by Mia Castile
“It’s a lovely evening, don’t you think?” Oliver sat down beside me.
“It was,” I said.
“Is your homework done?”
“Yes.” Were we real y going to play this game of idle chat?
“Wel , you should come inside; it’s getting late and—” he trailed off, staring at the early evening stars. “I know you think I’m a horrible person, and that’s OK. I used to be. But I’m not that person anymore. I hope one day you and your brother can forgive me. I’l never replace your mother, but I do and wil always love you.” He stood and walked to the door. He paused and turned toward me. “Don’t stay out much longer.” I nodded and sat there for another half hour.
As I lay in bed looking at my white ceiling, listening to my loud rock music, I tried to think. I tried to remember a time when Oliver showed me affection as a child. We flew a kite once. He was happy until I crashed it into the ground and broke the stick that held it together. Then he ripped it in two and threw it at my feet. Turning on my mom, he said it was a stupid idea to try to teach someone like me to fly a kite. He once promised to build a swing set for Alex and me. But after two cases of beer, he threw it out with the trash the fol owing week. “Wasted money,” he had sneered.
Wasted daddy, I had thought. I couldn’t sleep; I took out my notebook.
Travis,
I had a weird moment with my dad after you left. I’ve been analyzing it ever since. So, it’s almost midnight and I’m staring at my ceiling. Do you think people who were so set in their ways most of their lives can change? I’m wondering if it’s possible. When my mother remarried, it was to a man named Mitchell Warner. Alex and I liked him right away. He asked us questions about our lives and seemed genuinely interested. He went to all of Alex’s football games and would listen to me play my instruments for hours after dinner, smiling proudly at us. I came home one day from school surprised that both my mom and Mitchell were sitting in the dining room. They didn’t see me, but my mom was on the phone with Mitchell hanging on her every word. The conversation was simple: My mom was asking my dad to give up his parental rights. He must have refused because she begged and pleaded. Then she became angry, which was strange, because my mother had never been anything but afraid of my father. I guess she found strength in the distance, or maybe she was stronger than I ever gave her credit for. Finally she hung up the phone. She and Mitchell hugged; he said he still loved us like his own. I went back to the door and made a grand entrance, so they knew I was home. I went straight to my room; I was so mad at Oliver. Later when I came back down we all acted like nothing had happened.
I’ve been so angry with Oliver because he didn’t allow us to have our happy ending. He told me he loved us tonight. And he seems to be doing OK with being sober, the anger, and managing the bar and house. It makes me wonder if he has changed. I’m not afraid of him. I’m not my mother; if he put his hands on me, I would fight back, and then I’d call the police. No one will ever make me feel that way. I’m not worried about that. I just wonder if there is such a thing as redemption. I wonder if there can be forgiveness. He never hurt me on the outside. But he hurt all of us on the inside, and I don’t know if he can ever understand that. He can’t take it back; he has to live with it as we all do.
I’m sorry to unload on you like this. In my defense you did tell me you were a good listener, and I think if you’re going to accept me, you have to accept all of me. I’m not a shiny new toy; I’m dingy and some of my parts don’t work. They’ve been broken and glued back together. So be gentle with me.
Gia
The next day at school as I sat in second period during the morning announcements, they named the homecoming court. I didn’t know any of the names except for four: Travis Nichols, Jil ian Thomas, Mason Dixon, and Alex Moretti. I slouched in my seat. Of course, Jil ian, would be there. I’d bet al the cheerleaders were in the homecoming court. And, of course, the most popular boys on the footbal team. I wondered what going to the dance with Travis now entailed. I wasn’t sure.
As I went to my locker before lunch, I was bumped more than I though was necessary by cheerleaders passing me in the hal . At first I thought that I was delusional, but they were real y bumping into me. I almost dropped my books once, but I didn’t, and I held my head high. As I put my books into my locker, Travis snuck up behind me, wrapping his arms around me and whispering “Hi” breathily in my ear. It sent chil s down my spine and tickled my ear. I giggled.
