The Edge of Anything

by Nora Shalaway Carpenter

  “Yes,” Len said. “I need to show her something.”

  “She told us she had another checkup with her cardiologist.” Kayla narrowed her eyes. “But I think that’s bullshit.”

  Kayla’s bluntness made Len hesitate. “Where else would she be?”

  “Dunno.” Kayla’s muscled shoulders lifted. “But you guys are so chummy now. Why don’t you tell me?”

  Len’s head tilted. Was Kayla—powerful, fear-inducing Kayla—jealous? Of her?

  “I have no idea.” When Kayla’s stare didn’t waver, she added, “I wouldn’t be waiting for her if I knew she wasn’t here, would I?”

  Kayla frowned, but her posture relaxed, her gaze moving to the gym door. She looked pissed, but beneath that, Len recognized something else: worry.

  Len risked a step forward. “You really think she’s not at an appointment?”

  Kayla looked surprised, like she’d already forgotten Len was there. “Forget it,” Kayla muttered, and stalked into the gym.

  Len stared after her. Shoe squeaks and the pounding of volleyballs swelled then quieted as the gym door opened and closed. Why would Sage have lied about an appointment? Was she in some kind of trouble?

  She placed the photo folder into her bag and booked it out of the school.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  SAGE

  KAYLA WAS SUSPICIOUS.

  The doubt in her eyes when Sage told her she was missing practice for yet another checkup had been unmistakable.

  Sage stuffed the duffle filled with her school clothes into the same locker she’d used for last Friday’s game and headed toward the Y’s gym. The championship game was this Friday. She only had to hold Kayla off for four more days.

  Her shoelace came undone, and she bent to fix it. Unless they won, of course. Which they would. They had to.

  “Hey, Tiny.”

  Ketia stood in front of her. Sage made a face at the nickname.

  Ketia grinned. “So it’s not the best or most original name.” She clapped Sage’s shoulder. “But you should be flattered. Trust me.”

  Sage didn’t need to ask what she meant. Nicknames; inside jokes; small, good-natured pokes at one another. It was all part of team culture. It meant she was one of them.

  She followed Ketia to the gym, where the rest of her team was already going through drills. Sage smiled. Her team. She supposed Tiny wasn’t such a bad name after all.

  “You two!” Flick called to them. “Get over here, you’re late!”

  “Are we late?” Sage asked under her breath.

  “We’re not early,” said Ketia, “and that’s late in Flick-world.”

  “Don’t leave the service line until you’ve landed all six spots,” Flick told Sage. “Ketia, I want you practicing tips, especially between P2 and P3, the Pumpkins’ weak spot.” Before she could say anything else, a ball zoomed between them, inches from Flick’s face. She whirled around. “Derek, what did I tell you about your form?”

  “The Pumpkins?” Sage asked as Flick darted off to chastise Derek. She grabbed a stray ball from the ground.

  “The team we’re playing for the championship,” said Ketia. “They have orange shirts.” Her smile was quickly replaced by seriousness. “There’s history there.”

  Sage remembered what Flick had said after the last game. “What kind of history?” She followed Ketia to the line for spiking drills.

  “You know Flick and Lucy played college ball?”

  Sage nodded.

  “Well, one of the Pumpkins played at the same time, was a captain just like Flick. Her team kept Flick’s team from the Division title three years in a row.”

  “Damn.”

  “Mm hmm,” said Ketia. “There is bad blood, ya know what I mean? And add the state qualifier on top of that?” She whistled. “It’s gonna be tense, Tiny. You better be ready.”

  * * *

  Sage knew something was wrong as soon as she entered the house. Dad was waiting for her at the kitchen island. She’d changed back into her school clothes at the Y and left her duffle in the trunk, but he stared at her like he’d caught her red-handed.

  “So,” he said, “how was the appointment?”

  Sage’s mouth fell open. “Dad—”

  “Do not lie to me,” he said. “Your friend called a little while ago, someone named Len? She wanted to see how your appointment went.” Sage clamped her mouth shut, her brain scrambling for excuses.

