Echoes of Us

by S. H. Timmins

  My fingers hover over the screen to type a reply, but there’s a knock at my door. I freeze, not knowing which of the lesser evils I want it to be. “It’s just me. Can I talk to you for a minute?” Byron asks from the other side.

  I place my phone down and get up to unlock the door. I only open it a crack and ask him, “What did you want to say?”

  He looks awful. His left eye is swollen, his lip is split, and there’s a bruise forming on the right side of his face. “Can I come in?” He doesn’t sound like his cocky, pissed-off self. I’m almost more wary of this solemn and defeated boy than the other one, but I open the door and let him pass, closing it again once he’s in.

  I watch him sit wearily in my desk chair, then I take a spot at the foot of the bed, facing him. I ask, “What did you want to talk about?”

  He shifts his weight and winces slightly, telling me without words, that he’s got more injuries than just the ones on his face. He takes a breath, then asks very carefully, “Are you okay?”

  I’m shocked he would care enough about me to ask, let alone what it is he’s asking about. “What do you mean?”

  He gives me a very direct look and says, “Whatever I walked in on between you and my dad.”

  I’m frozen in place and don’t know what to say. He’s not sneering at me or giving me a dirty look. He’s looking at me calmly, waiting for my reply. I lie. “I’m fine.”

  He raises the eyebrow above his uninjured eye. “You didn’t look fine. You still don’t. I can see your hands shaking.”

  I look down and see he’s right. I tuck them under my legs, but don’t look back up when I answer him with, “I will be.”

  “Look, I don’t know what I saw, but it’s obvious that you weren’t happy about it.” I don’t know what to say to that, so I remain silent. He continues anyway. “You’re not a slut trying to trap my dad into marriage, are you?”

  My head snaps up at that and I look into his eyes, expecting to see anything but the sympathy I find there. That sympathy is worse because it means he suspects something closer to the truth. I shake my head and watch his nostrils flare. I tell him, “I want nothing from your dad.”

  “Except the college tuition he promised your mom he’d pay for, right?” There’s no hostility, only cautious curiosity in his tone.

  I hold my head up higher and tell him honestly, “Even that might be more than I’m willing to accept now.”

  His good eye widens ever-so-slightly, then narrows in anger, but his words surprise me. “I have no right to ask you this, and fuck if I can’t stand the bastard myself most days, but if he’s, I mean if he tried to, ugh! I can’t even say it.” He looks down at his clenched hands and whispers brokenly, “If he’s done something unforgivable to you, I’ll kill him myself.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. This is the same boy who has accused me of seducing and sleeping with his father - in explicit detail - and now he’s, what? Had a change of heart? I don’t trust it, and I don’t trust him, but I can’t let him have thoughts of patricide on my behalf, either. “He hasn’t. Well, not that.”

  Byron looks up at me and tries to read the truth for himself from my face. He closes his eyes for a moment, and I can see the pain and anger there in the tightness of his features. He nods his head, then rises from the chair. Before he leaves the room, I stand and tentatively reach my hand out to touch his arm. He stops and stills, waiting to see what I’ll do next. It occurs to me that this boy has never known love or kindness since his mother died. He wouldn’t accept it from my mom, and he certainly wanted none from me, but don’t wounded animals attack first out of self-defense?

  Gently, turn him around to face me. His eyes are guarded like he doesn’t trust what I will do. That thought breaks me a little. I move forward just as slowly and cautiously, just as you would with a wild creature, and I see the slightly panicked look in his eyes, but keep moving, letting him feel the calmness in my movements. I could set myself up for greater pain, but I can’t stop this instinct to soothe him. I press my lips on his uninjured cheek and give him a chaste kiss. His skin is surprisingly soft, and I hear the slight intake of his breath. I move back just as slowly, letting him watch me as I move away.

  I whisper to him, “Thank you.”

  He looks at me strangely, then says just as quietly, “Ask me about the fight.” I’m confused at first, and he must see it on my face, so he clarifies, “Ask me why I pounded one of my friends into a bloody heap.”

  I inhale harshly at that, and ask in a shaky voice, “Why did you do that?”

  With a shine in his eyes that I swear look like tears, he says, “I was defending my sister.”

  Then he quickly turns, opens my door, and exits while I comprehend his words.

  Nothing he said could have floored me more.

  Football Games and Boys

  I’ve been spending a lot of time texting two boys. It’s so strange. I never even had one to text before, and now I have two. One is a friend, and one is… I’m not too sure, to be honest.

  Cruz and I have slipped back into an easy friendship as if the years apart were just a blip in time. Some things about our friendship are different. We’re getting to know each other again as teens, and that has its own challenges and rewards. I know I need to tell him the truth about my mom, and soon, but I’m not ready to open that still festering wound. I’ve been selfishly enjoying the easy conversations and haven’t wanted to go down that dark path yet.