“Hi, yourself.” He stepped over to his locker and dropped his books in. “Homecoming court, huh?” I smirked.
“I’m going to concede and let the next runner up take my spot.” He was stil digging in his locker.
“Why?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I’m going to the dance with you, and I don’t want to do al the stuff that’s involved with homecoming—stand on a float, stand on stage, dance with anyone beside you—I’ve done it al before. It’s not that big of a deal.” He peeked at me from around his locker.
“Hmm,” was al I said, as I took his hand, letting him lead me toward the cafeteria.
“What’s that supposed mean?” he asked, a crooked smile spread on his face.
“I was a little bummed you were on the court, but I understand it. You’re popular and a good representation of our school. I just don’t want you to give this up for me. That’s not a good enough reason.” I didn’t look at him.
“Are you sure? It’s not that big of a deal to me. This is our first dance together; that’s a big deal to me.” He had stopped, and I looked up at him. I sighed.
“I’m sure.”
“OK.”
I stood staring at the mirror in a flesh-colored, soft flowing dress. It didn’t feel right, and it was the fifth dress I’d tried on. Abby had already picked her dress, her shoes, and clutch purse, and was now banging on the door for the third time demanding to see my dress. I opened the door and showed her.
“It’s not right,” I said softly, as I looked down.
“So, what is right then? Because I don’t know if they have any more styles of dresses. You look amazing.” I looked back at my reflection.
“No, it doesn’t feel right,” I sighed.
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.” She leaned her head against the swinging door. She analyzed my face. I could feel her searching my eyes and my expression. “We’l come back another day.” She closed the door, and I dressed again.
Abby checked out and was chattering about how Mason had asked her. He’d come over to her house on the pretense of getting help with calculus.
Halfway through the tutoring session, he said, “I don’t need any more help.” She looked at him, not believing him. He continued, “I’ve never needed help. I’ve always liked you. I guess I just wanted to spend time with you and never knew how.” She was shocked; she had tutored Mason since eighth grade. He had confided in her about girls he liked and about girlfriends. He had told her things that friends tel each other, so she never though more of it. She even admitted to me of confiding in him more than she had been comfortable confiding in anyone else. And then he said it.
“Wil you go to the dance with me?” She jumped into his arms, hugging him, and he actual y kissed her. Her first kiss, there in her dining room, her parents in the great room watching TV. She said it was nerve-racking. She blushed and giggled with me as I laughed, not because he kissed her, but because I envisioned her parents oblivious to their daughter’s make-out session in the next room. She admitted that her heart sank a little when she heard his name announced that morning, but she understood. He and Travis had been on the homecoming court for the past two years.
We made it to my house where she dropped me off. Leaning on his car parked behind the old truck in the driveway was Travis, smiling at me as I got out. His expression turned to confusion as I grabbed only my book bag.
“No dress?” His arms went up in the air.
“No dress,” I sighed.
“She needs more help than I can give her,” Abby cal ed to him. I looked at her in annoyance. She shrugged, waved goodbye, and was on her way. I began to walk up the stoop to the front door. He caught my hand.
“I thought we could try something different today.” I looked at him questioningly. “Dinner at my house? My mom made a roast. We can do homework there, too.” He wove his fingers in mine and led me away from the stairs. My eye caught a form move from in front of a window with the blinds open in a house across the street. I couldn’t see more than just a dark form, but someone was there watching—maybe Oliver’s spy and that’s how he seemed to know how much time Travis spent here. I directed my attention back to Travis, his face so hopeful.
“Dinner at your house,” I conceded easily.
In the car we didn’t say much. Throughout dinner we made smal talk about the dance, Travis’ courtly duties, and Hailey’s new obsession with her colored pencil art. We worked diligently on our homework in his room afterward. I sat on his bed, and he sat at his desk. Sometimes my favorite time with him was when we quietly worked on homework. The ability to just be together and not have to fil the void was a luxury I didn’t take for granted. I saw him out of the corner of my eye pause and look at me for a few moments without moving. When I looked up, he had such a questioning in his eyes. I sat up straighter and waited for whatever he was about to drop on me. He looked down at his feet and then back at me.
