A Girl Like Me

by Ginger Scott

  “Tell your dad Wes is coming out to our practice this week, if he wants to stop by and watch after yours,” TK says, handing me my things as he climbs from the back of the truck and slides into the cab.

  “I will,” I say back, my eyes catching Wes’s for just a moment.

  I wait until they drive away, then I open the garage and drop my gear by the door, glad to see my dad’s car inside. The house smells like Italian food when I enter, and my dad already has a bowl of something in his hands as he passes by.

  “Grace said Wes came by,” he says, and I can tell he’s practiced this move, trying to act natural while mentioning something to me that he knows takes up a serious amount of real estate in my head. I play along, too.

  “He did, with his brothers. We hit some balls. He got me with his slider,” I say.

  My dad pauses in eating and looks at me with a flash of a grimace, his mouth stuffed with pasta that’s hanging out, draping over his fork.

  “That’s something we’ll only let happen once,” he says, continuing to shovel.

  I laugh and grab a bowl of my own.

  “He’s starting school on Monday,” I say.

  Neither Grace or my dad reacts. They know the words I’m not saying.

  “He’s going to start playing with the team, too,” I add.

  “Good, they need help. When you graduate, I’m taking that job back. Those fools don’t know what they’re doing. They may as well be playing coach-pitch.”

  My dad plays his personality up, partly to distract from the important piece in everything we’ve both just said—Wes is here. He’s back, yet he isn’t.

  We don’t dwell on it. There aren’t any parent-daughter talks about not getting my hopes up or about not losing myself to a boy. We’re past that. I’m not. I’m going to play Division One ball, as an amputee. What Wes does or does not remember won’t change any of that. It never would have.

  But my right now is still hopeful that he will remember us. That he and I will have to talk about things like long-distance relationships, visiting girl-only dorm rooms, gas money to see each other, and how jealous he’s going to be when I’m far away and I have to beat the guys—from whatever college’s baseball team—off me with a stick. I amuse myself at that last thought.

  My dinner done, I escape to my room, pulling out my government book to study. For most of my peers, this last semester is meaningless, but for me, a few more decent grades in my average might be the difference between a partial athletic scholarship and a full one. We just got out of debt, and I’m not so anxious to dig new holes.

  My eyes glaze over the text, and I shake my head to focus several times, finally giving in after an hour of trying to memorize the passage of various bills and amendments, matching them to their years and their sponsors. I close my book and let my cheek rest on my pillow, aware of everything on the other side of my eyelids for about a dozen seconds before it all fades into background noise and I fall to sleep.

  When I wake up, my room is bright from my lamp, but I know it’s late. I rub my eyes and glance to my clock to check the time, struggling to focus to read it at first, and finally seeing it’s a little after two. A knock comes at my window, and I roll my head to the other side, looking at the perfectly sealed space I made my dad cover in shutters.

  I click my lamp off and wait a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, my phone buzzing while I wait.

  It’s me. I know it’s late.

  Seeing Wes’s name has me standing quickly, and I circle my room as I type.

  I’ll be right out.

  I search for something nice, finally giving up and walking outside in the same smelly shirt and joggers I played in this afternoon. He’s standing at the end of my driveway wearing the same thing he wore, too, and it makes me laugh to myself.

  “Hey,” I say, closing the door behind me quietly.

  Wes’s hands are in his pockets, and his eyes are down, glancing up to me briefly as I approach.

  “Hey, sorry,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I know it’s late. And this is probably…I don’t know, maybe not a good idea or whatever.”

  His eyes scrunch and he brings his hands from his pockets pressing his palms on either side of his head as he paces a few steps to either side.

  “It’s okay, really,” I reassure him. He stops where he’s at, his arms relaxing, and his hands falling to his sides as he studies me, his body turned to the side.

