by Carrie Arcos
When we sit back down, Hanna is beaming at me. “Fun, right?”
I nod. “Think the Eagles will win?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
“They’d better,” Tyson says. I peg him immediately as one of those guys who overly cares about stats and draft picks.
The players are done warming up, so they take their positions on the sidelines. The cheerleaders perform a cheer for us, which most of the crowd seems willing to follow. Cheerleaders. This is something our school needs. Girls in short skirts and tight shirts, jumping up and down and kicking their legs in the air. I could get used to that. They could encourage us right before recitals or productions. Yeah, they could cheer in between performances. Instead of “Be aggressive,” they could chant, “More vibrato,” or “Stay on pitch.” It would be pretty good motivation, I tell you, especially if they looked like the girl down there with the short black hair. She’s all legs.
The teams take the field. We’re not superclose, but I can see their breaths coming out in short spurts, as if they’re horses being held at the line before battle. The whistle sounds and the Eagles have the ball. The first play is a running one that gets them a couple of yards. I’m not invested in either team, but I hope it’s going to be a good game.
Hanna and her friends chat around me, laughing, sharing jokes and an intimacy that comes from attending the same school. Sebastian has no problem engaging. He fits right in, talking to Freda and Jamal about the galaxies. I imagine that I’ve been plucked from one of his parallel worlds. In my world, Grace would be sitting here at the game with all of her friends, laughing, and talking about stupid things. As if I’m part of some cruel joke, I’ve replaced her. It feels wrong. Hanna keeps trying to get me to engage in small talk. She can’t see that I’m struggling, or if she does, her way of helping isn’t working. I want to be left alone.
“Tyson just moved this year,” Hanna offers.
“Oh yeah? From where?” I ask, trying to be polite.
“Boston.”
He sits hunched forward. His eyes never leave the field, as if he’s completely mesmerized with the game. He’s a big guy, probably an athlete too.
“You play?” I ask.
“I used to, but I had to pick between football and basketball. I chose basketball.”
“What position?”
“Center.”
“Tyson’s starting this winter,” Hanna says.
“Too bad you don’t like basketball,” I say.
“You don’t like basketball?” Tyson seems disappointed.
“Well, it’s not that I don’t like it,” she says, shooting me a look. “I haven’t really watched it much.”
“Really? I’ve heard you say watching basketball is as boring as waiting for paint to dry.” I’m picking a fight, and I don’t even know why.
“Mark, you’re funny.” She laughs nervously.
“Hopefully you’ll come to my games,” Tyson says, smiling at her before going back to watching the field. I don’t like what he’s implying, but it’s stupid because why the hell should I care about the way he looks at her? I let my eyes linger on the cheerleader down in front.
“You should come too,” he says to me.
“Maybe,” I say.
Leaning into me from behind, her knees pressing into my back, Stacy says, “Mark, how are you doing?” She says the words as if we are close friends.
“Great, you?”
She bends near my ear. “Grace was a friend of mine.” She squeezes my shoulder. “We had English last year. She was such a good writer. I didn’t get to tell you at the funeral, but I wanted you to know she is very missed.”
That’s why she looks familiar. There was a whole contingent of Grace’s school friends at the funeral. Some guys dressed in barely worn black suits and girls walking awkwardly in heels as if they were playing dress-up. I avoided them. I take a deep breath and hold it, counting before I release it slowly.
“You okay?” Hanna asks me and puts her hand on my thigh. Maybe in any other situation I would love for Hanna to be touching me, but right now it chafes.
“Perfect.” I remove her hand.
One of the Eagles players receives a red card. “Boo!” the fans cry out.
“How was bungee jumping?” Tyson asks Hanna.
“Crazy! I was so scared, but once I got over the fear of the actual jump it was fun. The hike in was the hardest.”
“What’s next on the list?” Stacy asks.
“Spoken word, I think. Right, Mark?”
Suddenly I’m in a nightmare. Discussing Grace and her Top Five with total strangers? I can’t believe Hanna told them.
“Who’s going to do it?” Tyson asks.
“Me,” Hanna says.
“I want to come,” Tyson says.
“Sure, I’ll let you know the plans.”
“I think it’s awesome what you guys are doing,” Stacy says. “Grace would have loved it.”
“I’m sorry about Grace,” Tyson says to me. “I didn’t know her, but from what I’ve heard, she was an amazing person. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to lose a sister.”
“No, you can’t imagine.” I churn out the words like I’ve got dirt in my mouth. Inside I’m seething. I try to turn the switch off, set it to neutral, but it’s too late. I don’t give him the chance to say anything else. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
He turns his attention back to the game. Now there’s something more than excitement in the air between us.
Hanna does that nervous chatter thing, but I’m not listening anymore. I’m sitting there, but I’m not here. I’m not really anywhere. I stare at the field.
Hours or minutes later, Sebastian taps me on the shoulder. “It’s halftime. Want to get something to eat?”
Hanna has her back to me and is listening to something Tyson’s saying.
“You okay?” Sebastian asks.
