Varsity Tiebreaker

by Ginger Scott

  There’s no way to fashion a second-place trophy for this. If I went to Olsen, I went alone. Hayden stayed behind. I went top shelf and he went bottom.

  Without pause, I take my phone from my back pocket and glance to the still-closed doors behind me, my mind vacillating between who to blame—Hayden or my mom—while I listen to the rings sound. My dad answers by the fourth ring.

  “Tory, hey. Something wrong? Aren’t you in practice?” He knows I should be.

  “Dad, I think maybe I need to come stay with you. For a little while at least. I just . . .” I break down, swallowing hard and feeling my lungs tighten as the air leaves them and my body grows numb. This is what betrayal feels like to the utmost degree. This is how he felt when he found out about Mom’s affair.

  “You’re going to have to drive back for school on your own,” he says, giving me the only roadblock to the plan. I have a thousand dollars saved from various birthday and holiday gifts and shitty summer job I took at the local pool.

  “Okay,” I agree, getting to my feet and moving to my room to pack my things. “Can you pick me up soon? Like . . . now? I’ll buy a piece of shit car.”

  “On my way,” he says.

  I end the call, not sure whether my dad likes the win that comes with me choosing address sides or he senses the urgency in my voice. Maybe it’s the aftermath of our pitiful therapy session. Whatever the motivation, I’m glad he’s coming. And I’m glad I’m getting out of this place. It’s suffocating me.

  14

  Abby

  It’s been a while since I’ve felt like myself. I told June all I really wanted for my birthday weekend—because yes, I get an entire weekend, and yes, Friday nights are weekend-eligible—was to do something that felt like the old me.

  “Anything you want,” she said.

  She regretted it the moment the last word left her lips. She could read party all over my face. I don’t care what she says, though. Deep down, June needs tonight, too. She misses us.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind driving?” She doesn’t, but it makes me feel polite to ask. I like getting ready at June’s house. There aren’t papers all over her table, and her mom is in a pretty good place. Mine is buried in the fight to give me a life without my father’s greed picking away at it. Tonight, I want to forget that version of myself.

  “I’m not going to drink, and the van has plenty of room,” she says while running a brush through her hair. I smile because she’s repeating my talking points.

  “Exactly,” I say, leaning close to the small mirror on the back of her door so I can perfect the shade under my eyes.

  It feels nice to dress up like this. I’ve been a lot of versions of myself lately—the girl who wears her boyfriend’s oversized sweatshirt, the business woman who gets accused of having a sex tape, the actress who doesn’t know what her character is supposed to look like. It’s nice for once to just be me. My makeup, my skinny jeans and cut-off sweatshirt—my body, my rules. I can feel my confidence coming back already. It’s amazing how much your own unique look can make you feel at home in your skin. My look isn’t everyone’s, but it’s mine.

  June’s mom holds the door open for us as we leave, hanging out the door as if we’re still the same little girls she sent off to walk to school by themselves for the very first time in second grade. I’m tempted to hold June’s hand in solidarity.

  “Don’t do stupid things!” Mrs. Mabee shouts. She says that to me a lot.

  “Nothing you wouldn’t do,” I shout back before getting into the passenger side. She shakes her head at my usual response.

  Again—normal.

  We head to Naomi’s to pick her up, then stop at Lola’s work as she finishes her shift. She’s a server at the Pancake House, this truck stop joint open twenty-four hours a day, which means she has unlimited access to bacon. I don’t care who a person is, if they say they don’t like bacon I immediately throw them in the sketch category. Because of birthday weekend, Lola swiped me an entire to-go box full. I’m already five pieces in.

  “Abby, if you don’t slow down you’re going to be vomiting before you even get close to a shot of tequila,” June says, turning right on the old dirt road a few miles out of town.

  “Well, guess what? I’m drinking beer tonight,” I say, winking as I take a bite of my sixth piece. June takes it out of my hand and finishes it for me, part for my own good and part because, well, it’s bacon.