  He shakes his head slowly, his hat backward and the ends of his hair curling at the base of his neck. His mouth has the tiniest curve, and I start to focus on it more than I should as he takes a deep breath through his nose. My mouth parts, but I’m not sure what to say, so bite my bottom lip and wait. His eyes notice, and I feel it in my chest when he blinks slowly.

  “I found this…ticket,” he says, pulling his right hand from his pocket again, holding it out for me to take. I look at it and smile faintly.

  “That’s yours. You should keep it,” I say, my heart caught in the present and the past, with a little boy wanting to be accepted and have a friend, and a younger me wanting to be nicer than she ever really was.

  He holds it out for a few more seconds, his hand finally dropping and holding it at his waist, where he stares at it a little longer.

  “I know something about this ticket, but it’s like it’s caught in a fog,” he swallows.

  “Yeah,” I say, my fingers tingling anxiously, my mind screaming at me to finish the puzzle for him. I know I can’t.

  “I found it as soon as we got home from practicing. It was in with a bunch of my things, in this box with my socks,” he glances up and his eyes meet mine. “I knew it had something to do with you.”

  I nod slowly.

  “It does,” I say. My heart booms loudly, and I start to sway on my legs, needing to ground myself.

  “Before I came here, I just drove,” he says, pushing the ticket back in his front pocket, leaving his hands there when he’s done. “TK called me, freaked out. I guess driving around a place I only slightly remember at midnight worries the fam.”

  He laughs on one side of his mouth and I smile.

  “I can see that,” I say.

  His chin lifts and his eyes meet mine again, and our eyes lock for longer this time. My legs steady, and I remain perfectly still.

  “I didn’t know where I was going, but I just drove. I took turns because they felt right, I stopped when something told me to. I went to this place.”

  His brow draws in and he takes a deep breath, his lips relaxed, but pulling at the corners, trying to decide whether to frown or speak. Eventually, he moves toward his truck, and I follow for a few steps before giving him space. He reaches inside and pulls out a messy cluster of flowers, some of them still showing their roots from where he pulled them from the ground. He takes deliberate steps toward me, lifting my hand in his and wrapping my fingers around the bunch of peonies, my eyes focused on the perfect one in the very center.

  “These are your favorites,” he says, and I look up into his eyes over the tuft of pink we both grasp between us. “I don’t know how I knew that, but I knew these were your favorites. They’re important.”

  My lips part and I gasp a quiet breath before nodding slowly. I feel his other hand cover mine, closing over my knuckles, squeezing my grip tighter on the flowers. His feet take tiny steps forward, inches closer to me, as he holds my gaze hostage.

  “You’re important,” he says.

  My eyes break rank first, the cool tear finally giving way to gravity and sliding down my cheek before stopping and waiting for more.

  “You’re important,” I say back to him.

  The words barely leave my mouth before his right hand is cupping my face, his thumb drawing a gentle line under my eyes, sweeping the tear to the side but not extinguishing the proof that it existed.

  We existed.

  We exist.

  “I can’t fly,” he says, his forehead falling against mine slowly. We both l
augh silently through breaths as I let the flowers fall to the ground and I bring my hands to his shirt, grabbing it in bunches.

  “It’s overrated,” I say, tilting my head enough that his lips graze mine, the feel of them like breathing fire into an icy, dead soul.

  “I loved you,” he says.

  “You did,” I nod, my head rolling against his with the tiny movement.

  He pulls back enough to look at me, my face cupped in his hands, my tears filling my eyes, and my favorite flowers at my feet. Wes begins to nod, and I stare into the blue illuminated by the moon, and I see the shift the moment it happens.

  “I love you still,” he says.

  It doesn’t come all at once, but like glitter blown in the wind, the boy I knew begins to come back to me a piece at a time.

  Until I have him all.

  Epilogue

  “All right, racers! Before we can start, I’m going to need to see everyone’s ticket!”

