Myron took another bite of cereal. He may have nodded, I wasn’t sure.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
“I’ve known the family for a long time. Mr. Schultz grew up in this town.”
“Did he go to Kasselton High?”
“Yep.”
“Your year?”
“No,” Myron said. “Your father’s.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that. “Did they know each other?”
“Your father and Mr. Schultz? Sure. They knew each other since grade school.”
I tried to imagine that—a world where Buck’s father and my father played at recess or whatever as little kids. It was hard to see. “So yesterday you were talking to him and Randy.”
“Right.”
“What about?”
He took another spoonful of cereal, jammed it into his mouth, chewed too loudly for all the time it had sat in milk. “Do you know what I do for a living?”
“I thought you were retired,” I said.
“Temporarily, yeah. I mean, I sold my business. But do you know what I used to do?”
“You were a sports agent, right?”
“Right.”
I was using a wooden spatula to work my eggs.
“So that’s why they wanted to see you?” I asked.
“Pardon?”
Was Uncle Myron being intentionally thick? “Did Randy want you to be his agent?”
Myron’s words came out slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“What, then?”
“When I was training to become an agent, I went to law school.”
I knew about that. After Myron’s basketball career came to an abrupt end, he ended up at Harvard and became an attorney. “So?”
“So what people tell me is confidential.”
“When you’re acting as a lawyer.”
“Right.”
“So you’re Randy’s lawyer?”
“No.”
“I don’t get it, then.”
Uncle Myron started fidgeting. “Why are you so interested?” he asked.
“No reason,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. Then: “Do you know he has a brother, Buck?”
“Yeah, I know. He’s a senior. He’s given you some trouble, right?”
“Not anymore.”
Myron nodded. “Mr. Schultz told me. Buck moved back in with his mother. Something about a custody dispute. He was pretty upset about it.”
“So was that what he wanted to talk to you about?” I asked.
“I’m not a divorce lawyer,” Myron said.
“Is that a no?”
“It’s a no.”
I waited. Uncle Myron started reading the back of the cereal box closely now, as though it were religious scripture. “You’re not going to tell me what you guys were talking about, are you?”
He didn’t bother glancing up. “No, Mickey, I’m not.”
“Could you tell me if it had anything to do with Buck?”
Uncle Myron weighed that request before saying, “It doesn’t.”
“So,” I said, “the fact that Randy wanted to talk to you and Buck all of a sudden had to go live with his mom—that’s just a big coincidence?”
“Yes,” Myron said.
But I could hear in his tone that even he didn’t believe it.
Chapter 23
I met Ema at the bus stop. “It isn’t a VCR tape,” she said.
“What is it, then?”
“Something called a Betamax. Sony made them. I guess they were popular in the eighties, but they’re obsolete now.”
“So how do we watch it?”
“I don’t know. We could look online, I guess. See if anyone is selling a machine on eBay or something. Or we could go back to Bat Lady’s house and use the one in the tunnel.”
“You heard her.”
Ema nodded. “Never go back. She was pretty adamant about that.”
• • •
The bus hit some traffic near the Tappan Zee Bridge, but still made it in less than three hours. There were three Farnsworth students on our bus—all wearing jackets and ties—so we followed them. Campus was closer than we’d expected, less than a half-mile walk.
We stayed a step behind the three boys. Every once in a while they would turn around and look at us, wondering, I guess, why we were following them. Sometimes they stared openly at Ema. There may have been derision in their eyes, I couldn’t say for sure. Ema was decked out in her customary black—black clothes, black hair, black nail polish, black lipstick. Tattoos ran up and down her arms and across her neck.
I could almost feel her growing uncomfortable next to me, so I decided to break the tension by speaking: “Hey, guys.”
They all turned now and squinted at us.
“Do you know Jared Lowell?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure,” one of them said. The kid had a big mop of blond hair. “Why, you guys friends?”
I looked at Ema. She looked at me. Man, I hadn’t thought this through. “Uh, sort of.”
Under her breath Ema muttered, “Smooth.”
Blond Mop said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
But now Blond Mop looked at me with suspicion. We passed a place called Wilke’s Deli. A bunch of students were lined up to get lunch.
“Uh, I’m his cousin,” I said lamely.
Ema looked on in horror.
“You are?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess height runs in the family, then.”
“I guess.”
“If you’re his cousin,” Blond Mop said, “why did you say ‘sort of’ when I asked if you knew him?”
Ema folded her arms. She wanted to hear this too.
“Did I?” I fumbled. “Oh, I thought you asked if we were friends. We’re cousins. That’s ‘sort of’ friends. You know what I mean?” I smiled like the local TV anchorman. Up ahead I saw a tall white steeple that I recognized from the Farnsworth School website. We were getting close to campus. “Hey, nice meeting you.”
We quickly veered right. Out of the side of her mouth, Ema said, “Wow, you’re good.”
“Thanks.”
“I was being sarcastic.”
“Yeah, me too.”
She stopped. “Mickey?”
“What?”
“How do I look?”
“Great.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not.”