  It’s barely ten at night and the party is already crowded enough that we can hear it with June’s windows down. I crack my window and breathe in the scent of burning wood. There’s a huge clearing on McCaffey’s property and he always has these huge bonfires. It’s an amazing sight to break through the trees and see the bright orange flames off in the distance. June spots Lucas’s truck quickly, so she pulls the van up next to him and we all get out.

  “Happy birthday, Abs,” Lucas says, pulling me in for a side hug and handing me a cup full of beer.

  “Just what I always wanted. Thanks,” I say, taking my first gulp and feeling the tension in my neck and shoulders ease.

  Tonight, there is no lawsuit. I’m on the brink of stardom. And there is nothing in my life to bring me down. I almost believe these words when a lifted red truck pulls up across the clearing, the chrome bumper catching the flicker of the flames as Tory hops out of the driver’s side and Cannon and a few other guys climb out of the back carrying a keg.

  Tory stops and leans against the front of the truck, one knee bent as his foot rests on the bumper, his hands sunk in the pockets of his jeans. He’s wearing a red and black flannel over a black shirt, and his normally perfectly sculpted hair is windblown and messy. I recognize his dad’s truck, which makes me wonder why he’s driving it.

  I bring my cup of beer to my lips and taste it with my tongue, tipping it back slowly while staring at Tory over the rim. He’s not even pretending not to look at me. It’s like a dare, to see if I can handle the attention. Well, I can. And he can keep on looking from over there. Hayden works tonight, which means I am one-hundred percent about my girlfriends. I plan on spending the night gossiping mercilessly, dancing to music under the stars, and telling dumb stories without endings that make me and my friends exhaust ourselves with buzzed laughter.

  “You heard he moved out, right?” June says, bumping into my side.

  “Huh?” I pull my cup away and shift my gaze to her.

  I’m already breaking my rules. I’m not supposed to care. But Tory moved out and Hayden hasn’t said anything. Seems kinda weird.

  “Oh.” She winces. Her mouth gets tight and she forces that pretend smile on her lips, trying to convince me that it’s not a big deal.

  I lightly punch her arm.

  “Don’t do that. Spill it,” I say.

  She wiggles her head side-to-side and shrugs at me.

  “Hey, I’m gonna go talk to Tor for a bit. I’ll be right back,” Lucas says, kissing her softly and glancing at me mid-kiss. I can tell by the awkward bend in his brow that there’s more to this story than just Tory moving out. I let him get several steps away before I grill my friend.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  June’s mouth twists up.

  “June,” I beg.

  “I guess there was a sweatshirt or something?” She shrinks into her shoulders as she talks, and I immediately roll my eyes.

  “Oh, my God,” I say, waving my hand in the air in a big circle. It lands at the bridge of my nose and I pinch.

  “Tory came by once for a visit, just to talk, while he was out for a run a few days ago. He took his sweatshirt off and forgot it. Hayden saw it today and said he was going to give it back to him. I had a feeling he was getting the wrong idea.”

  “Abby, he sucker punched him in the middle of practice,” June says.

  My head pops up and my mouth hangs open.

  “For real?” I challenge, hoping she’s exaggerating.

  She nods toward Tory across the field.

  �
�Go check out his eye. It’s purple.”

  I look back toward him, squinting to see if I can make anything out from the light of the flames. It’s too dark to see for sure. I knew something like this would happen. I had the worst feeling when Hayden left, and he’s been off today. We’ve barely talked, other than him telling me he had to work tonight. I just figured he was stuck in his feelings, and I didn’t want to push.

  That’s become the problem. He’s always in his feelings or my life is chaotic, so instead of having the tough talk about what we’re even doing together, I just kick the can down the road for the next day, and then the next.

  “So, he moved out because they got in a fight . . . over me?” I look back to June and her expression isn’t definitive, one eye scrunched and her mouth twisted up along with it.

  “Sorta?” She says it like a question. “I don’t think it’s a permanent thing. He told Lucas he was driving here from his dad’s tonight. I think he’s just staying there until things get sorted out, or until graduation, or—”

  “Until graduation?” I blurt out.