  Taryn stands on top of the berm in my backyard as she paces and shouts, dressed with socks pulled up to her knees and short red shorts that make her look like a roller derby princess. Behind us all, my patio is dressed up with lights and mismatched chairs borrowed from neighbors and friends. I didn’t want a party, but my dad said the fact that I graduated was worth celebrating. I’m still not entirely sure if he was joking about that or not.

  “Any forfeiters can step forward now! Or you can all just concede to my athletic superiority, give me the last corner piece of cake, and then we can all get out of here and head to the drive-in where the rest of our class is already drunk,” Kyle says.

  “Sit your ass down, Kyle!” my dad shouts from the back porch.

  “You really had to yell the drunk part?” Taryn slaps Kyle’s hat lower as she scolds him. “Because of that, you race in the outside lane.

  “Aw, come on!” he whines.

  “Wow, was he like this for every race?” Wes asks, bumping his knee into mine as we sit side by side along the back wall of my yard where we stood so many years ago.

  “That boy was born this way,” I chuckle, turning to Kyle and saying a little louder, “entitled and always mistreated!”

  “Guess he’s going to really throw a fit when he loses, huh?” Wes stretches his legs out and pushes his folded fingers outward, cracking his knuckles.

  I smirk at him.

  “I guess you both will,” I say, holding the tip of my tongue at the front of my teeth. Wes and I stare at each other with mouths hinting at smiles, like two poker players facing off, each with aces in their hands.

  Nothing is perfect. There are fractures in Wes’s memory still, but every day, something new seems to come back to him. Sometimes it’s something as simple as remembering that he liked to put a pack of gum in the ashtray of the truck he shares with his brothers. Other times, it’s something big—like our first real kiss, in that treehouse at Jungle Gym’s. I helped that one along a little, inviting Wes to my work after it closed, just like he used to do. He helped me climb up, and we sat there for hours just so he could feel the moment.

  He and his brothers are staying together for college. They’re the first set of three brothers to all play for Pepperdine at the same time. They’ll be seven hours away—five the way Kyle drives. My heart was always in Chico. Kyle won’t be far—he couldn’t resist the lure of Stanford. He’s starting to freak out about the academics, but I’ve assured him that he’ll find a nice, pretty tutor that will be happy to take care of him. Taryn will be right at home in L.A. We’re a band of troublemakers sprinkled along the coast.

  We have the summer together. A summer to find old memories and make new ones. I’m okay with the distance. This is all I wanted, to have to experience this—a long-distance relationship. I’m not naïve. I lost all of that youthful romanticism a long time ago. But I do believe if there were any two people in our position who were ever destined to survive this, it’s Wes and me. We’ve survived so much.

  My dad gave me a new glove for my graduation gift. It’s almost exactly like the one I was going to get when I was a kid. I didn’t mention it when I opened it, but I know that’s why he got it for me. It was important to him.

  It was perfect.

  Wes gave me his favorite sweatshirt before everyone showed up for the party. I wanted this shirt a year ago, but now I think I kinda need it. Somehow, it feels like security, and not because the boy who wore it saved me so often. It feels that way because it reminds me of my year—of everything I can do if I have to. It reminds me of the things I want. Wes just happens to be one of them. I plan on bringing it with me any time I see him so I can force him to put it on to pick up his scent.

  I wasn’t sure what to give him. Everything I came up with seemed so cheesy, or like it wasn’t enough. I didn’t know what I was going to give him until an hour before he showed up at my house today. I found the perfect gift tucked in the bottom drawer of my dresser. The pages were flat now from resting under my jeans and sweaters, but the drawings were still clear—the color bright. I took Shawn’s book into my father’s bedroom and promptly put it through the shredder. My father had never seen it, and he wasn’t home when I pulled the cut-up pages from the bin and ran them through again, until I was left with nothing but confetti. I stuffed the pieces in a jar and glued the lid on tight. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to give it to him, and I wanted to wait until we were alone, but something about now just feels right.

  “She’s going to go over the rules for minutes. Come with me,” I whisper to Wes, leaning into him.