  “You can imagine my surprise,” he said, “to learn you had a cardiology appointment I didn’t know about.” Dad stood up. “Where were you, Sage?”

  She swallowed, her body still buzzing with adrenaline.

  “Sage!”

  “I went on a walk.”

  Dad snorted. “A walk?”

  “Yes. I walked around the school and then went to the library, just to get away. I had to.” She met his eyes. “Do you have any idea what it’s like, sitting there, watching my friends do the thing I love more than anything and not being able to play?”

  “You are still the captain of that team, Sage. They need you there. For encouragement. For support.”

  Sage gaped at him. Did Dad not want to understand her? Or was he simply not able to? How had Len put it in the coffee shop that day, when Sage explained why she didn’t want to tell anyone about her heart? You’re afraid they can’t handle it. And then you’ll have to hold their disappointment, too.

  Dad looked away from her gaze, like he’d sensed her thoughts. The air between them practically shivered with his unease. With his disappointment. It didn’t matter that he was disappointed for her. She had enough disappointment for a lifetime.

  She thought again of Len in the coffee shop, absorbing the horribleness of Sage’s situation without blinking. Led hadn’t looked away in discomfort or offered advice. Or even tried to change the subject. She’d made space for Sage’s discomfort, not the other way around.

  Sage’s nose crinkled. It was a different kind of strength, she realized—the ability to face a bleakness you couldn’t fix. She was certain not many people possessed it.

  “I have homework,” she said.

  Dad rubbed his chin. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he said quietly. “And I wish…” His voice hitched and he met her eyes again. “But this is life, and we have to deal with it. We have to move on.”

  Move on.

  They were such simple words, and so small. Sage held the words in her mind, let them echo through her. She could almost taste them.

  Bile rose in her throat.

  “Homework,” she repeated, starting past him. This time he let her through.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  LEN

  LEN’S HEART SURGED AS SHE TOOK THE PHONE’S RECEIVER from Dad. If Sage was calling, that meant she was okay. “Sage? Hi!”

  “You called my parents?”

  “Oh.” Len turned away from her dad, her voice low. Sage was clearly pissed. “I was worried. Kayla said—”

  “So you’re listening to Kayla now?”

  “What? No…” Len’s words stumbled around her tongue, until she remembered Sage’s note. “And how can you be upset anyway? You left a note for my parents.”

  The phone remained silent for a long moment. Finally, Sage huffed into it. “Next time, just call my cell, okay? My parents”—she let out another deep exhale—“they complicate things.”

  Len knew what that was like. “I don’t have your cell.”

  “I called you—”

  “Landline, remember? No caller ID.”

  “Right.” Sage gave her the number.

  “Thanks,” said Len, then paused. She’d been so excited to tell Sage about Ms. Saffron’s reaction to the photos, but now things felt off. But it had been such a good day. She couldn’t let it end like this, all awkward and uncomfortable. “Ms. Saffron loved the photos,” she said in a rush, then poured out everything the teacher had told her. “If I can figure out the theme and create a few more photos, I might actually
get through the first round.”

  “That’s great,” Sage said, although it sounded like she wasn’t really listening. The spark that had flared during Len’s talk with Ms. Saffron sputtered.

  “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Sage said. “I found out some interesting stuff about OCD.”

  Anger curled Len’s toes. “I went to the Fields with you!” she said. “I proved I was okay. You said you’d drop it.”

  “I know, but—”

  “We made a deal.”

  “Your boots, Len! Where are your boots? Have you worn them at all since the hike?”

  Len paused a breath too long. “Of course.”

  “When?”

  Len’s fingertips burned from squeezing the phone, and why was she crying? Maybe, Len thought, she actually hated Sage.

  “I gotta go.”

  “Len—”

  “I think Fauna’s trying to call.” She hung up the phone with a clunk, then lifted it back off the receiver for a few minutes, just in case Sage tried to call back. Her head hurt. Her brain hurt. Her thoughts went all tangled and blurred.

