I overhear Mr. and Mrs. Matthews talking in the kitchen.
“They’ve got to be wrong,” Mrs. Matthews tells her husband in a low whisper. “My son wasn’t on amphetamines. He was smart and had so much to live for.”
“That’s what the initial toxicology report says. His heart gave out and he died of a heart attack. He had an overdose, Clara,” I can hear Trey’s father tell her. “He wasn’t dehydrated, and the school and Victor Salazar are not at fault. I’ve heard from the police. They’re ending their investigation after they receive the final report from the pathologist.”
Mrs. Matthews whimpers. “I don’t believe it,” she cries. “ I won’t believe that my son was on drugs. Ever.”
I step into the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Matthews suddenly become quiet. Mr. Matthews is all business as he herds us into the car and drives to the funeral home.
We arrive before everyone else. It’s hard to look at Trey’s mom. She’s wearing all black and can’t stop weeping. Just hearing her sobs makes my own tears flow down my cheeks.
Mr. Matthews is stoic. He’s greeting well-wishers with a thin-lipped, grim expression. There are no tears in his eyes, but I know it’s just a show. Trey and his dad were close. His dad was his biggest fan, attending every football game and proudly wearing a Fremont Rebel Parent shirt whenever I saw him at a school event. He bragged about Trey to everyone and anyone who would listen.
The line of people coming to pay their respects at the cemetery is longer than I’ve ever seen. It seems like the entire Fremont student body is here, along with most of the parents and Fremont teachers and staff.
I’m not shocked when I hear people talking about homecoming being canceled and the game against Fairfield being postponed. Trey’s death has had a ripple effect, and the entire town is reeling after losing one of its sons.
Someone taps me from behind. “Hey,” Ashtyn says in a comforting voice, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. “How are you holding up?”
I shrug, thinking of the pictures of Trey and Zara in my purse. And the fact that Trey’s death was most likely caused by an overdose that I might have been able to prevent.
“I don’t know.” It’s the only answer I can give right now.
Turning around to see Ash, Derek, Jet, and Bree standing behind me is reassuring, but I still have a weak sensation in the pit of my stomach. On top of that, my bones feel like they’re old and brittle. I woke up this morning stiff, and I haven’t been able to shake it off. I took my meds, but they haven’t taken the edge off like they usually do.
“Where’s Vic?” I ask, wondering if he knew all along about Trey and Zara.
“Nobody’s heard from him,” Jet says.
“Rumor has it he’s running with the Latino Blood,” Bree chimes in.
The Latino Blood gang? No. It can’t be.
I look at Ashtyn. She’s got a worried look on her face, but she quickly masks it and gives me a small smile. “I’m sure he’s okay. He’s not with the LB, Monika. That would be crazy.”
But Vic can be crazy. Trey and Vic were like brothers. Vic admitted more than once that if it weren’t for Trey he’d probably be dead. Trey was the calm one who brought some normalcy to Vic’s volatile life.
Now that Trey is gone, will Vic go off the deep end?
I feel like I’m about to lose it myself. I wish Vic were here so I could talk with him, to tell him that we’re both going through hell now that Trey’s not here. I’m nervous to call him. What would I say?
When I turn around to face the casket, the constant dull ache in my back starts throbbing.
“It is with great sadness that we say good-bye to Trey Aaron Matthews, a young man who was the ultimate role model to his peers,” the minister says as he stares down at the casket.
I dig my fingernails into my palms as I listen to the minister talk. My grief mixes with a heavy dose of anger and guilt.
“Trey’s presence will always be felt by the ones who loved him,” the minister continues.
But I don’t feel his presence.
All I feel is empty and alone.
Chapter Twenty-seven
VICTOR
“Yo, wake up!”
I’m lying on Isa’s couch, hoping to get some sleep. That’s obviously not going to happen though as I open my eyes at half-mast and see her crouching down next to me. Her face is inches from mine.
“I’m tryin’ to sleep,” I tell her.
“You’ve been sleepin’ for a week, Vic. Time to join the land of the living.”
“No thanks.” When I’m sleeping, my mind goes blank and my dark thoughts disappear for the moment. I don’t want to join the land of the living, not while Trey lies six feet under.
She pinches my arm. “Get up,” she orders.
I knock her hand away. “Ow! That hurt.”
“Good,” she says. “It was supposed to hurt.”
I brush my arm off and sit up. Looking out the window, I realize it’s not even light outside. “What time is it?”
“Ten. In the evening.” She tosses a gray hoodie at me. “Here, put this on. I gotta run an errand, and you’re comin’ with me.”
“I’ll stay here.”
“No. People die, Vic,” she says as if it’s something I didn’t know. “Hell, I’ve seen too many friends die right in front of my eyes. You never get over it, but you have to move on.”