by E. Cleveland
Coach shakes his head. “I’ll fast forward this part. I thought they were gonna come back out with the Warrior’s head. No. They just disappear for ten minutes. So that means the sex video was recorded on school property. The board loves that part the most.” He sighs and hits play again. The two love birds flee the scene of the crime, and the footage ends. He looks tired, like this video has aged him by close to a decade.
“I want to know who it was. The school really wants to know who it was. If the person in this video comes forward, there’s a chance I can save their ass from expulsion. If an investigation is needed, I doubt they’ll be accommodating. So, who was it? And none of this ‘I am Spartacus’ stuff either. If you didn’t do it, keep your fucking mouth shut, and if you did do it, speak now.”
It’s never been this fucking quiet in here before.
I can feel the tension between Player and Blaze as they stare each other down. It’s a game of chicken that only a few of us know is being played. I’m trying to use the unproven power of my brain to force Blaze to do the right thing here. I don’t give a fuck about the video or his arrest last year. Some guys are wild, and Blaze is one of them. I respect him, but that could all change right now. If Blaze stays silent and forces Player to do this, that’s what I won’t forgive. I know he’s probably freaking out right now, but saying nothing is the wrong thing to do.
Blaze looks down at the ice, frowning. I can see the thoughts rolling through his head, but I don’t know what they are. Player is tense. His shoulders are stiff. His face is unblinking. Stone. Blaze grabs his stick and stands up in the middle of the huddle. “Uh, coach. I’m pretty sure I’m the guy you’re looking for.”
A couple first-year guys kind of laugh, but it dies down fast. Blaze might be the guy who smokes too much weed, and yes, last year he got arrested. And now this. Actually, all of his crimes seem related to his deviancy, so he’s also that guy. Well, he also happens to be the best player on our team. Without him, there is no Frozen Four.
“Fucking figures. You’re gonna be the death of me, kid. Okay.” He claps his hands loudly. “Everyone hit the showers. Blaze, you come up to my office as soon as you’re done in there. You’ve got some paperwork to sign for your suspension.”
“What the hell?”
“Is he really getting suspended?”
“This is bullshit.”
Voices rise up from the team. The disbelief echoes off the walls, but Coach Wilson shuts them all down with a look.
“The rest of you,” he yells, “remember that what you do doesn’t just reflect on you. It reflects on this school and this community. So if you want to drink, make sure you’re of age. And if you go out, keep it classy. There are consequences for your fucking actions.”
We head back to the locker room, and Player still looks pissed. Blaze seems fine, and a bunch of other players keep coming up to him.
“Good on ya for speaking up.” Rookie shares the same sentiments as the rest of them. “I would’ve taken that shit to my grave.”
“Then you would’ve been a fucking asshole,” Player interrupts, and all the jokes and laughter stop.
I’m not very invested in whatever is brewing between Blaze and Player. My body is on auto-pilot, and my brain isn’t here at all. It’s with Hattie. I need to talk to her. I might not know what to say, but I can’t keep saying nothing.
23
Fucking Surprise!
Hattie
I’ve gotta get these papers marked. I’m supposed to hand these back in a few days, and I’m not even close to where I need to be. The thoughts are spinning in my head, my heartbeat is racing in my chest, but my eyes are dazed on the black blanket again. Luckily, it’s hard to have a panic attack when your eyes just aren’t in it. Worries about getting my work done fade. I focus back on the blanket. I was zoned out, but I blink it back into my vision. It’s not the blanket…it’s what’s under it.
The sofa is bad enough. I can’t look anywhere near it without thinking of Griz. The pattern on it is too much for me though. All those lilies. They remind me of the bruised flowers he brought me. Of our night together. Of what it’s like to feel truly comfortable with someone. And ninety percent comfortable with me because… still human. I can’t look at them because I can’t think of him. I don’t need a reminder of what I lost. When it’s the right guy, a girl knows in her soul. My soul hurts.
It’s amazing how quickly he was absorbed back into hockey and college life. I’ve been sinking back into campus life too, but my mind won’t focus. I’m officially becoming a girl who daydreams about a guy, and I don’t know how to stop it. I can’t just text him and say, “Fucking surprise! I fell for you!”
Ding!
My phone lights up, revealing Bridezilla as the sender.
Bridezilla: what’s ur address? U still haven’t checked chat? Wtf?!?
The last three letters are the same thoughts going through my mind. What is this incoherent nonsense?
Bridezilla: check the fucking chat. I need your address right now. We’re coming over.
Me: now??
Bridezilla: address
Bridezilla: then
Bridezilla: check
Bridezilla: the
Bridezilla: chat!!!!!!
“Fuck you, Clementine.” I say it low like mom might still leave the taste of soap in my mouth for the language.
I type out my address, and then check the chat. I stopped looking in here since the wedding ended. Clementine started using it as a diary of her honeymoon. She kept posting non-stop pictures of the beach. The bar. The pool. The food. If she put on sunscreen, we were getting pictures of it. I muted it to save my sanity.
