May Kill Me

Twenty-Six

"Does he look familiar?" 

Jonathan turned his phone to me, the large screen filled with a photograph of a young man looking at the camera, his sandy hair (either damp or gelled) combed back. The photo showed him only torso up, clad in a tight white shirt without any logos. 

"He looks like..." I paused, my mouth dropping open. 

The Outlander. 

"Is that him?" I grabbed the phone from his hand, zooming in on the face. 

"I think so," Jonathan nodded, leaning back. The booth's leather squeaked under his weight. 

"How did you find him?" I studied the face looking back at me from the screen. He certainly fitted the description. All he was missing was a baseball hat. 

"As it turns out, I didn't have to look for too long. I feel stupid for not seeing it right away." Jonathan sighed heavily. And I had to admit it felt strange being in a place where he appeared to be trying to help me. 

"If this is our guy, and that's still an if, then his name is Alex Diaz. He's originally from New Mexico." 

"Your coffee," Our waitress came by with two cups of black coffee and a basket with small dairy creamers, "Nothing to eat?" She asked hopefully. 

"We're good," Jonathan waved her off without even looking at her. 

She sniffed at us before turning away. 

"Like I said, I should have known it was him right away." Jonathan shook his head as if to indicate how disappointed in himself he was.

I still wasn't buying it. This whole thing could have been a ploy to get suspicion off him and his puppet Noah: show me a picture of some random dude and blame him for everything that has been happening to me. 

"I know him from baseball camp. From ages ten to thirteen, I'll go to a baseball summer camp in Colorado. Most of the boys there were like me, from an upper-middle-class background. And then there was Alex. He was in McKinley County New Mexico, living with his grandmother. Alex got a scholarship for being really good at baseball. And for being poor. Mostly for being poor, though." 

Jonathan glanced at the cup of coffee the waitress placed before him, and pushed it a few centimeters away from him. 

"Everyone was giving him a hard time because he wasn't like us. I felt kinda bad because it wasn't his fault he didn't have the advantages the rest of us did, and honestly he was pretty good at baseball. So we became friends. Alex needed friends, at least in camp." He paused, glancing around the diner. 

I followed his gaze, spotting Mom, Samantha, and Kate sitting at one of the tables at the center of the restaurant with Kate's fries at the center.       

Samantha waved at me hesitantly.  

"We became friends. I was the only person he had at camp who was actually nice to him." Jonathan made another dramatic pause, running his hand through his hair before continuing, "We kept in touch even after the camp was over; I felt bad for Alex, I really did. We had the privilege of going back to our McMansions and swimming pools while kids like Alex went back to trailers and dysfunctional families. I felt sorry for him, so I kept in touch, even sent him a Christmas present and everything. I saw him again next summer, and because we were friends, others around us began accepting him as well. At least as much as they could. When we went back home again, I began to hear more frequently from Alex. He'd text me at least once a day, and call every other day. He'd go on and on about how he hated his life and family in New Mexico, and how he wanted to get into a school here. He was applying to get into one of the private schools here. I mean, all in all, I was happy for him. He was certainly doing everything he possibly could to make something out of himself, and at first, I thought he needed someone to motivate him in his journey. That was until he started getting the rejection letters. One after another, school after school was saying no. Even though his grades were good, no one was offering him a full scholarship or even enough financial aid to cover half the cost. Alex was getting really frustrated, asking me if maybe I could do something to help. But what the hell was I supposed to do? I was just a kid!" Jonathan shrugged.