by M. F. Lorson
With two months left in my only season covering Mountaineer basketball I’m pretty sure I’ll never write an article that begins “State Champions” or even “Regional Champs” but when I look back on the experience I will remember that Hunter Mackey made an impact, on this team, on those guys, and on me.
Elliot said nothing when I turned in my Mackey article. He shoved it on top the pile for editing like it was ad copy or a notice from the faculty. It was all the same I supposed. What used to make him sparkle in my eyes had lost its glamor. Now when I saw him, I saw things how they really were. Maybe he had always been this big of a jerk and I’d just been too infatuated to see it.
I was proud of the article, even if the subject refused to nail down an interview time. Even if my once friend was now completely absentee. I wrote what I knew about him. Those things that I had learned over the last two months while scouting practices, watching games, and hanging out with the starting five.
It occurred to me that he had been my center these last few months as well.
Jillie had left a massive hole, and Mackey had come along just at the right time to fill it. Not by sleepovers and girlie advice, not as a companion to share all my dreams with, simply by being there. Day in and day out he’d kept me afloat when I wanted to burrow underground and wallow. He had until these last two weeks anyway. Now I didn’t know where we stood.
If I were lucky, he would read the article and understand that I’d said those things about him because I cared for him. But I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing ever was when it came to boys.
That afternoon after school I was surprised to find my father’s car parked in our driveway. Dad didn’t make surprise visits which meant something serious had happened back in Denver. Quinn and Judy weren’t family the way Mom and I were, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care about them.
“Dad!” I called rushing into the kitchen where I usually found Mom after school.
“In here honey,” called Mom from the other room. I hurried into the living room. The two of them sat on the couch, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him, a diet coke in front of her. He’d been here long enough to make a pot of coffee, and neither party was red in the face from arguing.
“Is everything alright?” I asked. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my parents sit calmly in the same room together.
My father motioned to the armchair across from them. “Have a seat, Lane. Your mother and I want to talk to you.”
I frowned, no parent to child conversation that started with your mother and I was destined for a happy ending. I had a feeling this conversation pertained to my scholarship or lack thereof, and I was right.
“We’ve been discussing your plans to attend Northwestern in the fall. Particularly, how you intend to pay for it.” said Dad.
Mom offered a sympathetic smile, but she didn’t rise to my defense. I felt betrayed. We didn’t have the money for Northwestern without loans, but we had agreed loans were okay hadn’t we? Teaming up against Dad was our thing. How could she possibly be siding with him now? I took a seat in the chair across from them, folding my arms over my chest, prepared for battle.
Instead of launching into a lecture Dad reached across the coffee table and handed me a crisp white envelope. “Take it,” he said when I remained still.
Reluctantly I reached for the envelope. “If this is a list of affordable community colleges you should know right now that this will not end well.”
Mom reached up to cover her smirk.
“Just open it,” said Dad, exasperated.
I slowly tore open the corner of the envelope, pulling out a long blank check with my name on the top line. “What’s this?” I asked, waiting for the caveat that had to be on its way.
“What do you think it is?” asked Dad, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Too good to be true,” I answered with a raised eyebrow.
Dad said nothing, just sat there looking at me, looking at that check.
“But I didn’t get the scholarship.” I said, “What happened to ‘no free rides’ and all that other stuff you’ve been touting for the last year and a half?”
“I meant all of that,” said Dad. “But your friend made me reconsider my definition of a free ride.”
“My friend?” I asked, seriously confused.
“Mr. Mackey’s little pep talk at the dinner table made me angry,” said Dad. “But it also made me realize I didn’t know very much about the school you wanted to go to or the subject you wanted to study.”
Mom folded her arms across her chest, leaning back on the couch with a satisfied expression. If I knew Mom, she was thinking I told you so times a hundred.
“I should have realized when you wanted to spend your Thanksgiving break watching basketball that this was something you took very seriously, but I suppose I let my aspirations for you cloud my perspective.” I held back the eyeroll to end all eyerolls, along with several sarcastic comments about his “aspirations” for me.
“I did a little reading on the journalism program at Northwestern, and I was impressed, very impressed. I am proud of you for getting accepted Lane.”
“Thanks,” I said—a blush creeping over my cheeks. Compliments from Dad were out of the ordinary, especially when it came to my writing.
“But that’s not what changed my mind.”
“What was it then?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.
“These,” said Dad tossing a large yellow manilla envelope onto my lap.
I bent back the metal brad and pulled out a thick stack of newsprint. Every article I’d ever written had been neatly clipped and taped to thick cardstock. “Where on earth did you get these?” I asked, glancing at Mom.
“Don’t look at me,” she said, shaking her head. “You know I keep each and every one of your articles fully intact.” I glanced back at her shelf of paperbacks and gazettes, sure enough, the pile remained untouched.
“Mr. Mackey sent them,” said Dad “Along with a strongly worded letter I will not be keeping.”
Mom grinned from her corner on the couch. I glared at her. Her face was violating our ‘Dad can never know about the boys I like’ agreement.