I read through the panicked back and forth from the last twenty-four hours. Apparently my sister had the option to wait out an unexpected lay-over for eighteen hours. I, for one, am not shocked to learn she threw a hissy fit. I am shocked to learn that it was big enough that they kicked her out. Now she and Julian are in a car rental, making their way to my place. My mother generously offered up my sofa bed so they can drive the remainder of the way back to New York in the morning.
What the fuck?
Me: how far are you?
Bridezilla: app says an hour. see you guys soon!
“No, no, no, no,” I hiss at my phone. The last fucking people I want to see on this planet right now are Clementine and her husband. Why would my mother offer up my apartment? Those two made a killing at their wedding. I literally saw people handing them envelopes of cash, Godfather-style, at their reception. They can’t afford a hotel?
Me: see you.
I read her text again. “See you guys soon!” My eyes dart over the message again and again. If I rub my hand over those words, will it make Griz appear like a genie? It does not.
I am fucked.
My apartment is very clearly Hers only. There is no trace of His in here. From the shoes by my door to the single dirty plate and cup in my sink, everything about this place screams that I live alone.
I leap out of my chair, phone in hand, and pace my apartment. Is it wrong to call him? I keep swallowing, but my mouth is endlessly dry. I hit his number, eyes squeezed shut, muscles tight…
“Hello.” His voice is warm and full, and it makes every worry, every thought that’s not him, feel further away.
“I’m so glad you answered.” I take a deep breath. I’ve only heard one word come out of his mouth, and it settles me. He makes me steady.
“What’s wrong?” Concern tinges his voice.
“Nothing.” I don’t want to tell him about Clementine. I don’t want to say anything but ‘I miss you’. I want to say it, but I remember the ticking clock counting down when my sister will arrive, and the panic swells inside me. “Well, that’s not true. There’s a lot wrong. The biggest problem is that my sister and Julian are driving to my apartment right now. They’re going to be here in an hour, and they’re going to see that you and me wasn’t real.
“Are you serious? How?” He
sounds like he thinks I’m pranking him. Fucking surprise!
“They’re on their way back from their honeymoon, and she had a temper tantrum when her flight got bumped,” I sum up.
“Of course she did.” He sighs.
“Yup. Now they’re driving to New York, and they’re spending the night here.” I hope if I keep explaining, he’ll volunteer to put me out of my misery instead of making me ask.
“Right.” His voice changes. “And so you just called because you need a fake boyfriend again?”
“Kind of, yeah.” I wince at the admission. There’s something in his tone that makes me wish I never called. Like I hurt his feelings.
“I’ve gotta go, Hattie.” He’s abrupt.
“Oh, uh, ok,” I answer, but the call ends.
Do I call him back and apologize? He sounded like I disappointed him. I disappointed myself. I decide a text is the safer option after that disaster of a call.
Me: I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.
I pause a moment, staring at my screen, but get no reply. My heart hurts. I try to push it out of my mind and start picking up junk around my apartment. Just because my sister is about to find out I live alone, doesn’t mean she has to know I live like a slob. It’s actually not that bad. I’m moving around this place, cleaning on fast forward, like a teenager trying to hide the party she had while her parents were gone. I give the bathroom a quick once-over, pick up a bunch of clothes and grab some sheets for the sofa bed.
Transforming the sofa into a bed proves to be a lot trickier than I expected. I pull and yank and throw my back into it, but it won’t budge. I remember us ripping off the couch condom and finally squeezing it in the elevator, and I laugh and cry at the same time.
I miss him so much, and now I’m not sure if he’s even speaking to me. Why didn’t I call him before now? I’m in a zombie state, my body mindlessly picking things up while my brain is consumed by thoughts of Griz.
Ding!
A text message alerts me from across the room. My door buzzer immediately fires off like an angry nest of hornets. That’s them. I unlock my apartment door and wait. It always feels so long when you’re waiting.
The footsteps in the hall are heavy. So is the knock on the other side of my door. “Hattie?” Griz walks inside.
“You came?” I can’t even talk. I cup my hands around my mouth and nose and try not to cry. He brings in his huge duffel bag. It looks like he could hide a body in that thing.
“Like I’d give Clementine the satisfaction of finding out.” His beard seems to jut out more. He stands a little taller too.
“You are amazing.” I hug him.
He wraps his arms around my back. It’s the strength I don’t always have. It’s the comfort I can’t always find. It’s the protection I don’t always need. It’s my perfect place. My head against his chest, our bodies pressed together tightly…that’s my home.
“I don’t know about that, but you look amazing.” He drops his arms. He looks me over and then seems to remember the bag. “Okay, so I brought a bunch of my stuff. How much time do we have?”
“They could be here any minute.” I snap back into my current crisis.
He tosses the bag on the floor and unzips it. “Just grab whatever and find places for it,” he instructs as he does exactly that. He rushes to the bathroom and puts his toothbrush and toothpaste beside mine on the sink. I hang one of his hoodies off the back of my desk chair and hang up a hockey coat and a sweater in the front hall.
“What’s this?” I pull out an eyedropper with oil in it. It smells like old incense sticks I used to burn when I went through my Wicca phase.
“Beard oil. It goes in the bathroom.” He hands it to me. “This doesn’t just happen.” He smooths his hand down his beard.