  She took off her gloves, washed her hands, washed them again, and climbed into the safety of bed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  SAGE

  SAGE HAD PUSHED TOO HARD WITH LEN. IT HAD BEEN clear on the phone, but also in the way that Len avoided Sage over the next few days. Sage hated that she’d messed up, but she had more immediate concerns. It was Kayla’s stupid suspicion that led to Len’s calling in the first place, so Sage needed to deal with that pronto.

  Immediately after calling Len on Monday night, Sage had called Kayla and admitted that, although she had weekly cardiology checkups on Wednesdays for two months (lie), on Monday she just hadn’t felt up to watching practice, not when she couldn’t participate (sort of true), so she’d skipped (completely true).

  Kayla had bought it completely, and even had given Sage a hug the next day at school. “I knew it was something like that,” she’d said. “No shame in needing some space.” And while the lie didn’t feel awesome, it made everyone happy. Kayla didn’t need to worry about Sage, and Sage knew Kayla would cover for her after that.

  More concerning was that Mom had actually scheduled a real follow-up appointment with Dr. Friedman for after school on Wednesday, and had already taken off work to attend, which meant there was no way Sage could sneak off to Hendersonville for practice afterward. Although she begged Mom to reschedule, she failed to give a convincing enough answer as to why. “That’s the only time they have that fits when I can take off,” Mom said. “And I have questions for him.” So that was that.

  Sage finally brought herself to send her rec team a group text Wednesday at lunch.

  I’m so sorry, but I can’t make tonight. Will be there Friday for sure.

  Less than five minutes later, her cell phone rang. It was Flick. Sage stepped out of the cafeteria and answered. “Hello?”

  “You made a commitment!” Flick said.

  “I know.” Sage had the lie ready and forced herself to spit it out. “There’s a funeral. I’m sorry.” Sage hated using that excuse, but it was the only thing she could think of that Flick couldn’t question. And technically, she didn’t say she was going.

  Flick swore. “I’m sorry. I hope your family’s okay.”

  “Yeah,” Sage said, feeling like the biggest jerk in the universe. “They’re okay.”

  “Friday determines who goes to the state championship,” Flick said. “You understand that, right?”

  “Yes,” Sage said.

  “And it’s an earlier start time, remember. Four p.m.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “We have to win,” Flick said. “You need to bring your A-plus game. Your A-plus-plus game!”

  “I know,” Sage said. “I will.” She heard the resignation in Flick’s sigh.

  “All right. See you Friday.”

  As she pulled the phone from her ear, Sage caught sight of Len walking to Ms. Saffron’s classroom and called out to her.

  Len stopped. Turned. Waited.

  Sage wanted to tell her about the Hendersonville games, about how her parents were being so dumb about her appointments. Even the smallest truth—that she missed her. Instead, she said, “How’s it going?”

  Len’s face stayed even. “Fine.”

  “You have a theme yet?”

  “Not yet.” Len looked at the floor, at the toes of her off-brand sneakers.

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Sage said. “Do you wanna come eat? I’m just heading back in.”

  Len didn’t even look up. “No,” she said. “Thanks.”

  Sage stayed in the hallway until Len was out of sight. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to hit a volleyball.

  Friday could not come soon enough.

  * * *

  When the championship game day finally arrived, Sage almost couldn’t stand how long everything took—the drawn-out minutes of classes, the never-ending lunch chatter about weekend plans, even walking with Kayla and Ella to the gym after school. All of it seemed to happen in slow motion. She couldn’t believe she’d had to miss Wednesday’s practice for what turned out to be more of the same. Mom had asked question after question, but Dr. Friedman always came back to the same points: Sage was doing as well as anyone with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy could do. As long as she listened to her body and didn’t push it too hard, she’d be okay.

  Ella opened the gym door. Sage told herself she’d count to two hundred before making an excuse to leave. As soon as they stepped onto the gym floor, though, Kayla grabbed Sage’s arm. “Hold on,” she whispered. “I need to tell you something.” Ella continued to the locker room.

