by Brian Rowe
Everybody stopped what he or she was doing when Liesel, in her dorky waitress garb, started singing at the top of her lungs as she brought a huge slab of chocolate cake toward my table. Like before, the candle in the center wasn’t lit.
“Happy birthday to you… happy birthday to you…”
She set the slice of cake down in front of me and stared at me intensely, her pupils growing bigger by the second.
“Happy birthday dear Cameron… Happy birthday…”
She darted her eyes at the candle.
“…to you!”
Liesel snapped her fingers and jumped back, ready to see a violent spark of fire.
I slumped down in my chair and sighed. No flame appeared on the candle.
“What… but…” Liesel tried to speak, but only agitated noises escaped her mouth.
I shook my head and attempted a smile as the people around me performed a wave of soft, polite applause before going back to their meals.
“Why didn’t it work?” she asked, talking more to herself than to me. “I did everything the same. Every moment… every gesture…”
“Liesel, it’s OK.”
“We need to try again.”
“Maybe it worked. You don’t know.”
“It didn’t work, Cameron!” She shook my hand away. “Come on! We need to try again!”
She plunked herself down on the seat next to me. Her face screamed frustration.
“Think positive,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll start getting younger. Remember, I didn’t get old in the blink of an eye when you did the spell the first time. Maybe the process will reverse itself, and tomorrow I’ll be seventy-three, and the next day I’ll be seventy-two, and in a few weeks I’ll be back to normal—”
“It didn’t work,” she repeated. She wouldn’t look at me. “The thing is, I can’t recreate the intensity of what I was feeling that night. I just… I don’t know, Cameron.” Then she said the most tragic words of all: “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to save you.”
She looked like she needed somebody to lean onto. I allowed my chest to be her pillow as she pushed the top half of her body against mine.
“Hey, listen to me,” I said. “You’re the only person who’s actually trying to help me right now. Just you trying means the world to me.”
“But it’s my fault. Your problem is mine to undo!”
“No, it’s not. This is no one’s fault. Seriously. I had this coming.”
“And to think we finally had a chance to be together,” she said, bringing her eyes close to mine. “To think this could have finally been our time.”
I had been thinking the same thing. All I could think to say as I found her eye-line was: “I know.”
“But we’re running out of time,” she said, tears falling down her cheeks. “You’re getting older every day. And the longer it takes for me to fix you, the more chance there is for something horrible to happen to you.”
Again: “I know.”
“I’m gonna keep trying, OK? I won’t stop trying.”
“Shhh,” I said, bringing her head up against my aching right shoulder. “We’re gonna get through this, all right?”
She shook her head but kept her eyes focused on mine.
“Just have faith,” I said.
She buried her head back against my shoulder and continued to cry as I started brushing my fingers through her flowing red hair.
27. Seventy-Six
It didn’t work.
Two days had passed, and I wasn’t getting any younger. In fact I looked and felt like I had aged not two more years, but twenty.
The library was empty. I sat at a table near the back, sitting upright, controlling my breathing, trying not to break down in tears.
Oh, what’s the point?
My baggy basketball jersey hung over my knees. My arms were gangly and viciously unpleasant, and my face had officially transformed into the great-great-grandfather I never met.
I was seventy-six years old. And I was about to take part in the state championship basketball game, which this year was conveniently taking place at our own CRHS auditorium. We were playing the Vegas Suns, a seemingly unstoppable team who had won State the last three years in a row. I didn’t want to think negative, but I had a feeling luck wasn’t going to be on our side tonight.
I shifted in my seat and felt instant pain. I could feel my body breaking down with every passing hour, the daily excessive change finally taking its toll with ugly results.
Please God… Please… Make the pain go away…
“Cameron?”
I closed my eyes. Nope. Now you’re just giving me more pain.
“Cameron, is that you?”
I scooted my chair back and turned to my left to see Mrs. Gordon, relaxed in her appearance, apologetic in her facial expression.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked.
“Please don’t talk to me.”
“What? Why?”
“You damn know well why.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry about my behavior the other night, all right? It’s been five years since my husband died, and I just thought we might, you know, share something…”
She moved her left hand toward my face, but I leaned back in my chair as best my brittle bones would let me. “I’m seventeen, Mrs. Gordon. I’m still that seventeen-year-old kid. No matter what I look like on the outside.”
I could see disappointment in her eyes. “You’re right,” she said. “You’re absolutely right, Cameron. I don’t know what came over me. I’m very sorry.”
“As you should be.”
Awkward silence followed. I thought she would leave but instead, she took a step closer to me.
“Look, I’ll leave you alone, forever if you want, but I do have one more important question for you.”
I turned to her. Forever, huh? “Yeah? What’s that?”
“Isn’t there somewhere you’re supposed to be right now?”
I didn’t expect the question to be so obvious. I turned my head and crossed my arms. “Yeah… I’m not going.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said I’m not going.”
