The Art of Losing

by Lizzy Mason

  “You are too sweet,” I said, leaning forward to kiss him. “And I love you.”

  He slid into the seat beside me and put the necklace around my neck, kissing the nape lightly as he clasped it.

  “Thank you,” he said against my skin.

  “For what?” I said, turning to look at him. “You’re the one who bought me a present. I should be thanking you.”

  Mike shook his head, a serious firmness in his full lips and a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I’m lucky to have you,” he said quietly. “I know that.”

  “Maybe we’re lucky to have each other,” I said. And tried to tell myself I believed it.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, I stopped by the hospital, but Mom was giving Audrey a sponge bath and washing her hair, which was a lengthy and embarrassing process for everyone present. Audrey would’ve hated it if she’d known what was happening. I guess it was the only upside to her not waking up.

  I went to Cassidy’s house instead. From the front steps, I could hear Morgan screaming, but I couldn’t hear about what. So instead of knocking or ringing the doorbell, I texted Cassidy. She came outside a minute later, and we sat on the front porch. I wished I’d thought to bring coffee. We both looked pretty ragged.

  “You have impeccable timing,” she said as she threw a pointed look over her shoulder. Morgan was glaring out at us through the window next to the door.

  I bared my teeth at her. She rolled her eyes and stormed away.

  “So, that screaming was aimed at you?” I said.

  Cassidy seemed a little reluctant to talk. She scrubbed her hands down her face.

  “Remember when Audrey was about to be a freshman?” she finally said. “She thought she was such hot shit, and we had to kindly teach her that, in fact, she was about to be dog shit on the bottom of the seniors’ shoes.”

  I nodded, not really grasping what she was getting at.

  “I was trying to explain this same principle to The Nuisance—for her own benefit—while she was attempting to borrow some of my clothes.” Cassidy managed a wry grin. “She really took issue with it.”

  She and Morgan had never had the same relationship Audrey and I had. “The Nuisance” was not a term of endearment. There was too much distance between them. But I still felt a twinge in the center of my chest when I realized why Cassidy didn’t want to talk about it with me. It was such normal sister stuff. And something I might never have again: a fight with my little sister.

  “Do you feel like getting out of the house?” I offered.

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  “It involves baseball, though.”

  Her head stilled.

  “And twelve-year-old and eighteen-year-old boys. Specifically, Spencer and Raf.”

  Cassidy’s gaze turned stony. “Why, exactly?” she asked skeptically.

  “I’m watching Spencer and so, obviously, baseball.” Cassidy nodded again. “And Raf—”

  “Out with it,” she interrupted.

  “We’ve kind of . . . reconnected,” I said. “We’ve hung out a couple of times. For very short periods.” I hesitated. “Just give him a chance, okay?”

  Cassidy raised her eyebrows, still not convinced.

  “You don’t have to say it,” I said. “I know that I said that about Mike. More than once. But Raf . . . I don’t know. I like having him around. He’s grown up and—I realize this does not help my case—rehab seems to have changed him.”

  To her credit, Cassidy didn’t roll her eyes. But she didn’t look convinced, either.

  “Just come along and see for yourself, okay?”

  She started to sigh but caught herself. “Okay, okay. I’ll go steal my clothes back from Morgan’s room and change, and then we can go. But I have to come home right after. I have to work opening tomorrow at five a.m. because God forbid Will ask Janine to risk her beauty sleep.”

  Cassidy’s manager, Will, had a habit of dating his employees. Janine was the latest. I couldn’t tell if Cassidy was jealous. He was flirtatious, and she thought he was cute, but as far as I knew, he hadn’t made a move.

  I didn’t get the appeal—Will was tall and skinny, and he was always wearing beanies even when it was ninety degrees out. Not my type. Mike had been sturdy, an athlete, with a little belly and enough stretch marks to make me feel less self-conscious when naked in front of him. I still focused on my muffin top and double chin in photos of the two of us together, though.

  Living a mostly sedentary life of reading comics and watching TV had left me with more padding than I wanted, but not enough motivation to actually do something about it. I’d rather read and lounge and eat carbs. Carbs are delicious.

  But Will was Cassidy’s type, so I supported her crush, even if she hadn’t yet admitted it. But I found it suspicious just how often she complained that Janine got the best shifts while she was left working closing on Friday nights and opening on Sunday mornings.

  I tried not to let on that, selfishly, I was happy about the situation. She now had Saturday off and could hang out with me. I’d wait until she was in a better mood to rub it in.

  We pulled into the parking lot about a half hour before the opening pitch, but I could see that Spencer was anxious about getting inside to watch batting practice. I leaned forward and squeezed his bony shoulder. After his mom had slathered his gangly limbs with sunscreen and left with a warning not to let him eat anything with sugar, I’d let him sit in the front seat. It had made him smile so huge, his cheeks lifted his glasses. But that excitement had worn off, and now I could feel the tension even through the thick polyester of his Nationals jersey.

  “We’ll be inside in a few minutes, I promise,” I whispered.

  He didn’t respond, but he turned enough to give me a tight-lipped nod.