  Dean and I have spoken on the phone and at school. He’s asked if I’d like to go with him to the opening football game, and I’ve said yes. He’s given me a few hugs and even kissed my cheek once. All innocent and sweet. Nothing like the way we behaved with each other the night we first met. So, I’m not sure how to define what we are. I know what everyone is saying about us, but I’m not ready to embrace a label.

  I’m sitting at the big kitchen table thinking far too hard about this, because I don’t hear Byron enter the room until he pulls out the chair across from me. Neither of us has spoken about what he said in my bedroom, and he’s been absent from the house most nights. This is the first time I’ve been alone with him since Monday, and it’s already Friday morning. I venture with a tentative, “Good morning.”

  He has a bowl that is overflowing with sugary cereal and is just lifting a big spoonful to his mouth. His hand stops and he glances at me across the table. “Mornin’.”

  I watch him shovel the spoon in his mouth and chew. A weird and awkward silence falls around us. I study his healing face and wonder - not for the first time - what was said about me to cause such a reaction from him.

  “You gonna keep staring at me, or say whatever it is you’re thinking about so hard?” I startle at his voice and realize, with some embarrassment, that I’ve spaced out while watching him eat his cereal.

  Deciding to address the elephant in the room, I spit it out. “How do I act around you now, knowing you defended me? I’ve never been your favorite person, and we’ve built our relationship around hating each other.”

  He finishes chewing what’s in his mouth before he speaks. “I’m not sure either, okay? I won’t change the way I act around you at school, cuz that would look weird. I guess when we’re here, in the house, we can call a truce. It doesn’t really change anything. We’re not friends, but no one gets to talk smack about you, but me. Also, it doesn’t hurt your cause knowing you probably hate Dad as much as me. I didn’t know that before, and I made sure you got my hatred for him directed at you too.”

  It’s not really an apology, but I’ll take it. “Sounds fair. If I suddenly stopped gagging and bitching when my friends go on about you, it’d be weird for me too, so I get it.”

  A mischievous twinkle enters his eyes and a crooked smile tips up one side of his mouth. “Your friends go on about me? Do tell, my favorite sister, what do they say?”

  Huh. This is the most normal conversation he’s ever had with me and it makes my heart feel a little warm and fuzzy toward hi
m. I attempt teasing him. “I’m your only sister, and your ego is big enough it needs no extra inflation.”

  He chuckles but grabs his heart dramatically with his free hand. “You wound me. That could be my future wife you’re cock-blocking me against.”

  I snort and realize how absurd it is for me to be having a funny conversation with him. I almost don’t want it to end. “I doubt that either Steph or Carla would be future wife material for you.”

  He sits up a little straighter and full-on smile at me. I can see what the girls see in him now. I’ve only ever had his worst directed my way. He’s a different guy like this. “Steph talks about me?”

  I take a closer look, and there’s a hint of something on his face that gives me pause. Genuine interest, maybe? I didn’t see that coming. Wow, this will make Steph’s day. I throw him a bone and hope I don’t regret it. “All the time. It’s disgusting how much, actually.”

  “Really? You’re not just saying that to get back at me, are you?” His voice is carefully neutral, but I can hear how much my answer means to him.

  “As much as it pains me to say it, no. I’m not that person. She really likes you.” I can’t believe I confessed that to him.

  He gets up from the chair he was on and grabs his bowl and spoon, wearing a huge grin on his face. He stops beside me and bumps his hip against my arm playfully as he walks past, saying over his shoulder, “I like her too.” He then drops his bowl and spoon in the dishwasher and strolls out of the room.

  I shake my head and can’t believe the absurdity of this new reality I’ve found myself in, but I like it. I’m just so afraid of liking it too much and finding it’s another one of his cruel jokes. That thought sobers me. I can’t let my guard down. That path would lead to an even greater hell.

  The school football stadium has energy buzzing through the crowded stands and on the field. The opening game is always like this; filled with a vibe of expectancy and trepidation; each team eager to showcase their talent for the year and size up the competition. Students from each school sit on opposite sides to cheer for their team, and delight in the rivalry. This year is the first time I’m interested in the game, and it most definitely has everything to do with Cruz. I know a little about football. Cruz is the new running back, and there’s a lot of hype around his debut. If Byron had been playing, he’d be in the defensive line. Riley, Byron’s best friend, is the quarterback, and the rumor is that he’s already being scouted by colleges.

  I’m sitting beside Dean, with Steph on the other side of me. Carla had a big dance rehearsal and couldn’t miss it. We told her we’d catch up with her after the game. Dean casually slides his hand beside where mine is resting and laces our fingers together. My heart skips a beat at the intimate gesture. When I don’t pull away, he brings my hand to his leg and wraps his more securely around it, resting our joined hands there. Steph bumps her shoulder into me, and I turn to see her wagging her eyebrows at our PDA. I smile and turn my attention back to the field. I feel safe doing this because Victor isn’t here, since Byron’s not playing. It’s the main reason I said yes to coming with him. I can honestly say this is another first for me. I’ve never cared about a game this much in my life. I can’t stop smiling and I allow the ambiance to infect me and energize me in a way that feels electric.