“I’m fine. Actually, I’ve got to go. You ready?” I don’t wait for Sebastian to answer. I get up and cross over Hanna and Tyson. “Hanna, you can get a ride with Tyson or someone, right?”
“You’re leaving?” she asks, surprised.
“Yeah, I’ve got to do something.”
I don’t bother waiting for her reply. I climb the steps, anxious to get away from all the people and the noise.
Outside of the stadium, I hear Hanna calling my name.
“Mark!”
I don’t turn around; instead I keep walking toward the car.
“Mark! Where are you going?”
I stop, confused for a moment about where I am. The cars blur and my head feels fuzzy. “I’m sorry, but I forgot I have to practice. It’s a good game. Really. Thank you for the invitation.”
“What’s wrong?” She says the words like I’m the one who’s ruining her night.
“Nothing. I’ve just got something to do.”
I head down a row, but I can’t find the car. No, it must be the next row. I turn around.
“Can you wait?” she asks. “You’re not making sense.” Her voice is shaky, and I can’t tell if she’s angry or going to cry. Sebastian is next to her.
“Why’d you tell them about Grace’s Top Five?” I say louder than I intend, practically yelling at her.
“I didn’t think it was a secret,” she responds.
“You act like we’re running around earning Brownie patches for doing good deeds.” I pace in front of them.
“That’s not true. We never said we couldn’t tell other people.”
“It’s private. You shouldn’t just go blabbing about it to anyone. You should have asked me first.”
“I’m sorry.” She holds out her hands like a peace offering. “I didn’t know it would upset you. They’re my friends. They were Grace’s friends.”
I grunt. “They barely even knew her.”
“What are you talking about? Of course they knew her! They saw her every day at school. She had a life, you know: a boyfriend, friends, teach
ers.”
I get real close so that she stumbles back. “Oh yeah, River. I’ve noticed how you’ve jumped right in there.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hanna,” Sebastian interjects. “Maybe I should talk to Mark.”
She holds up her hand to stop him. “I can handle Mark. What’re you saying?”
“Now that Grace’s gone, there’s an opening and you’ve taken it. I get it. He’s Mr. Sensitive, pouring out his feelings. Great boyfriend material.”
“I hate when you do this.” Her eyes well up with tears.
Seeing her tears gets me going, and I can’t help it. I spit out the words, knowing I’m hurting her. “When I do what, Hanna? When I want to go home because I don’t think going to a crappy high school football game and watching you flirt with every guy here is the best time of my life?”
She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket and says softly, “When you push away the people who care about you and act like an asshole.”
“Asshole. Wow. Remember, there are no take-backs, Hanna, not just for the good things.”
“Knock it off,” Sebastian finally says.
Hanna is openly crying now. Sebastian puts his arm around her, and that just sets me off again. When did he choose her side? “Are you seriously going to cry? You’re always crying, Hanna. What do you have to cry about? What a joke.”
“I said, knock it off.”
I glare at Sebastian. “I don’t have time for this. Let’s go.”
He looks at Hanna. “I’m staying.”
“Fine. Give me your keys.” I hold out my hand.
“No,” he says.
I get in his face. Sebastian doesn’t back down. His expression is fixed like his stance.
“I don’t need your shit either, Sebastian.” I push him and am surprised at how solid he is. He doesn’t even move. I push him again, this time hard enough to make him stumble back a few steps.
“Mark!” Hanna steps in between us. Her hand presses against my chest. “Why don’t you just come back to the game? Let’s sit down. Talk it through.”
I step back. “I don’t want to talk.” I don’t want to say something mean, to hurt you. My head is throbbing. “You want me to act like everything’s normal because someone scores a touchdown? As if all I need is a good game to make me happy?”
“No,” Hanna says. “I know everything’s not fine. I know you’re still hurting.”
“I don’t feel anything. Right now, I don’t care.” I point at her. “I don’t care about you.” I point at Sebastian. “Or him or anything.” I throw my arms out to include the whole world. “I just need to go home.”
Two girls approach us. “Hi, Hanna. Everything okay?”
“We’re fine,” she says.
“Yes, thank you for asking,” Sebastian says, and pulls Hanna even closer, comforting her.
One of the girls eyes me, and I give her a large, fake smile.
“Halftime is almost over.”
“Thank you,” Hanna says.
The girls walk away and the three of us stand there in silence for a few moments. Sebastian’s arm is still around Hanna, so I step forward and hit him in the mouth. My hand hurts, like the time I hit River. But Sebastian doesn’t just stand there and take it. He lunges for me, knocking me down on the pavement. We roll around, both of us trying to get in punches, until I push him off and scramble to my feet.
I start walking away because I don’t have anything to say that I won’t regret later. I can walk home. No one calls after me.
But I don’t go home. I end up at the bridge.
“Grace?” I whisper. All I hear is the water below and the cars on the nearby freeway.
I stand on a concrete bench and hold out my hands, as if I can touch the seam that will spill me into the universe Grace now inhabits, but all I touch is air.
I think maybe I’m losing it. This is the beginning of crazy. And it’s not a good crazy. It’s the kind that requires drugs and institutionalization. It’s the kind of crazy where I become someone I don’t want to be and alienate everyone I know. I lean against the suicide bars.