  Raf parked and let me and Cassidy out of the back seat. I paid for everyone’s tickets, courtesy of my mom, and we wound our way through the stadium to our seats. Unlike most kids who immediately ask for food, Spencer made a beeline for the upper level. We were up in the nosebleeds, but he rushed to the edge and parked himself there.

  Cassidy, Raf, and I found our seats, but Raf immediately turned around.

  “Hot dog?” he asked, pointing at me and then Cassidy. “Hot dog?” We both nodded. “What about Spencer?”

  “His mom only lets him eat organic, grass-fed, cage-free what-have-you,” Cassidy said with disdain.

  “So . . . yes?” Raf said, smiling at her.

  “Exactly,” she said, grinning back. “We need to pump him full of as much processed crap as possible before he has to go back to her.”

  Raf pointed at her. “You’re my kind of girl.”

  Cassidy allowed herself a small smile. She was coming around to him.

  When Raf got back, I offered to take Spencer’s hot dog to him, but he waved me off.

  “Don’t be offended if he doesn’t talk to you,” I said as he turned away. “Spencer loves the stadium, but it’s super overstimulating for him. He tends to stay quiet.”

  Raf just winked at me and kept walking.

  Spencer ignored him at first, until Raf offered him the hot dog. He held it while Spencer put relish and ketchup on it, and then they sat in two free seats and talked. Or really, Raf talked while Spencer ate and listened, but I saw him nod and respond once or twice. By the time Raf and Spencer came back to our seats, the first inning had started. Spencer was talking, if not animatedly, at least with regularity. I tried to follow what they were saying, but it sounded a lot like gibberish. So instead, Cassidy and I focused on fanning ourselves with the magazines I’d brought in case we got bored.

  Sometime in the top of the second inning, three guys took seats behind us. They were college-age frat types, each holding a beer—and judging from their loud voices, I doubted it was their first. They were immediately annoying, kicking t
he back of our seats and getting peanut shells in Cassidy’s and my hair, and it didn’t take long before I lost patience. But Cassidy gave me a look every time I shot a glare at them, or sighed loudly, or at one point called them assholes under my breath. They heard, though. And they just laughed. There was no point in doing anything but ignoring them. So I tried to restrain myself.

  Until the Nationals got a home run in the bottom of the fourth. One of the players—I didn’t know which—hit a home run over the wall in right field, and the guys behind us went wild. One of them kneed me in the back of the head when he stood to scream. I winced. When I spun around, he just flashed a drunken grin.

  “Watch what you’re doing!” I snapped.

  He leaned down, grabbed the bill of my hat, and snatched if off my head. “Get up here and celebrate with me, fat ass,” he said.

  Without thinking, I batted his nearly empty beer cup from his hand.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” I spat.

  Suddenly his smile was gone. He looked at his spilled beer on the ground, then at me. His bloodshot eyes were furious. I could see the moment he decided to slap me. Too bad for him my reflexes hadn’t been muddled by alcohol. I shifted, and he caught my shoulder instead of my face and sent me slamming into Raf. The guy nearly fell on top of me, losing his balance from the force of his swinging arm. Raf and I were there to catch him from the front while one of his friends grabbed the back of his shorts and pulled him up.

  “Asshole!” Raf yelled as he shoved the guy back up to his friends. “Are you fucking kidding me? Get the hell away from her!”

  The guy reared back, looking like he was going to kick Raf in the face, but his friends held him back—one on either side. To their credit, they looked as shocked and pissed off at their friend as we were. As they pulled him out into the aisle, one of them muttered an apology. But it was too late. Two beefy security guards had appeared, and within seconds all three guys were being escorted from the stands.

  We were standing now, even the people around us. They were all staring at me.

  It had all happened so fast. I was shaking with rage, but I did my best impression of laughing it off for Spencer’s sake, who looked as rattled as I felt.

  “Nothing to see here,” I joked lamely.

  There was a smattering of sympathetic applause, and then everyone went back to watching the game. Everyone but Raf.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes searching my face.

  I nodded, but my hands were still trembling. I sat and tucked them between my legs, regretting my decision to wear shorts. I hoped Raf wasn’t looking at the cellulite on my thighs.

  “That was a nice dodge,” he said as he settled back down into the seat next to me. “Maybe your hobby should be boxing.”

  I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. In reality, I was having trouble with the fact that I had wanted to punch that guy’s face until his nose was a bloody pile of mush. I didn’t know what to do with the aggression. It scared me. And it was still rolling off me in waves.

  “He was drunk,” I said, half to myself.

  “Exactly. He could have hurt you.”

  “Yeah, well. I’ve spent years dodging Audrey when she tried to bait me into a fight by hitting me over and over again.”

  Raf bumped his shoulder against mine. “So modest,” he said, lightening his tone. “Just consider me impressed.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. But as the anger receded, I was left with something else: the embarrassment of being called “fat” in front of him.

  “I wanted to punch that guy for what he said about your ass,” Raf added, as if reading my mind.