  I hand June my beer and roll down the sleeves of my sweatshirt to cover my chilled knuckles. I hug myself to keep the midriff of my shirt from blowing up in the cross breeze as I cut in front of the fire. The warmth feels good, and moves into my cheeks, injecting more of that confidence I’ve been missing in my spine. I catch Tory mid-conversation with Lucas and Cannon, and something about the way I march up must signal to the other guys that they should leave. They split without me even having to ask.

  “You wanna tell me why you’re living with your dad?” I cross my arms over my chest and stare at his smirk. Shit, his eye is pretty fucked up. The bruise is worse on his cheek. He can tell I’m staring at it, so he reaches up and touches it lightly with the tips of his fingers.

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Sometimes, I almost forget it’s there.” His hands drop to his pockets and he lowers his gaze to the ground, glancing back up at me with his eyes more than his face. “Hayden didn’t like that you had my sweatshirt. That’s basically all there is to that story.”

  His gaze lingers as he chews at the tip of his tongue, his lips curved with a hint of a drunken smile.

  “You drive after a few?” I jut my hip out and stare at him with judgement.

  “Just one beer. I’m fine,” he says.

  My eyes haze and I hold them on him until he has to look away.

  “What? Fine, okay, maybe two. And I just rolled up to McCaffey’s house to haul down the keg. No main roads. And I’m sleeping here, so just . . . don’t worry about me, birthday girl.” He leans forward and touches the tip of his finger to my nose, then walks away.

  I’m left there all alone, wondering how I got here, to a place where I’m both livid that he belittled me and care that he’s upset with me. This is Tory D’Angelo. I walk away from him, not the other way around.

  Determined and pissed, I follow in his path and slide up next to him at the keg, waiting while he fills a cup. I partly expect him to give me the one he’s working on, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns to make space and holds his hand out to signal it’s my turn as he takes a long gulp. Seems the old Abby and the old Tory are both making appearances tonight.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  He says it with such animus, I wonder if he found out Hayden knew about his mother’s affair when it first started. This rivalry brewing between them has to be about more than just me. Hayden has been struggling with major guilt over hiding his mom’s secret for so long. Nobody knows he knew. He saw them together at football camp their freshman year, and a few unexplainable lunch-time visits when he ran into Lucas’s dad at his house fanned his hunch that the fling was not a one-time occurrence. Since his parents’ relationship blew up, Hayden feels his lack of action made everything worse. I’ve tried to tell him it didn’t, it only postponed the inevitable.

  I finish filling my cup and take a few steps back, opening space between us so people can get through.

  “Hayden’s at work. He know you packed up and moved out?” I take a slow sip, smiling with my lips against the cup.

  We stare at one another while two freshmen come up and fill their cups between us. It’s amusing to watch them blush and act out for Tory’s benefit. So hungry for attention.

  “Ladies,” he says, throwing them a bone.

  “H-Hi,” one of them says while the other giggles. They’re barely fifteen. No way they’re finishing a whole beer. I wonder if the daycare camp bus dropped them off here by mistake.

  “Careful, ladies. He’s all talk,” I say, shrugging with one shoulder as I cash in my win.

  The girls rush away, whispering to one another. Tory and I just gave them a story to tell for the rest of the year. He’s the hot guy and I’m the bitch.

  “All talk, huh?” He tips the rest of his beer back, chugging it in one smooth movement then tossing his cup to the ground. I hold my ground even though he’s getting closer, even though people are watching us, even though I shouldn’t. I’m daring him right back, and a little part of me wants to. It’s the beer thinking.

  Tory runs his finger up my cheek then tucks my hair behind my ear. He leans in and dips down, pausing at my ear as if he’s about to share a dirty secret. My body tenses, and shivers run up and down my skin. I straighten my posture and shift my feet slightly, hoping he doesn’t notice the nervous movements. With his lips close enough to my skin that he could taste me if he wants to, I listen to only his breath. It’s warm.

  “You look absolutely beautiful.”