Fortunately, he was blissfully ignorant. “I can’t believe my little girl is writing sports articles I enjoy reading,” he continued. Your stuff is excellent. I should have known you would have some creative flair, your mother’s daughter and all,” he said, glancing up at Mom with a smile.
Mom waved off the nerdy compliment, no longer so easily swooned by my father. She was keeping pretty tight-lipped about things with Mr. Hunt but judging by the fact that they were both donning perma-smiles lately, I had to assume things were going pretty well.
“I was going to wait till Christmas,” he continued. “But then I thought you might stress away your whole winter break. So I hope you don’t mind the early Christmas present.”
“Mind!” I laughed, “How could I mind? This is like, dream come true kind of stuff. I don’t know how to thank you,” I admitted, my words were choked as I fought back happy tears.
“I have a thought on that,” said Dad resuming his default serious expression. “You’ll be eighteen at the end of the year. At eighteen you can decide whether or not to visit in the summer. You can decide who you want to spend Thanksgiving with.”
Mom shifted uncomfortably in her seat. I knew she had hoped my future visits would be exclusively Mom and me time. A couple of weeks ago I would have been appalled at the idea of spending my limited college breaks in Denver. But things were changing. Dad was changing. It wasn’t just the money. The money was nice and all, but it was the trying that got me. He’d read my articles. Made an effort to learn what mattered to me instead of just assuming he knew best.
“But if you ever wanted to spend some of your breaks in Denver, that’d be fine with me. And Judy and Quinn would be happy to see you too.”I looked to Mom for guidance. I wanted to tell him, yes, but I didn’t want to crush her in t
he process.
As if she were reading my mind Mom reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “She’d love to, wouldn’t she?”
Despite our attempts to get him to stick around for an evening of takeout and Christmas movies Dad headed back to Denver later that night. He said he couldn’t leave Judy and Quinn wondering. As if cell phones weren’t a thing and he wasn’t a full-grown man. What he meant was, the prospect of spending the night at his ex-wife’s house was worrisome for his new wife. Even if it was just to reconnect with his daughter, I suppose it would be too much to ask for him to fix everything about our relationship in one day.
As I watched his Lincoln town car pull out of our driveway, I wondered about the contents of Mackey’s letter. If he believed nothing had changed and I still wanted Elliot then why save all of those articles? What did it matter where I went to college or what my Dad thought? Maybe he had sent it before the holiday party, and nothing had changed at all, but maybe, just maybe he had read between the lines of my article.
Chapter Twenty-One
I woke up Christmas Eve morning to a blanket of snow sweeping up and over our street. I had always loved the way snow quieted the landscape, silencing the buzz of power lines and softening the sound of people’s steps. But I didn’t love the way my scooter slid all over the street, slipping into the ruts of other people’s tires and kicking slush up at my ankles. Today of all days I couldn’t show up looking like a hot mess. Not when I had to grovel (and boy did I need to grovel).
“Whoa!” said Mom peeking her head into my bedroom. “When you said you wanted to borrow the car to preserve your outfit I assumed you were kicking it up a notch but this, this is like a full-on smoky eye. What’s the plan?” she asked, hopping on the edge of my bed and tucking her legs under her as if she were a schoolgirl about to play truth or dare.
“The plan,” I said, gently blotting my peachy pink lipstick with a tissue. “Is to ambush him at his place of residence.”
“And?”
“And that is as far as I got.”
Mom tossed her head back and laughed. “Lane honey this is your big moment. Your grand gesture before the closing kiss. You can’t just wing it.”
I narrowed my eyes at her reflection in my vanity. “You do realize that this is real life and not a novel you’re writing, right?”
“Do you?” laughed Mom, “You’re driving over to his place unannounced on Christmas Eve to tell him you made a mistake and now know you want to be with him. If that’s not the climax of the story, I don’t know what is.”
I scrunched up my face and growled. She had a point. “Fine! What would you do? How do I seal the deal?”
Mom let out a deep sigh, before rising from the bed and taking her place behind me. She grabbed the straightener off my vanity and began meticulously fixing the parts I had missed.
“If it were me,” she said, her eyes glistening. “I’d stay home, drink tea, and wallow. Approximately three weeks later he would have a new girlfriend, and I would focus on hating her and not what I did wrong.”
“Mom!” I cried, “Be helpful!”
“Sorry,” she grinned, coming back from her daze. “You aren’t me Lane. I write brave characters, but I’ve never been one. You, on the other hand, have always been a heroine. You’ll figure it out. Just be yourself. If you can get your father to come around, you can fix whatever is broken with this kid.” She set the straightener down and gave my hair one last pat. “You’re ready kiddo. Go tell him he’s like really cute and stuff.”
I rolled my eyes, “This is why your Young Adult stuff never took off. No teen talks like that.”
Mom shrugged, “Can’t blame me for trying to score some of that sweet Twilight moolah,” She yanked the straightener plug from the wall. “Enough stalling. Begone!”
I took one last look in the mirror. Physically I was killing it, but verbally, there was a good chance I upchucked romantic cliches all over whatever pair of Jordan’s he’d picked out for the day. I took a deep breath, kissed Mom goodbye and strode out of the house.