  Perfect, thought Sage. No need to wait to two hundred. They were alone, and she could tell Kayla she wasn’t feeling well and slip out to Hendersonville before anyone else asked questions.

  “I think I’m getting an offer from Penn,” Kayla blurted.

  Sage froze. Everything—her legs, her brain, her mouth—went completely inert.

  “They called yesterday,” Kayla added quickly. “Last night. I didn’t know how to tell you. I know it’s your dream school, or it was, but…” Her face flushed with guilt, or maybe excitement. “They’re sending a scout to practice today.” Kayla’s fist tightened around the strap of her duffle. “After Saturday, and what you said, well, I knew you’d want to know. I wanted to tell you.” She looked almost petrified, like Sage might slug her. Sage might have, too, if she’d had any feeling in her arms.

  “Coach sent them my tapes, too,” Kayla added when Sage didn’t speak. “Last summer. Same time as yours.” Her eyes dragged to the floor, but she snapped them back up again. “I didn’t realize until last week, after Thursday’s game. Coach told me they’d shown interest. I guess someone was at the game Tuesday, too.”

  Sage’s mind flashed back. Kayla had been a beast on Tuesday, the obvious MVP in their four-game takedown of Erwin. Of course, Kayla’s spike opportunities had increased exponentially with Sage’s absence.

  Kayla took in a quick gulp of air, as if she’d been holding her breath. “They like me for outside hitter.” She said it quietly, a confession, and it took every ounce of Sage’s strength to knit her face into a placid expression, to keep standing. If anyone on their team deserved a Penn scholarship, it was Sage. And she would have earned it, too. Outside hitter was her position. It should have been her scholarship. Kayla knew it as well as she did—it was all over her traitorous, guilt-ridden face.

  Sage envisioned herself made of steel, an immovable, impenetrable building. She could not topple. She could not fall on the ground in complete despair. It was against the laws of physics.

  “Sage?” Kayla prompted. “Say something. Please.”

  A volleyball hit Sage in the leg. It seemed absurd that her teammates were warming up only a few yards away, joking and goofing off, while her best friend was stabbing her through
her treacherous, defective heart. It was bad enough to have your life’s dream categorically stripped from you. To have it handed to your best friend because of that…

  “Sage?” Kayla repeated.

  “I have to go,” Sage said.

  “What? Wait!”

  “Tell Coach I’m sick, okay? You can do that at least, right?” She pushed through the gym door. The sunlight flooding the hallway was blinding.

  “Sage!”

  Sage put her hands on her head. She could handle this. She could. She just needed to process.

  Kayla was at her heels.

  “Don’t,” Sage said, her voice tight with the effort of speaking. “Don’t follow me.”

  But Kayla’s footsteps didn’t slow. They followed Sage onto the pavement. To the parking lot. Through the grass.

  “Please,” Sage said, more a whimper than a word. Kayla didn’t hear, but Sage couldn’t force another sound out, her effort consumed by her desire not to do anything she’d regret.

  Kayla’s footsteps stayed close, mashing the gravel that led to the track around the football field. “We have to talk,” Kayla said.

  Sage clamped her hands over her ears.

  “This isn’t healthy!” Kayla shouted. “We need to deal with this.”

  We! As if Kayla ever dealt with anything. Sage dealt with things, and she let Kayla in on the benefits. Sage was the one who found those isometrics that added three inches to Kayla’s jump. Sage was the one who insisted they work out in the summers to strengthen their upper bodies. Sage was the one who had researched twenty-eight Division 1 teams over the past two years.

  “I know it sucks,” Kayla began.

  Sage stopped. She turned, her duffle thudding to the ground.

  “It sucks?” she repeated. “Is that how you’d describe it? Me losing everything I worked for my entire life? That it sucks?”

  Life was an unfair piece of shit, but Sage could at least set the record straight.

  “I gave everything to this sport,” Sage said. “I love it. And you—” She lifted her hands.