This Train Is Being Held
Page 19
8:35 AM @ARos0133: No, I don’t understand. We can slow down. We can dial it back. I’d be happy just to sit next to you on the train. And don’t blame this on baseball and ballet. We can find a way to make it work over the summer.
8:37 AM @ARos0133: Unless what you’re saying is you don’t want to be with me anymore.
MONDAY, JUNE 12
7:12 AM @ARos0133: I guess you not answering is my answer.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9
ALEX
“Julissa’s not coming. She kicked Bryan out again.” Kiara rolls her eyes as she says this. She told me last week not to count Julissa when I gave Papi the final numbers for the barbecue. But we were just at the diner, the four of us, celebrating the end of the summer. It might as well only have been the two of us. Bryan and Julissa’s lips hardly ever came apart.
The train comes out of the tunnel, onto the elevated tracks of the 125th St. Station. I face the river. Habit from all those mornings heading down to the Institute. The sun peeking between those East Side buildings blinds you. The days we weren’t traveling or playing ball, I was working there. Turns out, I had more time than I thought I would this summer.
I glance at Kiara. “What’d he do this time?” Poor Bryan. They made it through the whole summer together too.
“You tell me, he’s your friend.” Kiara slides the cross pendant along her necklace back and forth.
“Yeah, but there’s so many things he could’ve done. Question is, which one of ’em made her angry? She’s your friend.” I nudge her arm.
She rolls her eyes again, but she’s still smiling. “That boy, he don’t know how to act. All that talk about the females on the road who wanted a piece of him? He should know better than to bring that up in front of her.”
Yeah, Bryan has that problem. He thinks it makes him look important to say that stuff.
“You should teach him a thing or two,” she tells me.
“’Cause I’m the expert?”
“You better than he is. Much better.”
I squint, trying for a view of the Hudson. Sometimes, you get a glimpse of it between that old brick building and that new metal one the university put up. We stop and I can hear the hum of Kiara’s pendant rubbing against the links of her chain. The doors slap open. Car brakes squealing and truck doors slamming streams in. And then there’re the people, arguing, laughing, kids crying.
“So there’ll be thirty-eight of us,” I say. Final numbers don’t matter much anyway. Yaritza’s sure to have made enough for a hundred. Papi even lined up a band. Yaritza was teasing him that she wanted mariachis. Papi told her we’re going bachata and merengue all the way. I’m looking forward to the party, the eating and relaxing part at least. Not so much the dancing.
“You think Bryan’s gonna come? He won’t be nursing his poor broken heart?” Kiara keeps yanking at that cross. But it’s like someone pressed Mute ’cause I can’t hear it anymore.
“He better. Else he’ll have to answer to Papi.” I shake my head. If Bryan doesn’t show, I’m gonna have to trek back to the Heights to get him. The entire travel ball team is going to be there.
The train ducks back underground. The tunnel muffles the grinding of wheels against track.
“What about Danny?” Kiara grips the pole with both hands.
“I hope he comes.” Even though he didn’t travel with us this summer, I still think of him as part of the team. Ever since summer started, he’s been MIA. I’ve been afraid to look for him. I don’t want to see that red bandana on his arm.
The doors open at 116th. A guy wearing a navy shirt with a white C and a crown gets on the train. He’s holding a clipboard. Another guy and two girls crowd around him. They’re all asking questions at once. Where do we start? What’s the first clue? Where do we get off? More college students load on through the other doors. They’ve got clipboards and shirts with C’s and crowns on them too.
“I’m worried about Danny.” My shoulder knocks the rail as the train starts to move. A couple of the students lose their footing. They bump into each other and laugh. Their shouts of “Sorry!” bounce through the car.
“Why you worried? Looks to me he’s doing fine. He’s got some new chévere shoes each time I see him.”
“Yeah.” Danny traded his blue-and-yellow ones for some crazy emerald-green high tops. “But that’s what I mean,” I tell her. “Where you think he’s getting the money for that?”
“Maybe he’s not buying them?”
