First, Last, and Always

by Lehman, Kim

  I should immediately say, “I like it.” I should say, “You look beautiful.” I should anything at all that offers positive reinforcement, but I don’t say those things. Instead I’m an idiot, I’m tongue-tied, and I’m not thinking straight. There was nothing wrong with her. I liked the way she looked before. All the stuff on her face and hair just makes her look...plastic. I look at her with squinty eyes, like I’m trying to find the Charlotte I knew yesterday and I say, “What happened to your face?”

  Charlotte

  What happened to my face? I’m totally catatonic at Miles’s reaction. I can hear him apologizing, but it’s not landing in my ears. When the bus drops us off at school, my feet can’t move fast enough. When I finally get into the building, I gauge the distance between the entrance and the bathroom. I estimate about fifty yards. Once I get in there, I’m sure I can get this makeup off in less than thirty seconds.

  “Wait up.” Miles is trying to keep pace.

  Lani comes up behind us out of nowhere. “Why are we running?” she asks before her head gives a slight jerk backward. “Hey! Look at you!” she says to me.

  What I’d really prefer right now is less attention, not more.

  “Why are we in a rush?” she asks Miles.

  “Charlotte is running away from me,” he explains.

  “Miles thinks I look hideous,” I further clarify.

  “No. I never said those words.”

  “What did you say?” Lani asks Miles.

  “I asked what happened to her face.”

  “What?” Lani shrieks. She sounds upset. The last thing I want is to cause a fight between them. I don’t want them breaking up over me. I stop cold. Lani’s and Miles’s forward momentum almost causes them to crash into me. “Don’t be mad. It’s fine. This was a stupid idea. I just thought that if I...” My words trail off and I stare over Miles’s shoulder. I can feel my lower lip fall open, my mouth goes dry, and my eyelids refuse to blink; I’m afraid that the image of Grayson Miller walking toward me may be an illusion. Miles turns his head and then shifts so that we’re standing side by side, both of us facing the same direction, both of us silent.

  Lani squints. “Isn’t that—”

  “Shh,” I whisper with nervous urgency.

  “Hey, I’ve been looking all over for you,” Grayson says when he’s a few feet away.

  Every bone in my body stiffens. “M-me? You’ve been looking for me?” He smiles, and my feet feel like they’re permanently cemented to the ground. If someone touched me with a feather I would die standing up.

  “No,” he responds. “I was looking for him,” he says to Miles.

  “Oh.” My cemented feet loosen just enough to make me think that I might be able to make a run for it. I could crawl under the nearest bench with what’s left of my pride.

  “You’re looking for me?” Miles says with a confused look.

  “You’re Miles Fiester, right?” Grayson asks.

  “Yeah.” Miles nods.

  “You signed up for basketball tryouts?” It’s part statement, part question.

  “Uh-huh.”

  My neck jerks back. He did? Why didn’t he tell me?

  Grayson nods. “Cool. I saw your name on the list when I signed up. I wasn’t sure who you were, but one of the other guys”—Grayson motions to a group across the hallway—“pointed you out. Anyway, I was looking for you because we’re trying to get a bunch of guys together for a game. We’re asking everyone on the list. We’re hoping to get at least two teams of five. Thought we would get in some practice before tryouts. You want in?”

  “Oh, uh, well...,” Miles stammers, debating his response.

  “We’re meeting today, four o’clock, at the Milford courts on Henard Street.”

  For a moment I think Miles has lost his voice, but then he finally mumbles with little enthusiasm, “Okay. Sure.”

  “Cool, man.”

  Before leaving Grayson acknowledges me with a quick hi.

  I smile nervously.

  He scrunches his face. “Charlotte? Is that you?”

  “Uh...yeah.” Oh, God. I want to die. I was so close to making it to the bathroom.

  “Wow. You look different,” Grayson says.

  Shifting uncomfortably, I tuck my hair behind my ears. “I just styled my hair differently.” Oh, and I put on a bunch of makeup, new perfume, earrings, and two pairs of Spanx that are painfully sandwiching my ribcage.