  “Let’s not talk about that,” I groaned. Besides, my butt wasn’t particularly fat; it was more flat and nondescript. But I don’t think that guy was being literal. I knew I was overweight—I didn’t have Cassidy’s slim legs or Audrey’s bikini-ready flat stomach—but I definitely did not want to discuss the particulars of my body here with Raf at a baseball game, in front of Cassidy and Spencer.

  Raf held his hands up in defeat. “But let me just say this: I like it. It’s a cute ass, just like the rest of you.”

  Blood rushed to my face. Definitely time to change the subject.

  “Is Spencer okay?” I asked, craning my neck to peer past Raf. Spencer was engrossed in watching the game.

  “He’s fine,” Raf said. He raised his voice a little so that Spencer could hear him. “He’s about to owe me five bucks when Tejeda gets his second hit.”

  Spencer looked up at him and shook his head. “Tejeda hasn’t had more than one hit in a game since July of last year.”

  “So you’re giving away money now?” I joked to Raf. “Can I get in on this?”

  He shrugged, grinning. “Let me think about it. I have to run to the boys’ room.”

  I tried not to stare at his ass as he stepped over Spencer’s short legs to the aisle.

  The second he’d disappeared down the steps, Cassidy nudged me with her leg. “You are in trouble,” she said, drawing out the last word.

  I frowned, pretending to focus on the game. “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s smitten,” she said.

  When I shot her a glance, she smirked. At my blank look, she added, “With you. He’s smitten with you.”

  I waved her off. “No way.” But secretly, I kind of thought she was right. He wasn’t exactly hiding it. “I mean . . . maybe. But I don’t want him to be.” My voice faded. Also not true.

  Cassidy just stared at me, one eyebrow raised.

  Now my cheeks felt flushed again. I pulled the brim of my cap lower to hide my smile. “Fine, I like the idea of him liking me. But I can’t deal with it right now, Cass. I’m a freaking disaster. Look at me! I can’t even go to a baseball game without getting into a fight with some douchebag.”

  She scoffed. “That was not your fault.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “It was.” My jaw tightened. “I could have let it go. I didn’t have to argue with him or antagonize him. But I’m just so tired of guys being complete dicks when they’re drunk. I just . . . lost it.”

  “I know, sweetie,” she said, stroking my arm. “But Raf’s not drinking anymore. He might be one of the good ones.”

  “What if he starts drinking again, though?” I said. “I can’t handle that. I can’t fall for another drunk asshole. No matter how cute or sweet or nice he is.”

  Cassidy pursed her lips. She clearly wanted to say more but knew better when I was in this mood. “Good luck with that,” was all she said.

  She turned back to the game. But I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to keep talking about this. About Raf. I needed to talk myself out of the way I was feeling about him.

  “No, seriously,” I said.

  Cassidy’s pursed lips widened into a smile.

  “Come on, Cass. Think about Raf,” I went on. “He’s not what I’m looking for. Who I should be with. He barely graduated, he’s going to community college, and he just got out of rehab! I can’t be with a guy like that. He’s a mess.”

  Cassidy lifted her shoulders. “Let me just say this: on paper, Mike looked pretty good,” she said in a flat voice. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge.”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it. She was right. Mike was from a middle-class family, went to my school (a private school), was a good athlete and better student, and was going to a four-year college, presumably. Good on paper. The type of guy who should appeal to me.

  But she was right, and we both knew it.

  Still, I had one rebuttal. “Are you actually defending Rafael Juarez as a legitimate relationship option? The guy we cursed with a voodoo doll after he stood me up the summer before eighth grade?”

  She shrugged again, eyes glued to the field, even though she had zero interest in the game. “I’m not the one w
ho kept thinking about him. Who never stopped thinking about him.”

  I was out of points to argue. Cassidy’s smug smile meant she knew she’d won.

  Rather than admitting it, I moved next to Spencer.

  “Are you having fun?” I asked him. “Do you need anything?”

  He didn’t seem to notice I was there. His eyes were pinned to the pitcher from the Mets, who was about to throw the final pitch of the inning. If I’d been paying attention, I would have known to wait a few more seconds. But once the inning was over, Spencer relaxed his shoulders a little bit, finally turning toward me.

  “Last time we came to a game, Audrey bought me this hat,” he said, touching its brim.

  I blinked a few times. “Oh yeah,” I whispered. “I forgot about that.” Or maybe I’d just blocked it out.

  It shouldn’t have surprised me that Audrey had used the money she’d earned babysitting on a gift for Spencer; she did stuff like that all the time. I teased her about her “random acts of kindness.” That was the kind of person she was. But still, I didn’t get it. When I asked her about it later, she just said it made her sad to think that Spencer didn’t have a dad who would do stuff like that for him. And that, of course, made me feel like crap. There was a reason I didn’t get it. I never thought about things like that.

  She was the better one of us Langston girls. Even Spencer knew it.

  “Do you miss her?” I asked him.

  Spencer shrugged. Audrey’s restlessness had never meshed well with his studious reticence. He and I, though, could sit next to each other and read for hours without saying a word and be perfectly happy. At Thanksgiving, we would do exactly that while Audrey bustled around the kitchen, peeling brussels sprouts and mashing potatoes, setting the table, and doing whatever she could to keep busy.