I hadn’t thought about that. If he’s stealing them off some poor other kid that would be worse. I can’t picture Danny doing that.
Kiara lets out a sharp laugh. One of the college guys almost smacked one of the girls in the face when the train braked. The girl in the cap scowls at Kiara. Kiara puts fists on her hips and glares till the girl looks away.
I pull Kiara closer. I tug her fists down. “You think he’s stealing?”
She shakes her head. “Maybe they’re gifts? From Pinchón.”
Coño. She’s right. They probably are.
I should have gone to his apartment this morning, got him out of bed, got him dressed, and made him come to celebrate with the team. Doesn’t matter if he thinks he’s not one of us anymore. I could show him he is. I take off my hat, punch it out, and put it back on. “He’s going to end up like his brother, isn’t he?”
“Nah,” Kiara says. “Pinchón and his boys, they look after one another. That’s the whole point of ’em. They know Danny’s brother’s in jail. They gonna work hard not to let Danny fall in jail too.”
That’s the whole point of our team. To look after one another. We’re better when we’re together. Stronger. Papi said when one teammate is letting the others down, not making practice, blowing off games, sometimes you gotta make a cut. But what if I hadn’t listened to him? What if I’d gone and dragged Danny with me to all those practices and games? He’d have listened to me. He’d have come. Just like he would have come with me today to this party.
I reach for the brim of my cap, but Kiara grabs my hand. She pulls me down to her. I’m a little surprised. She doesn’t like to make out on the subway. At school, yes. At the diner, yes. At the field, after a game, hell yes. In fact, the more balls I hit, the more runs I drive home, the more players I strike out, the more she wants me. But she thinks the subway’s dirty. She doesn’t like it when I touch her when we’re riding. But instead of slapping my hand, she presses it onto the back of her jeans. I slide it up to her waist. She pushes it back down.
I try to look at her to figure out what’s going on. She pulls me back, her mouth all hungry.
“Hey,” I ask, my finger under her chin. “You know travel ball is finished, right? I’m not going anywhere until next summer.”
“Yo sé. Now stop talking.” She tugs at my shirt and kisses me again.
One of the college guys across from us elbows his friend. They’re not looking at us though. They’re looking over our heads. Toward the other door. I glance over my shoulder. A girl with blond hair in a bun and a black hoodie sweatshirt stares at me.
Heat drains from my face, from my fingers. It plunges down to my toes. My feet are hot. The heat must melt the bottoms of my shoes because I can’t move them. My lips are cold. They refuse to move too. So do my eyes. They don’t look away from her.
Coño.
That’s my sweatshirt. I gave it to her that night I brought her to my apartment. She was cold on the way home.
“¡Ále!” Kiara’s yanking my arms.
Isa’s cheeks are white. Her eyes blink. She covers her mouth with her hands.
“¡Ále!” Kiara pinches me. “¡Ále!”
I turn to her. Flashes of heat prick at my chest.
Kiara stumbles back at the look on my face. “¿Qué what?” she says, all defensive.
The doors chime and whip open. I swing around as a streak of gold aims for them.
Doors close. The train rumbles on. The girl students are talking about tofu and seitan. The g
uys are talking about the beautiful dancer who ran out like she was late for her curtain. Kiara and I don’t talk about anything. I can’t even look at her.
When we get to Brooklyn, I wait for Kiara to help Yaritza with a platter of arroz con pollo. I take out my phone. I scroll through my old posts. A week after the Barclays, I woke from a nightmare. In my dream, Isa was calling for me. No. She was screaming for me. Something awful had happened—I didn’t know what. I only knew I had to get to her. But I couldn’t. No matter how much I fought and kicked and cried out, I kept being pulled away.
That night—when my hands stopped shaking—I picked up my phone. I tried calling her again. I messaged her, every way I knew how. She didn’t answer. I went to her dance school and stood outside, but I didn’t see her. I didn’t see Chrissy either. Then our out-of-city games started up. I spent the whole summer in that dusty van, checking my phone. I took a picture of every single home plate on every field I played and posted it. In our last week of travel, I posted one of the poems I wrote her. Guess some part of me was hoping Isa was checking her accounts too, even if she didn’t want me anymore.