  He nods in a way that makes me feel like he’s analyzing me.

  “Huh. Looks nice,” he says, backing away. “Thanks again, Miles.” Grayson holds up his hand in a wave. “We’ll see you at the courts.”

  As I watch Grayson walk away, his words cling to my ear. He likes the way I look? My cheeks burst. It worked. I’ve completely changed my mind about washing off the makeup. I’m thinking that maybe tomorrow I’ll wear more, but I’ll ditch the Spanx. A girl’s gotta breathe. The conversation replays in my head, and after basking in the fact that Grayson Miller told me I look nice, I remember what else he said.

  “You’re trying out again this year?” I ask, turning immediately toward Miles, erasing my smile. Miles usually tells me everything, but I knew nothing about him trying out for basketball.

  He nods in a nonchalant, totally Miles sort of way.

  What’s going on? All of a sudden I have this strange feeling I don’t know Lani or Miles as well as I think. First neither of them tells me they’re together, and now this? “Is there anything else I don’t know about?” I accuse, feeling hurt and left out.

  He looks between Lani and me, confused. “It isn’t a big deal,” Miles assures me.

  People only say that when it really is. I can’t look at him. “I have to go to class.”

  Miles

  Lani is glaring at me.

  “Great,” I say. “You’re mad at me too?” Geez. I’m not sure why everyone is so upset. So I didn’t tell anyone about trying out for basketball. Telling my dad was humiliating enough.

  She crosses her arms. “You had an opportunity to compliment her, to tell her what you think, and you totally blew it.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “She just surprised me with all that stuff on her face, and her hair all”—my hands circle my head, searching for the right words—“poufy and stuff.”

  Lani arches her eyebrows. Apparently, I didn’t find the right words. My defense is poorly argued. All I can do is sigh, shrug, and say, “I know. I’m such a jerk.”

  “Yeah,” she agrees. “You are.”

  A crumb of mercy would be nice. “Thanks,” I grumble.

  Her smile is unapologetic. “I’m here all day.”

  The number of guys at the basketball court is double what I expected. It’s hard to believe all these guys are freshmen. They must have skipped a couple grades. Every single one of them outweighs me by at least twenty pounds. At least I’m not the shortest one of the bunch. Grayson notices me as soon as I arrive. “Hey, man!” He waves and walks over. “Thanks for coming. It’s Miles, right?”

  I nod. “I thought there were only going to be two teams of five,” I say right away. Hopefully I sound more surprised than scared out of my mind.

  “Yeah, me too.” Grayson chuckles. “A bunch of other guys heard about it and showed up.” He shrugs. “Better for us, I guess.”

  This is getting worse by the second.

  “We’re starting in five minutes. Feel free to warm up. Here.” He hands me a basketball. “You can take mine. I’ve been here awhile. I’m pretty loose.”

  “Great. Thanks.” The basketball court is packed, guys on either side. “Where do I go?”

  “Doesn’t matter right now,” Grayson says. “But you’re on our team when we start. We’re sitting over there.” He points across the court.

  I make my way toward the other side, stalling as long as possible—stretching my arm over my head, lunging to the side (first left, then right), and pulling my knees up into my chest o
ne at a time before finishing with jumping jacks.

  One of the other guys runs over to where I’m standing on the sidelines to grab a water bottle. “Hey,” he says to me, “you on our team?”

  “I think so.”

  “Cool. I’m Mike.”

  “Miles,” I tell him.

  “You just get here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’d better get in there now and take a few shots while you can.”

  Or can’t, I think.

  “Need a ball?”

  “I got one.”

  “Come on,” Mike says, “I’m going back out. We’ll do some layups.”

  My chest tightens, my legs wobble, but I find the strength to jog behind him onto the court.

  Pausing at the half-court line, he dribbles between his legs.

  “Okay. Here I go,” Mike says. “Watch this.” Jogging to the basket, he picks up speed as he approaches. Just below the foul shot line he stops, picks up the ball, jumps, does a three-sixty in midair, shoots the ball against the backboard, and seals the shot. He runs over to me, all smiles, and nods. “You’re up.”