  Taryn snaps at us for leaving in the middle of her speech, threatening to disqualify us, but I counter her fast.

  “As co-founder of these races, I overrule you. No majority vote,” I laugh as Wes takes my hand and we walk down the hill.

  “I don’t know what that smart business was you just said, Joss Winters, but it’s not going to get you any favors. Now you’re in the outside lane!” Taryn shouts.

  Kyle pumps his fist as I shrug.

  “I’ll win from wherever you put me, T,” I say. My friend tries to hide her smile, but her tight lips eventually let out a laugh.

  Wes and I slip through the sliding door, and he follows me to my room, his finger looped in the back pocket of my denim shorts as we walk. He closes the door the moment we’re inside and holds my face in his hands, his thumbs at my chin as his mouth covers mine. I smile through his kiss; I love these stolen moments that are only ours.

  “Do you want your present or not?” I giggle against his lips.

  “I always want my present,” he says, tugging at my shirt teasingly, pulling it from my shorts. I know he’d never take it that far with my father just outside, so I let him go as far as he’s willing before he stops on his own.

  “All right, what’s this present you have for me?”

  He sits on the corner of my bed with his eyes closed and his hands held out in front of him. I slide the small jar from under my pillow and step in front of him, laying the glass in his hands. He feels it for a moment, his lips curled as his thumbs run over the curves and the metal grooves on the lid.

  “Jelly,” he laughs, opening his eyes and rotating the jar around in his hands. His teasing smile straightens a little and his brow pinches in. “Uh…”

  “It was the book,” I say, hesitating before I tell him more. Wes remembered the book early on in his recovery. He asked about it, but I’d forgotten amid all of the other things he started to remember.

  He shakes the jar in front of his eyes, the bright colors changing like a kaleidoscope trapped inside that glass forever.

  “It’s almost pretty like this, ya know?” he says, rolling the jar slowly along his leg.

  “I thought so,” I smile. I sit next to him and take it in my hand, holding it up against the light coming in through my window. “I didn’t really think about it. I just did it. It seemed like…I guess it just seemed like our story was done, so we didn’t need this anymore.”

  Wes stares at th
e jar in my hand for a few seconds, sliding his fingers along my wrist until his hand grasps it and he takes it back from me. He holds it on his knee then slowly moves his gaze up to mine. An amused grin takes over his mouth, pushing faint dimples into his cheeks as his eyes close just a little, his left a little more than his right.

  “And here I thought our story was just getting started,” he says.

  The corners of my lips rise.

  “You two are up! You’re racing TK and Kyle, so get your shit together!” Taryn shouts through the closed door.

  “I guess we gotta go do this race thing,” I say, my eyes not leaving his once.

  “I hope you’ll still love me when I leave you in the dust,” he smirks.

  I get up and hold out my hand, his fingers finding mine after he leaves the jar on my desk for later. I lead him back down the short hallway, through the living room and to the patio where our parents are joking and Taryn is standing on the hill. We hold hands all the way to the faint chalk line Taryn made me draw with pieces I had left in the bag I found from when we were kids. Wes digs his front foot into the dirt, twisting it to get a good grip, then places his hands on his upper leg as he leans forward, his eyes now on Taryn, his muscles poised to go.

  I do the same, turning my head to face the short dirt track ahead that used to seem so big when I was a kid.

  “You know I’m not going to let you win, right?” I say as Taryn raises her arms and watches to see when we’re all ready.

  “You never have,” he says.

  My cheeks round as my smile grows, and the second Taryn shouts “Go!” the earth rumbles with our heavy feet, clouds of dust growing with every gallop and laughter slicing through a shared will to be the best—to win.

  Wes and I take the lead immediately. We both push, and leap, and kick until the very end, sparking a debate that lasts until the sun goes down over whose body crossed the line drawn in the dirt first. Everyone else needs to have a winner. But Wes and I—we’ve already won. We’ve found our place again, among races, and tickets, and dares…and kissing.