Approximately thirty-seconds later while clipping the side mirror on our garage door, I remembered why I’d gotten a scooter for my sixteenth birthday and not a car. I cringed. Mom was not going to be happy.
I considered admitting defeat and heading home after a quick trip to McDonalds to order a ten-piece and McFlurry full of tears. But considering how dressed up I was, and how I’d scratched the first car Mom bought with her author royalties, chickening out didn’t seem like a viable option.
I had never been to Mackey’s house before, but Andie had dropped Ryan off enough times to be able to give me directions. Her directions being drive to the richy mcrich part of town and look for the massive house next to the other massive house, basketball hoop in the drive. Eventually, I had to force her to drive over and write down his address. I was nervous enough without potentially knocking on half of the doors in the heights.
225 Trailhead Drive sat at the very highest point of Marlowe Junction. The heights or as Andie called them the Richy McRich part of town was home to the wealthiest citizens. I might have been judgmental the way Andie was too if it weren’t for the fact that it also happened to be Jillie’s old neighborhood. We had trekked up that hill on our way home from school countless times.
If I thought hard enough, I could probably remember Mackey hopping off the school bus behind us. It was funny how someone in the background could suddenly move to the front of the picture while the people you thought would always be there fade off into the distance.
I glanced at Jillie’s house on the way up. Her Mom’s Minivan was still in the drive, despite her children have all grown up and moved away, Jillie would have been the last big Jones family graduation party. Mrs. Jones used to joke about the tiny red sports car she would buy when Jillie finally left the nest. I wondered if she still planned to get it. She might not have been emailing into the abyss as I had been, but judging by the van in the drive she was still holding on in her own way.
I pulled up to the sidewalk beside Mackey’s house. Andie had not been kidding about the size. Mackey’s place rivaled my Dad’s. No wonder he wasn’t keen on telling people his parents were splitting up. He had been living the dream.
As I made my way up the walk, I noticed the mailbox beside his had Webb printed in big blocky stickers along the side. The former starter that Jillie used to like, he had lived in The Heights too if I remembered correctly. Was Ryan the only player that didn’t? There was a headline in there somewhere. I shoved the thought aside. Focus. I needed to focus. With only a slight tremble I reached up to press the doorbell. The heavy oak door swung open before I’d even touched the ringer.
“Whoa!” hollered Mackey, jumping backward. Dropping the ball, he held in the crook of his arm. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I opened my mouth to start my spiel when I caught sight of the rest of the starting five, descending the staircase behind him. They were all decked out in practice gear. Tank tops and shorts despite the snow on the ground outside.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can come back another time,” I said, anxious to get out of there as quickly as possible.
Mackey remained quiet, looking at me as if he didn’t know whether to invite me in or demand I never come back. He appeared torn.
“Please tell us you ditched the nerd and are here for a real man,” called Anderson from the staircase.”
“Can you not,” said Mackey, through gritted teeth.
“My bad bro...even if you’ve been saying that exact same thing for the last two weeks straight,” said Anderson under his breath.
Mackey gave him a look best described as ‘will murder later’ before pulling the front door closed behind him. The two of us stood on his front porch, much like we had once stood on my father’s front porch. I hoped the ending would be better this time.
“What’s up, Lane?” asked Mackey, looking distracted. “I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Rig
ht,” I answered, my chest tightening at the sound of my real name coming off his lips. “Like you haven’t had a lot of time the last two weeks. Too busy to answer my texts or say hello in the hallway?”
Mackey blew out an exasperated breath.
“We’re mid-season-plus.” He gave me a pointed look “You’ve been pretty busy. With your boyfriend and all.” He looked me square in the eye. As if he’d been planning this confrontation for weeks and not the two minutes it had been since I arrived on his doorstep.
He was acting as silly about the non-existent relationship between Elliot and I as I had over Andie and Elliot earlier in the term. I knew just how he felt. It was hard when someone you cared for was head over heels for someone else. But this was different, and it was time I showed him that instead of just skirting around the subject.
“If you mean Elliot, you’re wrong.” I said, meeting his eyes with mine. “I know what you saw at the holiday party looked bad, but you have it all wrong.”
“Yeah,” said Mackey. “How do I have it wrong? He’s still the guy with the apostrophe right? He’s still the dude you’re willing to do anything for.”
“Not anymore,” I said firmly.
Mackey shook his head, “That’s great, Lane. But you didn’t have to come here to tell me that. You’re an independent girl.You don’t need to keep me updated on who you do and don’t want to kiss.” He was intent on making this hard.
I took a deep breath and steeled myself for potential rejection. “That’s just the thing,” I said, stepping toward him. “I do sorta have to keep you updated.” I wanted to look away. Stare at the ground, or his giant house, anything but his eyes but I owed him more than that. He’d told me how he felt in the Grotto. It was my turn to take a risk. “Because it’s you that I want to kiss,” I said; the words flew out of my mouth with surprising ease. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I was the heroine. I certainly felt brave at that moment.