  My feet are glued to the blacktop. “Yeah. I’m not sure I can follow that.”

  “Come on. Just give it a shot.”

  Right.

  Taking a deep breath, I bounce the ball, focusing intensely on the part where my hand connects after it hits the ground. Then I move toward the basket. The movement is less a jog and more of a trot. I’m doing my best not to picture my last attempt at a layup, in which I missed the basket and the backboard entirely. I’m hoping this one hits something near the rim.

  Just after the foul line I remember to stop like Mike. My legs make a motion to jump. At the same time someone directly behind me yells, startling me. I don’t even make it off the ground.

  “Game time!” shouts a stocky he-man-looking kid with biceps as large as basketballs. I’m not up on the drug scene, but looking at him, I’m thinking steroids are a drug of choice these days. “Let’s get this party started!” he says with a grunt.

  I run back over to the sidelines, where Mike slaps me on the back. “Aww, man! You were right there. You should have shot it.”

  “Yeah.” I feign disappointment. “Bummer.”

  “Miles.” Grayson runs over. “You think you can play defense on their guard?” He points to Biceps. My stomach seizes.

  “Sure,” I say, which comes out sounding way more confident than I feel.

  We take our positions on the court: me in front of Biceps, who’s standing near the half-court line. Defense, I repeat in my head. Focus on the stomach. I heard that somewhere. Apparently, it’s better for tracking the movement of offensive players. If you watch the stomach instead of their eyes or hands, they can’t trick you as easily.

  Before we start I make the mistake of glancing into Biceps’s black eyes. Really, the guy has black eyes. The accompanying sneer he gives me does not help my nerves. Focus, I say to myself. A bell rings. My adrenaline lights up. Biceps takes a wide stance. I’m prepared to follow him right or left; I’m just waiting for him to give me the signal. Finally it happens: he leans forward, but instead of moving he yells, “Check!”

  I’d like to point out that “check” is not a foreign concept to me. I know it is a term used in basketball by the opposing team when they first take possession. Typically, just before the start of a game, the ball is “checked” to an opposing member to signify that everyone is ready to begin play.

  Today, however, I’m so nervous, I forget this concept and the basic rules of play.

  Check? I stand up, confused. “What’s—”

  Next thing I know, the ball is being tossed—no, correction—drilled directly at my torso. More specifically, my groin. It connects with the force of a speeding bullet. I bend over, operatic notes singing from my vocal cords. Another second later, my legs collapse underneath me and everything goes dark.

  11

  Charlotte

  “Hey.” Vanessa is blocking my entrance into the classroom.

  I know what she wants, but I’ve been diligently avoiding her, which is no easy task, let me tell you. Today she’s obviously figured out a way around my plan. “I’ll ask him today,” I assure her.

  “You’ve been saying that since Monday,” she spits, keeping her voice low. “It’s Wednesday. We had a deal.”

  A deal? This is more like coercion.

  “I want to know what he says today,” she demands. Behind her eyes I make out the images of tombstones. I’m pretty sure they have my name on them. There’s a sense of finality in her pitch.

  “I’ll ask him. I promise.”

  “Before the end of class,” she warns, allowing me to pass by because students are beginning to pile up.

  With a nod I trudge to my seat, brainstorming some way to start a conversation with Grayson. A dozen options fly through my head. Every single one of them is god-awful. As I approach, my stomach turns into a pretzel. Sitting down, I take a deep breath and decide to just go with a lame, “Hey, how are you?” I say it in my head a dozen times just to make sure I have it right.

  “Hey, how’s your friend Miles doing?”

  Interesting. It almost sounds as if Grayson is talking to me.

  “Charlotte?”

  He is!

  I turn my head. “Miles?”

  “Yeah. How’s he doing?”

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. I’m not sure what he means. I didn’t talk to Miles last night, and he wasn’t on the bus this morning. I figured maybe he slept in late or wasn’t feeling well. “Is something wrong?” I ask, concerned.

  Grayson nods. “He got nailed pretty hard with the ball. Blacked out for a while.”