“I really messed up,” I say as if Grace can hear me.
But she can’t hear me because she’s gone. It’s only me now. I don’t feel her anywhere. I only feel the cold.
• • • •
When I open the front door of the house, Jenny is in her pj’s, sitting on the couch in the living room with a cup of tea.
“How was the game?”
“Sucked.” I sit down across from her. I kind of feel like talking to Jenny about my night, but I kind of don’t.
“I didn’t hear Sebastian pull up.”
“I walked home.”
She takes a sip of her tea.
“I went to the bridge,” I say before she can ask.
“And?”
“And nothing. I just walked around.”
“Do you go there a lot?”
I nod. “It’s the last place . . . well, it’s where Grace . . .” I don’t know what else to say. I’m too tired.
Jenny puts her cup on the coffee table. She leans toward me, her hands folded in front of her, resting on her knees. “I’m a light sleeper. Drives your dad crazy. When you first started taking off at night, I was worried, but you always came home. I began checking on you, making sure you were in your bed.” She chuckles. “It’s like I have a baby all over again. I haven’t slept through the night in months.”
The fact that Jenny knows that I sneak out of the house and has been checking on me makes something catch in my throat. “Does Dad know?”
She nods and offers me her tea.
I take a sip and cough before placing it back on the table. “Geez, Jenny. What’s in this?” I know she likes it strong, but there’s thick dregs that I accidentally swallow.
“Good stuff, don’t worry. Come here.” She pats a spot on the couch.
I get up and sit next to her, like when Grace and I were little. I’d sit on one side, Grace would get on the other side and Jenny would put both arms around us and squeeze us tight. She called us her gift because she thought she couldn’t have children. That was before she had Fern, of course. Fern, she called her miracle. But she never made us feel like she loved Fern more.
Now I’m bigger than Jenny, so I pull her into me. She rests her head under the crook of my arm, like she’s more of a sister than a stepmom.
“Your dad is worried about you. He doesn’t know how to talk to you. I think he’s afraid that he’s losing you, too.”
“Dad and I have never been close,” I say.
“Not true. It just feels that way now, so that feeling is coloring everything.”
“Maybe.”
“You guys need to find your way back, meet each other halfway.”
I don’t know how to find my way back. I don’t even know what that means. My knuckles are sore, so I rub them a little. They’re red and swollen from where they made contact with Sebastian’s face.
“Jenny, I think it’s time for me to replace the car.”
“Did you get in a fight with Sebastian?”
“Kind of.”
“I guess that’s a good enough reason.”
“Can you tell Dad?”
“Yeah. Mark?”
“What?”
“You’re my favorite,” she whispers.
Jenny was always calling each of us her favorite. When she’d get you a cookie or help you with homework, she’d whisper in your ear, “You’re my favorite.” I was always her favorite boy. I’d say, “But I’m the only boy.” And she’d say, “Exactly.”
I don’t deserve to be anyone’s favorite.
I put my legs up next to hers on the ottoman. We sit that way for a while, until Jenny quietly leaves, tucking a blanket around me, thinking I’m asleep. But I’m wide-awake, replaying the sound of my walking away from Hanna and Sebastian, replaying their silence that followed.
Nineteen
On Sunday night I get a text from Sebastian.
Giving my notice. No longer your personal chauffeur.
I had planned to apologize to Sebastian on Monday morning after we’d each had the weekend to cool off. I figured I’d say I was sorry, he’d say sorry, and that’d be the end of it. The text was a sign that it might not be as easy as I thought.
Then there was Hanna. In less than twenty-four hours it felt like our street had widened. There might as well have been three thousand miles separating us. I wasn’t sure how to bridge that gap yet.
Jenny is a little pissed that I lost my ride to school, because now she’ll have to drive me. She and Dad come up with a plan. She’ll take me and pick me up for a week, and then I’ll go car shopping with Dad. If we don’t find one, I can take public transportation. Any normal person would be excited about getting a car, but it makes me feel like my hand is being forced. A new car means I’m moving on. I don’t know if I’m ready. My response is to put in my earbuds and walk away, which Dad, of course, doesn’t take too well. He taps me on the shoulder. I turn around. He motions for me to remove my headphones, so I do.
“I’m not sure what’s brought on the attitude, but you’re not to treat me or Jenny so disrespectfully. I don’t care how you feel, we are not going down that path again. One week.” He holds out his hand. When I hesitate, he adds, “Maybe I should make an appointment to see Chris.”
With that last threat, I hand him the phone. It’s not like I have anyone to talk to anyway.
• • • •
Before I exit Jenny’s car on Monday morning, she tells me to have a good day. Fern wants to hug me again, but I don’t. I walk to first period, successfully avoiding any real conversation other than “Hey, what’s up?” Sebastian ignores me in English and in theory. I have to give him props on the theory shunning, because I sit right behind him. I stare at the back of his big fat head the whole class, daring him to turn around. He doesn’t. At lunch, I head for the roof again. It’s empty this time. No Brandon sitting on the air unit. No couples making out.