  His mouth hovers there, dangerously close for a full second that feels like several more. He backs away, letting his eyes seer into mine as he straightens tall and walks backward, leaving me where I stand—frozen and oddly heartbroken.

  I have zero comebacks. Worse, I can’t rectify how badly it turns out I wanted—no, needed—to hear it. Mr. All Talk just said the perfect words, and a tear forms in the corner of my eye. I hate crying, but I’ve suddenly realized how absolutely miserable I have become. My life is a mess, and I’m trying to make it better by being some guy’s girlfriend because as messy as I am, he’s worse. This is co-dependency at its absolute worst.

  “You all right?” June slides her arm through mine and I swipe the back of my hand over my eyes and nose.

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling at her—performing. “Just cold. Let’s get some of that fire, yeah?”

  She grins, then escorts me to a flat log parked near the open pit, a perfect spot for me to curl up my legs and think. So far, this isn’t the girls’ night I pictured, but maybe it’s the girls’ night I need.

  15

  Tory

  Two things happen when you have about an hour to buy a used car. One, you don’t really pick based on the right set of criteria. You scan the lot by price point and then narrow things down based on mileage and the little car know-how you possess to get a sense of what might break and what you can fix. And then two, you get mercilessly screwed by the dealer.

  I had a thousand bucks of my own, two with the grand my dad pitched in. Shocker—this piece of crap old cop car rang up just under the cap. I have just enough left to fill the tank. I promised my dad I’d get a job as soon as the season’s done so I can take on the insurance. Hayden pays a portion of the Subaru’s, and I can’t let him better me.

  The strange look I get from my mom as I pull into our driveway tells me the body of this car is as bad as I thought. You can almost read the word POLICE on the side; the buffing job and primer cover-up was an afterthought. The one thing this car has going for it, though, is the engine. I’ll be able to leave this place fast when I need to.

  I came back because my dad said it was a good idea. Our family has a lot of drama happening, and a split like this—two against two—sets up a real roadblock for any hope of peace in the future. I didn’t tell him about the letter I found Thursday afternoon. I’m still processing it in my own head, and like he said, I’m not sure if adding more fuel
to our dumpster fire of a family is best right now.

  I’m not here for all selfless reasons, though. I also came back because Abby’s birthday is today, and June is throwing a party for her tomorrow. I want to be there for it, even if my brother spends the time secretly plotting to push me out a window. I’ll go back to Dad’s next weekend. Space is necessary for me and Hayden. I don’t want to hate him, and right now . . . I do.

  “Wow, that’s . . . some ride,” my mom says as I step out of the car. The heavy door squeals as I shut it.

  “It gets the job done,” I say, stopping when my feet are squared with hers. We face off for a few seconds, my arm weighed down with my bag of clothes that I intend to shuffle back and forth. I see how unsure she is of what to do in her eyes. They keep scanning me, making sure nothing’s broken and that I’m as she remembered. Thing is, though . . . I’m not. I’ve changed in the last two months. And the old me will never fully come back.

  “You have laundry?” Her voice is hopeful.

  “I was gone for a day, Mom.”

  “Oh, right,” she nods. She steps forward and squeezes my biceps, her attempt at some sort of affection. She hugs Hayden all the time.

  “Are you hungry?” She lets her hands drop from my arms and heads in through the garage. I follow behind her.

  “No. I ate at Dad’s.”

  “Oh,” she says. I can hear the disappointment in her tone.

  “He had muffins, so I grabbed one,” I say. That’s a lie. Dad made me bacon and eggs, but for whatever reason, it seems that would be showing off.

  “Well, I can make some sandwiches for lunch, or maybe we can go out?” She turns to face me, hope widening her eyes. I don’t think I have ever gone to lunch with just my mom. She’s trying so hard, though.

  “Maybe. I’ll see if I’m hungry,” I say, popping her hope balloon with a pin. It’s already noon, and I’m not planning on leaving my room.

  “Hayden should be home by three.” She must know something about our fight. She hasn’t mentioned the purple line under my eye, and she has to suspect something made me rush out of this house and head to Indy.