“Do you real y think of yourself as an old broken toy, too broken to be worth anything?” He held my eyes, and I couldn’t look away.
“Sometimes.” I let out the deep breath I had been unconsciously holding. “When you lose someone or something that you love, and you have no control over it, it hurts deeply. And I’ve teared up, but I haven’t wept. Not like Mitchel did, not like Alex did, not like the rest of my aunts and uncles and cousins that came to the funeral. The first time I cried was on the plane, and it was just a few tears.” I remembered the boy watching me as I stared into nothingness. “I wonder what it is you see in me sometimes. And then other times I’m so happy that you see anything in me. I feel guilty because I’m happy with you, and I shouldn’t be happy. My mom died seven weeks ago. Seven. Weeks. That’s it, and it feels like an eternity.” I could hear my voice rising, but I couldn’t control it. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve this.” I motioned my hands between us from him to me. He moved from his chair and sat beside me, cradling me in his arms. He smoothed my hair down my back and rocked me, my head in my hands. Leaning against his chest, I tried to find a tear, but it was nowhere to be found. “I don’t deserve you,” I mumbled into my hands. He shushed me, rocking me slowly back and forth.
“Your mom had no choice in leaving you; she loved you. I see the beautiful person you are; you are kind and gentle. You make me laugh, and you deserve this. Your mother would want you to be happy despite the struggles in life. My mom says that she wouldn’t be the person she is today if the things that happened to her and the decisions she made were different. I never quite understood that before I met you. Your mother raised you to be strong and straightforward. And I have a feeling you don’t take no shit from no one,” he said in a comical gangster tone. I smiled and looked up at him. His eyes were soft, and his smile warmed me inside. “My dad left and didn’t look back, and I’m a better person because of it. I know when the time comes to have a family; I won’t do to them what he did to me. I’l be more than he ever was. He made me who I am today in that regard.” He looked past me now to the white board beside his desk. “My mom is responsible for the rest of me, the best of me.” He squeezed me, his eyes finding mine again without that distant look.
Chapter 11
There’s a First Time for Everything
Travis
I’d never felt more in my game as I did during that Friday night’s game. It was the third in our season, and though we were at one and one, I thought we might win this. Mason was on. Alex couldn’t miss the bal or the open holes left by the defense. I had scored two touchdowns, and every time I looked in the stands, there was my girl, my Gia, cheering me on. She wore my number. Out of al the faces, I could always find hers smiling at me.
We huddled up with the bright lights from behind the bleachers shining down on us.
“Chiz, I need better blocking; I almost got sacked on that last one,” Mason was shooting off.
“But you didn’t,” Chiz retorted. Mason gave us the play, and we clapped our hands together, breaking up and running to our positions.
“Hut, hut, hut,” Mason yel ed. I took off running; a linebacker was headed right for me, but so was Chiz to block. I could see the bal coming, and just as it was on the tip of my fingers, the linebacker was plowing into my stomach, rotating it off my finger. I was on the ground flat on my back. The bal was in the other team’s hands. Chiz casual y jogged up to me. I jumped up, a little sore around my ribs, but I was too angry to pay much attention to it. I got right in his face.
“What the hel was that? Where were you?” I yel ed, pushing my helmet against his.
“I got held up.” He pushed back.
“Get it together. You cost us the bal .” I took off my helmet and threw it. I knew he did that on purpose.
“You’re the one who didn’t catch it. YOU cost us the bal .” He took off his helmet and ran toward the bench. I kicked my helmet, then ran and got it and joined the team on the bench. I was tired of the stupid games, of the comments he made to Gia. I’d bet she didn’t ful y get his intention for half of them. I was so sick of Jil ian stil trying to wiggle her way back in with me. I slammed myself down on the bench as Alex handed me a water bottle.
