it sucks to be the disappointment, the failure, to sink into your own guilt because it could be so, so much worse. To be doing all you can but still feel like it’s never enough because you still hurt and there’s still suffering in the world. To feel like you’re drowning in it.
It reminds me I need to call my therapist.
Joel tosses his empty cup into a trash can and it hits the edge, balancing like an acrobat for a second before plunging into the bag. “Nice idea,” he says. “But I don’t think I can change now.”
