Kian

IT'S AROUND 11:30 PM when Kian texts me.



I meet up with Giovanni outside his garage. He greets me with a nod.

“Hey,” he says softly before opening his mom’s car door. “Listen, you're probably thinking why am I helping this dude at this hour and so,” he continues to talk before letting me speak, “thank you for doing this, Beth.”

I glance down at my watch and it reads 11:38 PM. I hop into the car and he's starting the car engine. We drive around town, passing Town Square, Dale’s Diner, Tuck’s Bowling Alley, Beasley High, the Coffee House and Bake n’ Roll and still see no sight of Jonathan. We drive out of Beasley and head east.

Giovanni’s gripping onto the steering wheel, knuckles turning pale, even I noticing it in the darkness. He pulls up at a stop light and sighs.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, looking at me.

I look at Giovanni and he’s pressing his lips into a straight line. I first notice his dark undereye circles. He needs sleep, but now wouldn't be a good time to tell him that.

“I’m okay,” I say, tugging at my seatbelt. “Does John hang out at specific spots outside of town?”

He parts his lips. “Yeah, sometimes he’s at a bar not far from the main highway.”

“Maybe he's at a friend's house?” I breathe. The light turns green and he presses on the gas. “Has he posted anything on his Snap or Instagram lately? He could be out with some friends.”

“He's not,” Giovanni snaps, clenching his jaw. I look out the window and stay quiet. He sighs. “Beth, I’m sorry.”

I press my lips together.

“I'm sorry,” he repeats. “I–I just know he's not with a friend. He's been acting weird for a while, and–and I don't know how to put it into words but my brother, dude, my brother is somewhere and he could be in trouble.”

I'm still looking out the window. Up ahead, I see a hot dog stand sign that illuminates neon yellow and blue lights.

“He's my brother, and he sucks but he's still my brother. And I'm just worried and I know that isn't a good excuse to snap at you, but Beth–”

We pass by the hot dog stand and I see a figure sitting on the pavement, staring down at the ground. The glowing sign from the hot dog stand bounces on the person’s navy blue hoodie. The bright lights allow me to read the golden letters UCSB on it.

“Beth, I'm sor–” Gio tries again but I interrupt.

“He's there!”

Giovanni abruptly hits the break, before apologizing.



It’s a quarter past twelve when we spot Jonathan at Mat’s Hot Dog Stand. He’s sitting on the pavement, holding a soda cup.

Giovanni walks up to him and kneels next to him. It doesn't take long for Jonathan to scoff at his brother. He switches his attention between Giovanni and me before looking down at the ground.

Giovanni walks back to me and offers that I talk to him. Before I can object, he mutters, “I'll wait in the car,” and walks away, leaving Jonathan and me alone.

I think about ignoring Jonathan's sad boy vibes. But instead, I walk closer to him.

I slide down and sit next to Jonathan on the ground. I hug my knees close to my chest, whispering, “Did you eat?”

He places the straw next to his lips before putting it down. He coughs.

“Yeah.” Jonathan doesn't look at me. “Why do you always ask me that question?”

His tone isn't sharp but it isn't exactly warm. If his voice is one thing, it's tight.

I shrug. But he does not see it.

I mutter, “Food makes people feel better, right?”

He shrugs.

He's still silent.

He's looking ahead of us, straight into his mom’s car, through the windows and directly at Giovanni.

“Why'd you come here, Bethany?” he demands, pinning his eyes on his brother. “Did Gio make you?”

I shake my head and whisper, “No, but the better question is why are you here?”

He ignores my question. He instead asks, “Did Kian make you?”

I'm quiet, pulling my hands tighter around my knees.

He snaps his head to the left, no longer looking ahead of him.

“Of course he did.” He scoffs, “Kian–always doing good.” He barks, “Always fixing the broken! Always the perfect one.”

Jonathan's lips curl downwards and I can tell sadness overtook his normal self. His lips start to quiver but he tries to cover it up by pressing his lips into a thin line. He sucks air into his nose harshly, sniffing loudly.

I furrow my eyebrows at his remarks, parting my lips. My eyes trail his face, hoping he’d look at me. He doesn't.

“Why are you here, Bethany?” he repeats softer. He takes in a deep breath, biting into his lower lip.

I pull my hands tighter around my knees, thinking of staying quiet because that I didn't know what to say.

He turns his head slowly and I get a better look at his face. His eyes are deep, similar to his brother's but instead, John's eyes are red and puffy. Across his cheekbones is a fresh cut.

I start to stretch out my legs while asking about the cut on his face. Jonathan ignores the question.

Suddenly, I do something I didn't expect I'd ever do.

I begin to trace a finger on his cut, trailing the side of his face. I stop the moment he places his hand on mine.

We both freeze.

Jonathan stares at me, with eyes running all over my face. He leans closer, parting his lips. His breaths quicken the moment he stops just inches away from my face. He nudges his nose against my nose before leaning a little bit forward to place his lips on mine. Jonathan cups his fingers around my neck, pulling me closer and deeper into his kiss. He starts to move his lips to the side of my neck before I tilt my head back. His lips part from mine in a second before he looks at me, apologetically.

He whispers, “It's hard to sit next to you without wanting to kiss you.”

My lips part as a small gasp escapes, but no words come out.

“I'm sorry,” he mutters, letting out a heavy breath. His eyes trail down.

We stay quiet for a minute and it feels like the longest minute of my life.

“Actually,” Jonathan sniffs, talking a bit slower, “I'm not sorry for kissing you.” He brushes a hand through his hair, still not looking at me.

He sniffs again, shaking his head, dropping it into the palms of his hands.

I feel the inside of my pockets vibrate and it's my phone.



The beat of my heart stops for a second as it sinks a little bit deeper into my chest; almost as if it knows that it's being pulled down by the saddest of feelings.