  “What?” I shriek.

  “Yeah. He said he was okay when he came to, but it was a pretty hard hit. I wasn’t sure what he would feel like today. I felt bad. He didn’t even get a chance to play.”

  I should have called him, but I was still upset about everything that happened.

  “Anyway,” Grayson continues, “if you see him, tell him I hope he’s okay.”

  I nod. “Sure. I will.” He’s so sweet.

  Across the room the sound of phlegm hawking in someone’s throat travels to my ears. I don’t even have to turn my head. I know that it’s Vanessa trying to get my attention. Gulping, I take a breath. “Uh...Grayson, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  “Sure,” he says, somewhat skeptical.

  “So, there’s someone in the class who wanted to know if you might be interested in her.”

  “Really?” He seems surprised and excited.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who?” he asks.

  “Vanessa Meyer.”

  I’m not sure if he’s happy or just in shock, but he’s totally speechless. Still unable to blink, he shakes his head. “Really?” He smirks in her direction and chuckles. His eyes get a glassy, almost dreamy-eyed look, like he’s daydreaming. She smiles back.

  “Oh, shit.” He panics and hangs his head. “She saw me.” He lifts his hand up to cover the side of his face. “She’s walking over,” he says out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Hey, Grayson,” Vanessa coos.

  Slowly he lowers his hand and turns his head. “Vanessa,” he says with a coy grin, acting as if he didn’t know she was approaching.

  She waits for him to say something more. When he doesn’t she looks to me and raises her eyebrows. I’m not sure what to do. I deliver a weak smile. “Uh...,” Vanessa continues in a stammer. “So...I was thinking maybe we could get together and study sometime?” This is some of the most normal behavior I’ve seen out of her. She’s actually acting like a pleasant human being. She even seems humble. “Maybe tonight or tomorrow?” she suggests.

  Grayson takes a moment to respond. “Can’t,” he says.

  Vanessa’s smile weakens. “Oh.” She looks confused. “Next week maybe?”

  “Ooh. Hmm. That will be tough.”

  “Why?
” Vanessa asks, suddenly sounding a little irritated, the humility fading fast.

  “Well”—he turns his body and gestures toward me—“Charlotte and I already made plans to study together.”

  I’m pretty sure Vanessa’s jaw falls off at that moment. Mine is already on the floor.

  “In fact,” Grayson adds, “I’m booked the rest of the year. Right, Charlotte?”

  Huh? It’s really happened. I’m in an alternate universe. We never discussed this. Ever.

  Grayson’s giving me a pleading look that says, Play along. His eyes are so mesmerizing and gorgeous I deliriously obey. “Right,” I say robotically. As soon as the word comes out of my mouth I know I have sealed my fate. I can’t look at Vanessa, but I can feel the steam generating from her body. “Sorry,” I mumble to the ground.

  “I see.” Gritting her teeth, she delivers one last huff before storming off.

  Grayson laughs hysterically when she’s back at her seat. “Did you see her face?” he whispers across the aisle while Ms. Ming calls the class to attention.

  Nervously, I chuckle. Unfortunately, I think, turning around in my seat, facing the front of the class, trying to figure out what the hell just happened as Vanessa bores holes in my soul with her piercing eyes.

  At the end of the day, Lani jumps up out of nowhere and starts walking beside me as I head to my locker.

  “Here’s my latest tweet,” she announces. “‘Lani Hale, superfriend, uses X-ray vision to detect a disturbance in the Charlotte force. Hashtag angryfriend.’”

  I shake my head. “I’m not mad.”

  She scoffs at me. “Yeah, I know that. Number one, you aren’t allowed to be mad at me. Number two, refer to number one.”

  “Guess who I talked to today?” I say, attempting to refrain from showing too much excitement.

  “I’m gonna go with a boy for one hundred, Alex,” she says, doing her game-show impression.

  “Grayson.” I smile.

  She’s all ears. “What did he say?”

  How do I explain? “Well, I’m not quite sure how to—”

  I notice my locker before Lani does. When she does finally see it she has the same reaction I do and says exactly what I’m thinking.