  Dean leans over and asks me, “I guess it must be weird not to see your brother on the field?” I’ve never paid attention to Byron when he plays, but I nod my head, anyway. He points to the field and asks, “Number twenty-one is Cruz Cameron, right? The new guy?”

  Again, I nod my head, and a strange feeling passes through me at the mention of Cruz’s name. I lean into Dean and say, “I think he’s the new running back?” I know this, but I am curious how much Dean follows our football team.

  He nods his head. “Yeah, that’s what I heard too. Hey, when hockey season starts, will you come to some of my games?”

  He gives me that adorable look full of hope, and I bite my lip. His eyes are always drawn to my mouth when I do that, and he licks his lips as he watches in rapt fascination. I feel a tugging sensation in my stomach. I watch his eyes come back up to mine, and I suck in a quiet breath at the longing in them. I can tell he wants to kiss me, so I smile instead and answer him. “I’d like that.”

  He smiles back at me and leans in closer to tell me, “Me too.”

  I blush and turn my head to watch the game again, but I feel like something just shifted in our dynamic and squeeze his hand tighter. He squeezes my hand back, and I hide a secret smile.

  Steph was beyond bored and went to look for some snacks at the concession. I’m laughing at something Dean said, when the cheerleaders take the field on the sidelines. I hadn’t really been paying attention to them the other times, but something catches my attention now, or more accurately, someone. Tisha is jumping around with the other bimbos, and that’s when I notice they all switched their shirts to smaller, tighter, and sluttier versions of the ones the team is wearing. And there, across her pert little breasts, is the number twenty-one on proud display.

  I don’t know why that should bother me, but it does. She hasn’t been subtle about wanting Cruz. She’s been glued to his side at every opportunity this last week, and he hasn’t been spurning her attention, either. I’ve seen him with his arm around her, and I keep telling myself I have no right to feel possessive of him. I tell myself that it’s because I hate Tisha and that it has nothing to do with Cruz, but I’d be lying. If it was another girl he was sort-of dating, I don’t think it would bother me. Much.

  He was mine at one time, but we’re not kids anymore. I need to remember that.

  I look back at Dean to see if he’s ogling any of the bimbos, but he’s still smiling at me. I’m such a bitch. I have no right to think of another guy, even a friend, when I’m here with him. He deserves better than that. Feeling defiant (okay, guilty), I lean forward and place a gentle kiss against his lips. He freezes for half a second, then kisses me back just as gently. I can’t say any fireworks go off inside me, but it’s nice and I smile against his mouth.

  He pulls back slightly and tells me, “I’ve wanted to do that all night. Longer, if I’m being honest.”

  Feeling shy and insecure about my lack of experience, I ask, “Was it worth the wait?”

  He leans back in and kisses me again, then pulls away slowly. He smiles and answers, “Definitely.”

  “Okay, lovebirds, there are children present, so I’m here to stop you both from embarrassing us all.” Steph plops down beside me with a soda in one hand and popcorn in the other. She winks at me and blows Dean a kiss.

  I’m saved from having to either strangle her or hug her when our stand erupts in cheering. I look back on the field to see Cruz streaming down the outside with the ball, heading for the end zone. I’m on my feet before I know it and cheering just as loudly as anyone else. He’s tackled just before he reaches the end but lands our team that much closer to scoring the winning goal. Everyone’s on their feet and we’re all filled with anticipation and nervous excitement. Well, almost everyone. Steph is still sitting and sucking on her soda. She’s never been a fan of the game, just watching the guys in their tight pants.

  We hold our collective breath as our team lines up close to the end zone and prepares to run the ball for a touchdown. The other team has a tight defensive line and it won’t be easy to get past them. In a flurry of movements, the ball is snapped to the quarterback, and he launches it to a waiting player, surrounded by the other team. Our player catches the ball but gets swallowed by the opposition. Players tackle him to the ground. A hush falls over the crowd as we wait to see who has the ball. As the players are pulled up, the ref blows the whistle and calls the touchdown.

  The crowd around us goes wild and I am quickly swept up in the excitement. I launch myself at Dean and he catches me in an exuberant hug. I turn around to Steph, who has finally gained her feet and jump up and down beside her. She’s smiling and nodding her head, when she screams, �
�After-game party!”

  I laugh because that pretty much sums up the only reason, she would be happy about the outcome.

  Dean drives Steph and me to the party at Riley’s house. Carla is meeting us, and Steph already texted her to say we’re on our way. Riley’s parents don’t live far from the school, and unlike the party at our house the other night, his parents are home and there won’t be any alcohol.

  Dean parks his car and we pile out. Steph says she’ll wait for Carla, so Dean takes my hand and we follow the noise around back.

  Football players will be the last to arrive, but there is already a huge gathering in the expansive backyard. Riley’s parents own a bunch of hotels and they’re rolling in cash, which is obvious by the size of the property. If I didn’t live in one of the wealthiest houses in town, I’d be awed and impressed.