“Cameron!” she shouted, unexpectedly, stomping both her feet against the carpet. “You have your big game to get to! You have to be there! Your teammates need you!”
“Right,” I said with a chuckle. “I’ll really be able to help them, especially since I can barely stand up. I’m no help to them, Mrs. Gordon. I’m no help to anybody.”
“You don’t need to play to support your team, Cameron. You just need to get out on that bench and root for those teammates with everything you’ve got! It would mean the world to each and every one of them. I know it, and you know it.”
I looked around the room, realizing that this was the last time I would step foot in the school library.
“You know, it’s weird,” I said, surveying the computers, desks, and infamous bookshelves, “but I think I’m actually gonna miss this place.”
Mrs. Gordon sat down in the chair next to me. She, thankfully, didn’t try to put her hands on me this time.
“You need to get down to the gym. The game’s about to start.”
“I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what will be more painful, to play or not to play. I just want one more chance. I want to make everyone proud.”
“Cameron Martin!”
Mrs. Gordon screamed at the top of her lungs and slammed her fist on the table. I sat wide-eyed, my jaw dropped, not knowing what to do or say next.
“This is enough!” she shouted. “Will you stop sitting here, moping around my library like a scared little girl! I want you to get up off your old, lazy ass and get in that auditorium and support that team of yours this instant! Do you understand me! This is not a suggestion! It’s an order!”
“Mrs. Gordon—”
“Now! Do you hear me?”
“Mrs. Gordon!”
“What?”
I laughed. “You�
��re raising your voice.”
She smiled and leaned in toward me. “Sometimes the rules are made to be broken.”
Her screaming seemed to work because, before I realized it, she was helping me onto my feet, and I soon found myself heading toward the library’s exit.
“All right,” I said.
“OK,” Mrs. Gordon said. She slapped my bony butt with her right hand as I marched away. “Now scram!”
I made my way out of the library and started fast walking down the hall. I wanted to run but couldn’t. I wanted to sprint but there was no way. I didn’t want to exert myself now. I wanted to see this final game through.
The closer I got to the gym, the more noise I could hear echoing down the expansive hallway.
OK, I thought. Let’s do this.
---
Home, 70. Visitors, 80.
I sat on the bench, barely able to hear myself think as the roar from the audience started inflicting damage upon my eardrums. I had been sitting out the entire game, but this time, I wasn’t trying to blackmail Coach Welch to let me play. I was in no condition to play—even I had to admit that. And all I wanted to do at this point, in the exciting fourth quarter, was cheer on my teammates.
“Time!”
The Vegas Suns crowded around their coach as they started discussing their next move.
I nodded at Aaron as he sat down at another bench, and then I smiled at Welch, who didn’t seem to notice me.
“Coach won’t let you play, huh?” a familiar voiced asked to the side of me.
I turned to my right to see, of all people, Ryan. He chugged some water out of his giant thermos and started tapping his fingers against his knees.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yes, Cameron, I’m talking to you.”
“Why?”
“Hey, look, I’m not good at this…”
“At what?”
“You’re a good guy,” Ryan said, nervously. “I’ve been, you know, insensitive to what you’re going through. I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling at this point, and, I just want you to know, I am sorry for the all awful things I’ve said about you.”
Man, I must look really sick. “I don’t believe it,” I said. “Are you apologizing to me, Ryan?”
He leaned in and smiled. “Don’t tell a soul.”
We both looked at the members of the opposing team, who were still in a huddle.
“How’s Charisma?” I asked, feeling like this was the last chance I had to ask about her. “Is she happy?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“We broke up. She’s going to L.A. in a few weeks. What’s the point? I broke it off, and she didn’t really seem to care.”
I smiled. “Figures.”
“Besides, I’ve got plans of my own. I’m going to New York.”
“Oh, I heard about that. Columbia, right?”
“That’s right. What about you? Did you ever hear back from Yale?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, not having thought about the school very much the last few days. “The letter finally came. I got in.”
Ryan tried to smile, but ended up just biting on his lower lip. “That’s great, Cameron. Congratulations—”
“Hey! Ladies!”
Ryan and I turned to our right to see Coach Welch, his face bright red, veins popping out of his neck, staring at us like he could kill us by shooting laser beams out of his beady eyes.
“We got a game going on here! Ryan, get back on the court, damn it!”
Ryan gave me a knowing look before jumping to his feet and charging back into the fast-paced game.
I knew that he was only being nice to me because he, like everyone else, knew my end was coming. Still, though, it was a surprising and seemingly heartfelt gesture from a guy I figured didn’t have a kind bone in his body.
The game continued, we started making more baskets, and the margin of points between teams became tighter with each passing minute. A viewer immersed in the nail-biting experience, I forgot all about my health problems. Welch paced back and forth like the Energizer Bunny. All the players were focused and exhausted. There would be loud cheering from the crowd, then silence, then cheering again.
One minute left. Thirty seconds. Ten seconds.
