Page 16 of Furious

“I hesitate to use the word hero, but if it fits …”

Grandma Jolene cackled at that reply and swatted me. “Pour me another glass of sweet tea and I’ll tell you what I know, though I’m not sure how helpful it’ll be.”

There was a lot Grandma Jolene told me that I don’t think El needs to know, or wants to hear. I wouldn’t, if it was about someone I loved.

“Grandma Jolene does remember Max,” I say now to El, carefully. “Though she couldn’t tell me where Max is and she wouldn’t show me any of her files. But Grandma Jolene thinks the jacket might be with some of Max’s friends. She mentioned someone named Riley, who stopped by the shop to pick up the stuff your sister left behind. Do you know who that is?”

El shook her head. “Never heard of him.”

I paused, not quite sure how to reply. Grandma Jolene had a lot of things to say about Riley. None of them kind.

“I only know what she told me,” I say, trying for casual but coming across a bit squeaky. “But, according to her—and these are Grandma Jolene’s words, not mine—’Riley is an asshole and total dirtbag. He was Max’s on-again, off-again boyfriend and they used to get into trouble. He loves bikes and races them illegally, but he also is a jerk.’”

El scoffs as my words land. “That can’t be right. Max always told me about her boyfriends. And she wouldn’t date a guy like that. I know she wouldn’t.”

“I just know what Grandma Jolene told me.” I kick at a clump of hay. “I’m not sure why she would lie, but it might not be true.”

“Of course it’s not true,” snaps El. She scrunches up her face, as if she’s holding back tears.

That look tells a different story than El’s defensive words. It says that if Max was keeping one secret from her sister, maybe she’d been keeping other bigger secrets. Maybe El didn’t really know the person she misses. Shit. These are big feelings and hard ones.

Suddenly, I know in my bones that getting close to El is about a whole lot more than flirting with a cute girl. If Max was the person Grandma Jolene depicted and not the perfect older sister El had in mind, it is going to hurt for El to wrap her brain around that fact. And I’m not sure how much hurt I can take while grappling with my own pain. Maybe the best thing to do is to leave it alone. Get out of there before I get to know El any better and this tiny crush of mine digs in and becomes anything serious.

El interrupts my thoughts. “So, Riley has Max’s jacket. Do you think he knows where she is?” She leans against her shovel, all her certainty gone, her shoulders slumped.

“That’s what Grandma Jolene thought.”

El chews on her bottom lip. “Max didn’t exactly ask me to find her. My parents don’t even want to find her, and … I don’t know how to do this alone.” Her voice shudders on the last word, the one syllable, her voice carrying months of heartbreak and doubt.

It’s her hesitation that makes up my mind. It’s sweet, vulnerable, and somehow it feels like she’s trusting me with an enormous secret. Besides, I can’t do much about Dad’s pain, but this is a problem I can help solve.

“Hey.” I put my shovel down and rest my hands lightly on El’s shoulders. Her eyes widen at my touch, but she doesn’t move away. “You’re not alone. Where you ride, I ride, remember?”

El shoots me a tentative smile, making my heart leap. Okay. Fine. This is definitely a crush, I like El, and I don’t want to see her hurt. CJ would probably tell me this fierce, protective feeling is due to my not having anyone else to talk to besides my dad and Grandma Jolene, but it feels like more than that.

Two days, JoJo. You’ve known this girl for two days. Keep. It. Together.

I drop my arms and pick up my shovel.

“Thank you,” El says, picking up her own shovel.

We finish cleaning that first stable and move on to the next one. Conversation flows, and I find out El’s favorite ice cream flavor—licorice! unbelievable—her first movie crush—Letty Ortiz, relatable—and that she likes to sing ‘80s songs under her breath while she works. (“Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” Adorable.)

After we’ve groomed the horses and ridden a few around the paddock (my first time riding a horse in years, and it’s not like a bicycle; you definitely forget, and I nearly fell off several times), things start to wrap up. I say goodbye to Zaynah and the others, but there’s no sign of El. Which is fine. Totally fine.

Except she’s waiting for me by my bi-bicycle.

“Nice wheels,” she says, holding back a smile.

“Barely street legal,” I say as I strap on my helmet.

“So, will we see you at the next volunteer gig?”

“Remind me when it is?”

“Next Saturday, at the Dell’s Hollow Nursing Home. We’re doing crafts with the seniors and helping them bake cookies.”

That’s so not my scene, but I can’t say no to El. And maybe there’s more to this volunteer stuff than I thought. I liked helping today. I liked being useful, being a part of things.