Dear Diary

5. THE BOY WHO LEFT

J E R O M E

I reread the words on the paper. The words Sidney apparently wrote.

All thanks to my dear Jerome.

Man, the guilt is insurmountable. She thanked me like what we did—what I did—was right. Like it was cool. And it straight up just wasn't. Six words made me feel like crap in under the same amount of seconds after trying so hard to bury the memory. So much for that.

"Chace is in town?" Gio asks from the opposite side of the booth we're sitting in. "Since when was that a thing?"

"He claims he came back halfway through summer," Samara answers by his side.

"I'm surprised he's back at all," Kelly says.

"So why did he leave?" Gio says. "Was it because Rome didn't . . . well, you know."

"It's more than that," I say. I can't avoid telling the truth anymore. Not when someone left this for me to find, whatever the motive. "I'll tell you guys what happened. From the beginning."

***

"You suck at this game," Chace chided as he shot me for the fifteenth time.

"Shut up. I don't play shooting games like that," I said.

My eyes were fixated on the bright TV screen in the dimness of Chace's bedroom as we sat on his bed, doing our best to murder each other in-game. He was currently whooping my ass.

We'd been hanging out most the day and that encompassed a few beers here and there. Chace had managed to snag plenty from his dad's stash. Not like the man would notice any missing with how much he had in stock.

"Excuses," Chace said.

"I don't even get the point," I said. "We run around aimlessly until we find and kill each other."

"Oh yeah? And what's so exciting about shooting a ball through a net? You don't even play in real life."

I paused the game and faced him. "Don't be hating on 2k like that."

"Don't hate on my shooters."

I set the console controller aside, and rubbed my eyes, a mouthy yawn escaping. "Mind if I crash here?"

Chace shrugged. "Sure. You know Dad doesn't give a shit."

"How are things with him anyway?"

"You saw the stash. He doesn't go a day without getting drunk. The saving grace is he passes out in his room afterwards. Surprised the man doesn't have alcohol poisoning at this point." He said the last sentence with a hint of asperity.

"Guess that means the fights are still bad."

"Why do you think I've basically been living at your house the past few weeks?"

"I'm sorry, man," I said, lying back onto his bed. "That's effed up. You're always welcome at my place, though."

"I kinda feel like a burden being there all the time."

"What burden? Pops is cool with you around and so am I. If I didn't like your ass, I'd tell you."

Chace chuckled. "Good. Hey, I took some photos yesterday." He fetched his camera—a Canon EOS Rebel SL2—from its bag on the desk chair. He sat on the bed again, and I sat up as he flipped open the LCD display and toggled through the photos he took. "Went by the beach."