I got back from Atlanta, from our last tournament, three weeks ago. Bryan dragged me to a party. Kiara came right on up to me. I was straight with her. I told her I’m not looking for no girlfriend. She said she didn’t care. She just wanted company and what kind of man was I to refuse that? She knew I was busy and wasn’t ready, but she’d be happy with whatever I could give her. When she got me alone, she put her mouth to my ear. She whispered she could help me. She could help me forget.
I wasn’t prepared to see Isa just now. I wasn’t prepared for it to hurt so much. Now that I’ve seen her, I don’t know what to do.
I lean against the fence and fumble with my phone as a guitarist beside me tunes up. I snap a pic of my foot, of my sneaker. I write in brilliant blue on top of it: I’m sorry. I post it. I know better than to let myself hope.
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 30
ISA
Chrissy and Kevin are waiting on the platform. They’ve been doing that lately even though I never ask them to ride with me. Kevin lifts his hand to wave, then drags his wiggling fingers through the air to his pocket. I do the same to him. It’s our personalized greeting, a joke from when they first started dating. Because he’s a piano player and he tickles the ivories and all. He also tickles Chrissy, but only when she baits him.
Chrissy tackles me in a full body hug. “How. Are. You?” She squeezes me with each grunt.
I squeeze her back. “I. Am. Fine.”
“Ready to spend your Saturday afternoon sweating it out at this awesome workshop?” Chrissy tugs down my sweatshirt, unrolling the frayed bottom cuff that used to be black but is now more of a gray. “Martha Graham kicks butt. Literally. My butt hurts for days after running her routines.” Chrissy leans over to touch her toes, stretching said glutes. “The teacher they’re sending us is amazing. He came last year too.”
“Yeah, it’s going to be great.” I show them a wide smile. I was just telling Dad how much I love my new school, how I love that the Academy is challenging us with different techniques. I keep telling myself the same thing, that it’s exciting and that I should be loving it.
“OK, babe. You want the Summer Bowl with chicken instead of tofu, right?” Kevin leans down to kiss Chrissy. “I’m heading to Sweetgreen if you want me to get you something, Isa.” Kevin doesn’t have to play at the workshop. He’s just going to be a groupie today. He’ll probably sneak off to one of the sound rooms to work on the jazz piece he’s composing.
Chrissy grabs Kevin’s hand. “If the Summer Bowl’s no longer available because it’s almost October and all, just ask for the Shroomami but substitute sweet potatoes for the beets.”
“Got it,” he says. “Anything?” He looks at me.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I’ve got plenty of protein bars in my bag.
“See ya.” He turns, piano fingers waving at us over his shoulder.
“So look what I just noticed.” Chrissy shows me a run in her tights. “You don’t have any extras, do you?”
“Sorry.” My dance bag is sparse these days. I only buy the bare minimum of what I need.
Chrissy looks at her phone. “I’m going to have to get out at Seventy-Second to run to Capezio. Thank the gods, I still have time. Hey.” She pokes me with a finger. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about Merrit.” The 1 train charges into the station, pulling her words away from me.
I try to look normal. “What about him?” Chrissy and Kevin know Merrit was in the hospital, because they were with me that day. We’re telling people Merrit had a bad reaction to one of his medications. The doctors say it is one explanation for what happened. Mom especially will believe anything if it means she doesn’t have to accept the alternative. Chrissy knows Merrit’s taking the semester off, to get back on his feet. I never told her about Merrit getting kicked out before that.
Chrissy licks her fingers and smooths a tiny curl behind her ear. She slides out a bobby pin and slips it in, holding the hair in place. “Well I called your landline the other day, since you weren’t picking up your cell. Anyway, Merrit answered.”
I’m careful to keep my smile steady. Merrit never mentioned that.
“He sounded good. He told me all about reMAKE, which sounds really cool, by the way. Anyway, do you know when the app is going live? I was thinking maybe I could use it.”