The score: HOME 98, VISITOR 99.
Ryan dribbled the ball down the court, passing one opposing player after another.
People jumped to their feet. The screams reached their highest peak. Welch put his hands over his eyes.
Ryan leapt into the air to make the winning basket, when a member of the opposing team slammed his elbow against Ryan’s right shoulder, knocking the ball to the floor. Ryan landed with a loud thud on his back. The disconcerting sound could be heard throughout the entire auditorium.
“Foul!” Coach Welch shouted.
The ref blew the whistle, and a hush fell over the crowd.
Ryan wasn’t moving. Welch ran over to him, a panicked look on his face. It took a few seconds, but finally Ryan gave the crowd what they wanted—a thumbs-up. Everybody cheered as Welch assisted him off the floor.
“Are you all right?” Welch asked.
“No,” Ryan said.
Shit.
I looked up at the scoreboard. We were one point away from tying.
I and everyone else in the auditorium zoned our attentions in on the conversation taking place between Ryan and Welch.
“I can’t do it,” Ryan said.
“You have to do it. We are two points away. Two points!”
“My back is shot, Coach! There’s no way!”
“But you’re our best free thrower!” Welch shouted.
“No, Coach. I’m second best.”
No.
I couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“What are you saying?” Welch asked.
And then—shockingly—Ryan pointed right at me.
“No,” Welch said.
“No!” I shouted, for once in my life agreeing with the evil coach.
“He’s the best we have,” Ryan said.
“He was the best,” Welch said. “Don’t you dare do this to me!”
“Coach, this isn’t my moment. It’s Cameron’s.”
I didn’t feel pain any longer. I just felt mortified. My whole body started shaking, as if I were about to stand up on stage to act a scene from a play I hadn’t yet memorized.
No. This was worse. This was history in the making.
And I found myself at the center of it.
“Martin!”
I turned to my right to see Welch staring at me, not because he wanted to, but because he had to.
“Yes, Coach?”
“Think fast,” he said.
He threw the ball at me. I didn’t even flinch as I caught it in my hands. No matter how old I appeared on the outside, no matter how weak I felt from head to toe, I was able to catch that ball with the same quick thinking and grace as my days as the seventeen-year-old star player of the Reno Warriors.
“Two free throws win the game,” he said.
“I know, Coach.”
“Can you do it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Promise me?”
I nodded and looked at the other players. Everybody on the floor stared at me with trepidation.
This is my moment.
“All right,” he said. “Now get in there!”
I sighed and sat up straight, trying not to display for the hundreds of people in the room a face filled with pure terror. The room was deathly quiet, as if everybody had stopped breathing.
I turned around, briefly, to see my family and friends in the audience. My parents looked both excited and horrified at the center of the bleachers. Kimber was holding onto my mother’s arms, both my parents’ mouths agape. I could see Wesley near the bottom of the bleachers, filming me with his decked-out video camera. Liesel w
as there, too, sitting just a few seats over from him. She looked pale, as if she was about to throw up.
“You gonna do this, Martin?” Welch asked.
“Yes, Coach.”
“Well then… get a move on it!”
“Uhh, Coach?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you help me up?”
He sighed but attempted a knowing grin. He took a few steps toward me and put his arm out for me to grab onto.
As soon as I got up on my feet, the crowd started cheering. I took it all in, watching a gigantic room of people, many of them strangers, applauding me as if they were putting all their trust in me to win this neck-and-neck game.
I looked down. The basketball stared back at me with uncertainty. I looked up. I tried to breathe. I started my long walk.
The applause started dying down as I stepped closer to the free throw line.
You can do this. Just breathe.
I got into place. The sudden silence made me uncomfortable for a moment. Nobody moved. Time stood still.
I swallowed. Twice.
Just breathe, Cameron…
The only sound I could hear was the rapid-fire beating of my heart as I took the first shot.
Swish!
People started shouting and screaming behind me, but I had one more shot to make. I could see Coach Welch in the corner of my eye putting his arms out to block my fellow players from running out onto the court prematurely.
The ref threw the ball to me, and I returned to my original position. My heart was really pounding now. I tasted a drop of sweat on my tongue as I held the ball up above my head.
I studied the hoop, the ball, my hands. I closed my eyes.
I let the ball soar into the air.
I didn’t want to open my eyes. I figured the sounds behind me would tell me if I had made the shot or not.
It was quiet for a moment, and I thought the worst.
But then I heard cheering, shouting, screaming. The roar became louder by the second.
As I opened my eyes, I asked the pivotal question: “Did I make it?”
I turned around to see my teammates stampeding toward me, clearly having forgotten about my brittle state.
“We did it!” Coach Welch shouted, and the crowd started jumping up and down and hugging each other.
Ryan was the first to hug me, then Matt, then Lionel, then Cody, then Craig, then a guy whose name I didn’t remember. The hugs were all quick and painless, and then I felt two arms wrap romantically around my midsection.