“He should have blocked him,” he said under his breath. He nodded toward Chiz and continued, “He was right there and then just stopped mid-stride.” I shook my head. I knew it. I looked back up at Gia; her brows were furrowed. She was worried. I gave her a little smile trying to tel her it was OK; she relaxed a little but stil looked worried. Chiz sat out the rest of the game. I guess the coach had noticed his stunt, too.
In the locker room Coach began his speech. He seemed pretty riled up considering we won the game.
“I don’t know what you fel as think you’re pul ing out there, but we take care of our own! Any beef you got with anyone on this team is left outside those locker room doors.” He pointed with his clipboard. “Here, we are a family, and we watch out for each other. A guy’s a jerk? Here, he’s your brother. He’s dating the girl you like?” His eyes fixed on Chiz. “You protect him and block for him. I don’t want any more stunts like that in practice or during the games. Do I make myself clear?” His eyes focused on me. We al nodded, groaning our agreement. “Now hit the showers. I can’t be here al night; I got a hot date with the missus.” He turned and went to his office. I began undressing.
“He’s dating the girl you like?” Chiz mocked Coach’s tone while standing around a few guys. “You steal her and then throw it in his face.” He looked over at me. They laughed as he continued. “Who cares who is dating who? I only date cheerleaders and girls from other schools—who are cheerleaders.” Mason stood up from the bench he was sitting on a few lockers from me. My hands bal ed into fists. Chiz went on, “I mean the other girls in this school are so inexperienced, nerdy, and downright artsy freaks. Like there’s something WRONG with them. Listen to me when I say, guys.” He put his hand on Brandon’s shoulder as if he were giving him fatherly advice. “You lose street cred and popular points when you date girls like Gia, Abby, and Kiarah.” Before I could stop him, Alex had him slammed up against the locker with Chiz yelping in pain. Then Alex’s fist came up so fast it met his nose, and we al heard a crunch. The other guys backed up, shocked that anyone would take on Chiz, but Mason and I pul ed Alex off him. Chiz grabbed his nose as blood rushed down his mouth and chin. It was dripping onto his bare chest.
“What is your malfunction, bro?” Chiz yel ed, as he steadied himself, looking at the blood on his hands. “Homecoming is a week away! And you
broke my nose! You’re so dead.” Someone handed him some paper towels, and he winced as he wiped the blood away. Alex jerked away from us.
“Don’t you ever talk about my SISTER or my girlfriend like that. Keep their names out of your mouth and don’t come near them.” He pushed him again with both of his hands, slamming him into the lockers again. Chiz groaned. Coach came back out, and said, “Moretti, Chiz, in my office.
NOW!” He turned and left, and they fol owed him. Mason and I looked at each other, not knowing what to do next. After a few minutes, we went ahead and took our showers and dressed. Then we went outside to Abby and Gia waiting for al of us so that we could go to the IHOP.
“Where’s Alex?” Gia asked, looking around us toward the locker room doors for her brother.
“There was a slight altercation in the locker room,” Mason said, as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.
“What happened?” she asked.
“He got into a fight with Chiz. I think he broke his nose,” I said, squeezing her hand.
“Chiz broke Alex’s nose?” Her voice rose, and her face began to darken.
“Um, no, Alex punched Chiz,” Mason said.
“No, Alex doesn’t fight,” she said, shaking her head.
“Yeah, I guess if he thinks it’s worth it, he does,” Mason reasoned. She sat down as suddenly the color left her face.
“Alex doesn’t fight; he knows better,” she barely whispered.
“GIANNA!” We heard the strong thick Italian accent of Oliver, and she groaned.
“Over here.” She stood so he could see her.
“Where is your brother?” he demanded, as he approached us.
“Mr. Morretti, he’s in the coach’s office; right through there.” I pointed the way.
“Go home, Gianna. I have to deal with your brother, and it’s late.”
“We were going to go get some food,” she stated.
“Wel , now you’re going home.” He walked past us and was gone.