I line up next to the correct car and the correct door. I wait for a man with a very large dirt bike to get off. Chrissy follows me in. “What, you want to become a vlogger all of a sudden?” I try to keep my tone light.
“No way. But I’m thinking I want to make a video for Kevin.” She traces her hair, feeling for flyaways.
I give Chrissy a what-are-you-talking-about look.
Chrissy sits all the way back. She gazes up at the ceiling. “We still haven’t, you know . . .” She trails off, and I feel my mouth fall open. I lean toward her.
“You haven’t?” I whisper. “What about all those sleepovers?”
“They’re not really sleep-with-each-other sleepovers.” She covers her eyes with her arm. “I know, right? Who would have thought that I, Christianna McCallum, could have lasted ten days much less ten months without getting it on? I certainly wouldn’t have.” She slides forward and looks at me. “I mean, we do other stuff. He keeps me happy. I keep him happy, I think.” Chrissy bites her sleeve.
“So why the video?”
“It’s just . . . I’m worried about blowing my cover. I thought maybe a real virgin would want to wait longer before doing the deed, so I keep holding him off. The longer we wait, it just becomes a bigger deal. Now it’s like this thing between us that’s defining us. We’re the virgin couple who’s so in love and who respect each other so much we don’t want to de-virginize each other. So I figured maybe I could use Merrit’s app to make a video. Explain everything to Kevin. Ask him to forgive me for not telling him. I don’t think I can do it in person. And I’d be too nervous to video myself actually saying all those things. Typing them would maybe be OK though.”
I pull the sleeve out of her mouth. I think of her, of what she should do. I do not think of me in that situation at all. “You don’t need a video. You don’t need to tell Kevin. Just make a plan. Set a date for the deed. Build up to it. It is a big deal even if it’s not the first time . . .” I look at my hands as she searches my face. “Or . . . handful of times. It’ll be important. Because it’ll be with him.” I try not to think of me and Alex. “And you love each other.” I take a slow breath. My fingers are going numb. I beg my throat not to seal up. “That will be a first for you, even if it’s not the first.”
“I can’t be with Kevin,” she says. “Not until I come clean with him. And I certainly can’t fake a first-time experience. I’m scared enough as it is.”
“Scared? Why?” The words croak out of me. I reach for my water and take a long sip. I keep drinking until there’s none left.
“Chrissy, you’re too young to define the type of sex person you are. Anyway, people can change, right? You won’t know until you try.” It’s what I tell myself so I don’t get too depressed. I haven’t thought about or even looked at anyone since Alex. All the desire, all that crazy energy my body had, it just disappeared when Alex did. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever come back. Like it clearly did for him, with Kiara.
Chrissy nods. I tickle her elbow. She starts to laugh, then stops. Her eyes balloon open again.
“What—?”
“Don’t turn around.” She grabs my shoulder, but it’s too late.
Alex walks into our car.
I press my hand to my chest, the soft cotton of his sweatshirt flattening under my palm.
When I was in the auditorium during orientation, surrounded by students perched on the edge of their seats with perfect posture, and the dean was describing workshops and visiting professorships and travel performances, I kept waiting for the thrill my mind expected. Now I feel it, under my hand, the quick thrum of my heart.
He’s in his baseball uniform. He’s got a huge bag over his shoulder. It must be filled with bats and gloves and balls. The entire front of him is splattered with mud, from his shins up to his chest. Sweat stains track under his arms and around his collar. Beads of it trickle from his hat, down his cheek, to his jaw.
Alex hasn’t seen me yet. He turns slightly, talking to someone behind him. I hope it’s not that girl, Kiara. It’s hard enough seeing him. I can’t watch the two of them together.
“Come on, let’s go.” Chrissy takes my hand. I don’t move. A young boy is standing behind Alex. He’s also in a baseball outfit. Only he’s not caked in mud. Alex tells him to take a seat. The boy doesn’t want to go to the empty one without him. It’s all the way in the middle of the car. Alex lets out a sigh. He takes the bag off his shoulder. He says excuse me as he weaves between standing passengers.