“Fair enough.” I smile.
He does have a nice beard. It’s always clean and trimmed up nice. Now I know why it smells so good. I sniff the bottle and put it with the toothbrushes. I like how his stuff looks here.
“Just one more thing.” He pulls a pillow from his bag and throws it on my bed. I follow him in my room, and I’m impressed how much it looks like he lives here now.
“It looks good.” I feel my entire body unclench.
“The room? It’s all right. It doesn’t have the 1D masturbation poster, and that’s disappointing, but it will do.” He smirks at me.
“Shut up.” I laugh.
“At least there’s no kinky Keebler elves watching here.”
“You’re the worst.” I shake my head, blushing. Of course that’s what makes him laugh. I can’t believe he’s doing this for me. I’m also struck by how natural this all feels. Him in my space. His things mingled in with mine around the apartment…it makes me feel warm inside. I wish I called him before today. I wish we gave this a real chance. “Griz, I shouldn’t have called you earlier. It was a mistake.” I look up at him.
“How?” His eyebrows knit together.
Bzzz! The angry hornet buzzer interrupts me, and we both look down the hallway toward it.
“That’s them,” he says.
Fucking surprise!
24
Bitchzilla
Hattie
“How are you so slow?” I can hear my sister scolding her husband. I’m waiting with the door propped open, again.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it’s because I’m carrying all the bags, maybe?” Julian huffs.
When she reaches my door, she just walks right in leaving Julian to fend for himself in the hallway.
“Wow, isn’t this place cute?” Clementine does her cheerleader-at-a-twenty-year-reunion voice. I hate that voice. Of all of her voices, that one is the fakest. “Isn’t it cozy, Julian?” Her husband stumbles through the doorway and into our conversation.
“It’s great.” His voice is flat, and he looks worn out. Julian unloads my sister’s literal baggage onto the floor. Not that Clementine notices. She just walks inside like she’s actually been here before.
“I’m so freaking hungry. Please tell me you have food.” She opens my fridge, and we all get a view of the Arm & Hammer Baking Soda box and the assortment of condiments.
“Not really.” I was going to get groceries tomorrow, but it still would never be enough to feed four people. I wonder if I have enough cereal to feed four people?
“Fine, let’s order a pizza then.” Clementine huffs and walks into my living room. “Oh, good. The sofa bed is pulled out. That’s much better than having a place to sit,” she snips.
“Even if it was a sofa, I’d still be short a seat,” I point out, hoping it will stop my sister’s bitching.
“This place is so little. I honestly don’t know how you two do it.” She looks around my place like this was thrust upon her. Instead of the other way around. It is most definitely the other way around.
“I can’t believe you have no food,” she sulks.
“It’s funny how wrong we can be about people,” Griz cuts in. “Sometimes we think they’re going to have food,” – he squeezes my shoulder - “or class.” He nods at Clementine. “People. They’ll surprise you.”
“Is there anywhere we can eat nearby?” Julian cuts in.
“Rosie’s is close.” Griz looks at me.
“And it’s really good,” I agree. “You guys will love it.”
“Awesome. After nine hours of driving, let's get back in our car and go drive around.” Clementine rolls her eyes.
“We can all fit in my car,” Griz offers.
“Never mind. We’ll follow you out.” She snubs his offer. She grabs Julian’s hand like it’s a hostage, and they don't say a word in the elevator.
“We’ll be right behind you,” Julian yawns.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Griz offers again, but my sister gets in the rental car and shuts her door. I can’t hear what she’s saying inside, but I’m guessing it’s why he disappears into the vehicle with her and turns it on.
“I gu
ess that’s a no.” I get into Griz’s big SUV and, in the passenger side mirror, I can see their car follow us all the way to Rosie’s. When we get back out and walk into the restaurant, my sister’s face has that pinched look of someone who was just yelling, and Julian looks like he’s done with this entire planet right now.
We get inside and order some all-day-breakfast specials. “The waffles and bacon here are a big step up from the bowls of cereal I might have been able to ration out at home.” I laugh, but Clementine is silent.
“Looks promising.” She glances around like we dragged her to the Cholera Cafe.
How could a place with over-wiped linoleum tables and high-backed booths ever be good enough for her? For once, I don’t care about what she thinks.
I’ve been searching for a friendship with Clemmie my whole life, except she’s not Clemmie anymore. Not that girl who once played with me. The one who made me feel brave and clever. The one who loved me and my “baby fat”. She’s been gone for over half my life now, and I just need to let her go. On the path to searching for my sister’s love, I found love for me.
“How was your honeymoon?” I try to lead this conversation back to my sister’s favorite subject. Her.
“Greece? Oh it was amazing,” she gushes. Finally, something to snap her out of bitch-mode. “The beaches were all white sand. They were so great, weren’t they?” She nudges into Julian, and he nods. “What wasn’t so great was the food. It tasted a bit off. Like, the feta seemed slimy for some reason. And the wine was too sour.” She had a good three-second run with no complaints. “The hotel wasn’t the best. I’d bet it’s got three stars, tops,” she continues.