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don’t know how I feel without hurting his feelings ? I mean, I might like him. ”
    Girls really are crazy. Even normal seeming ones like Amber. “Maybe if you told him you liked him, and left off the ‘but’ at the end of it.”
    She laughs. “Well, that wouldn’t really help my case, would it?” Her eyes meet mine again, and there I feel it, in my gut. No one’s eyes should affect me this way.
    “Nope,” I agree. “ Just his.”
    “Is this one of those universal guy things of getting the girl no matter who it’s for?”
    “ Definitely not.” I don’t want him to have her. What the hell’s wr ong with me? Let her run to him. T hat would sure un - complicate things for me. My eyes take in her eyes another time. “I gotta go.” I half leap to standing. I cannot let this girl get under my skin, which means I need out of here.
    “See you Antony.” How can her voice be so relaxed after we sat so close? I’m totally screwed here.
    “See you.” I back out of the door and take a long drink of my Cappuccino. Probably I should spend some ti me catching up on school work.
    - - -
    Dad’s face is pale as I step down into the boat. At least I know how to get the damn door closed now.
    “What’s up?” I ask.
    “I…” A tear drips from his eye.
    “ Dad?”
    “Sit down.”
    Our eyes lock . This is big. Something big. My heart’s making that part clear, banging around inside me.
    I’m shaking, all through. The news isn’t for him. It’s for me. I’m numb, tingling .
    “Your Mom’s plane went down . T he small one they chartered for the last flight in . The whole crew was on board.”
    “I…” M y mouth is thick, stuffed with cotton. My breath st abs into my lungs. Sharp breath. I get it now. “Is she okay?” I can’t believe I’m asking this about Mom. My mom.
    His head shakes.
    There has to be some mistake. Has to be. Some mix-up or something. Maybe she wasn’t actually on that plane. Maybe she…
    “They have her body, Antony. They’re sending her home.”
    Body. Mom. Not okay. Pain and disbelief start to pull me apart from the inside. I go numb and fill with a wretched aching a t the same time. This can’t be happening.
    Dad steps toward me. I need away. Alone. I push myself away from the table and shut the door to my room.
    “Antony, if you need anything, let me know, ” he calls through the door.
    I sit on my bed and lean against the wall. My whole body is actually shaking, not just my insides, but my legs, my hands.
    Tears hit my lap before I realize I’m crying. How can Mom not be okay? It still feels too much to be real. I’m alone. Seriously, really, alone. Nothing makes sense. Nothing. How is the boat n ot shaking? How am I still sitting here?
    Dad opens my door, steps in and sits on the opposite side of the bed from me. He has a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He fills one to halfway and hands it to me without a word . Then he pours one for himself.
    I drink. J ust keep swallowing the burning stuff until my glass is empty. Dad doesn’t ask— he fills it up again. And now I get why it’s cool to have a dad. Mom would want to talk, to hold me. Dad knows I need a drink. Hell, he probably needs a drink.
    The heat from the liquid fills me, warms me, and the pain still wracks me from the inside, but it’s duller. I down the second glass. It could still all be a big mistake. All of it. She could be okay. Maybe she was on a different plane. Maybe it wa s a different film crew. Maybe. I’m going to fill my head full of maybes. It sure beats the shit out of the alternative.
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Five
     
    I’ve gotten calls or texts from almost all my close friends in New York. Everyone from the Today Show has sent me an email or left a message on my phone. The president of NBC called me to give his condolences . I don’t want any of it. I just want my mom. All of it fades into the minutes and hours, and seconds, an d little bits of time that don’t mean anything