Bring Down the Stars

by Scott, Emma

  Connor texted around eight o’clock that Autumn made her flight. I was already in bed, reading and resting my body for the next day’s track meet. I should’ve gone to sleep then. Instead I lay awake, waiting for the sound of Connor’s key in the door.

  He came home around quarter after ten and I met him in the living room.

  “Well?” I demanded, as if he were late for curfew.

  He gave me a strange look. “Well, what? I told you she made the flight.”

  “Right, right,” I said, dialing it down. “I was just worried about her. Is she okay?”

  “She’s scared for her dad and relieved to be on the way to him.” He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it toward a chair. “Good thing you were with her when she got the news.”

  “I know. I was doing my pre-race carb load and she came in for…something. Her work schedule, I guess.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey,” I said. “You did a good thing for her.”

  A shade of Connor’s usual smile came back. “We both did.”

  “You bought her a flight home to see her dad. I bought her a coffee.”

  And that, friends and neighbors, sums it all up, doesn’t it?

  Connor’s smile widened. “Between the two of us, she got there. What time is it?” He glanced at his watch. “Early yet. I’m all jacked up from that crazy drive to Boston. I could actually still make the Delta party. Try to chill.”

  “Isn’t Autumn going to text you or something, when she knows how her dad is?”

  He nodded. “She lands around one a.m. her time. I probably won’t hear from her until tomorrow.”

  His expression was growing curious, which I cut off at the pass.

  “Cool. Well, whenever you talk to her, tell her I hope all is well.”

  Connor’s brow smoothed out. “Sure thing.” He pointed toward the hallway. “Now get your ass in bed. You’re running tomorrow.”

  He went out to party and I lay flat on my bed again. Sleep eluded me. Every passing minute I was awake was one step closer to a shitty track meet, but my thoughts were full of Autumn. And her dad. They were close. Hell, he was still around. Married to her mom. A solid human being of flesh and blood, instead of a ghost. I needed him to be okay for her. I needed to imagine them in their house, having breakfast together, a family.

  I dozed and dreamt of a large house in a sea of green cornstalks, and baby chicks hopping around a yard.

  At three a.m., my best friend’s drunken stumble woke me as he navigated his way to the kitchen for some water. I listened for voices—especially that of the female persuasion. Connor rarely came home from a party alone.

  He was alone.

  And hungover or not, he’d still come to my meet. Or so I hoped.

  He’s a good guy at heart.

  I listened to him shuffle to bed, then crept out of my room. As usual, Connor had left his keys, phone and wallet on the table by the front door.

  I opened his phone and searched for a message from Autumn. Nothing. I did some math: if she arrived at Omaha at 1 a.m., she still had an hour drive to Lincoln, putting her at the hospital around two. Which meant she could be texting Connor any minute now.

  I stretched out on the couch with Connor’s phone on my chest. Sleep pulled at me but my brain wouldn’t quit.

  If it’s his time, at least let her say goodbye. Let her have that with him, instead of nothing. Instead of desertion.

  I dozed again and dreamt of the start of the race. I took my mark and the track vibrated beneath my fingers. I jerked awake. Connor’s phone vibrated a text. Heart pounding, I read the message.

  Hey. It’s late, I hope this doesn’t wake you. I’m at the hospital. He’s made it through surgery. Quad bypass. He’s in ICU now, stable, and we’re waiting to get the okay to see him.

  Relief gusted out of me. The rolling dots told me she was writing another text, but my thumbs flew to reply first: So fucking glad.

  The rolling dots of her reply stopped. A pause. Then: OMG, you’re awake.

  If you don’t sleep, I don’t sleep.

  I’m crying (again.) You got me here. I don’t know how to thank you.

  You don’t have to, I typed. I’m just happy you made it.

  Me too. It’s a gift, beyond money, to be here right now.

  My lack of sleep must’ve been catching up with me since my eyes stung.

  Tell Weston good luck on his track meet, she wrote. And thank him for me too, okay?

  I will. Good night, Autumn.

  Good night, Connor. <3

  I stared at the words, the name and the heart a long time. Then I got up and put Connor’s phone back on the table.

  Her dad made it, I thought as I flopped face first onto my pillow in my bed.

  I was asleep instantly.

  Weston

  My alarm went off at six, and I felt as hungover as Connor probably was. I showered and dressed, then grabbed an energy bar and some water. I was tired as hell and couldn’t give two shits about the meet.

  “Suck it up, Turner,” I muttered. “Your fans are waiting. All one of them.”

  But Connor was still sleeping. He wouldn’t show up at the meet until one minute before the first race.

  I paused at the door, wondering if Connor would show today, or if he were still pissed enough that I refused to help him with Autumn.

  I glanced at his phone on the front table.

  I sure as shit helped you out this morning.

  An ironic sense of calm came over me. Autumn’s happiness was worth sacrificing my own. Even if it meant my words in Connor’s mouth. My thoughts on the page with his signature at the bottom. Answering Autumn’s texts made him look good, but it made me feel better as well. To be there for her.

  Even if she never knew it.

  It took three tries to get my car’s engine to turn over. The sound wheezing from under the hood made my teeth clench.

  “It would be inconvenient as fuck if you were to die on me,” I told the car.

  I let her warm up a little before putting her in drive, and breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a yawn. The car complained the whole way, but she got me to the stadium’s backlot for staff and athletes.

  I joined my teammates and Coach Braun in the locker room. The other guys were talking and joking around, heels planted on benches to stretch hamstrings. A couple of them gave me a nod as I entered. I nodded back.

  After giving the team his standard pre-race pep talk, Coach Braun pulled me aside.

  “We got some NCAA people here today, Wes,” he said, his hand heavy on my shoulder. “It’s early in the season, but scholarship-wise, this could be good for you.”

  I shifted out from under his hand, while a steady stream of cursing crossed my thoughts. “Really?” I asked. “Today?”

  “I only just got wind of it. I don’t want to freak you out, but one of them is a liaison to the regional Olympic Committee.”

  “But you don’t want to freak me out.”

  “Accurate.”

  His friendly smile faltered when I said nothing else, and he moved off.

  Well, fuck me sideways.

  My scholarship was done and I had no idea how I was going to pay for my final year at Amherst. Now, on the one fucking day I had a bowling ball of sleeplessness on my back, the NCAA people were here.

  I gave my shoelaces a yank. “This should be fun.”

  The sky was overcast and cold. I hopped up and down and did high, rapid goose-steps to get my blood flowing. Our opponents today were MIT, Wesleyan, and Boston College. Hayes, the Wesleyan runner who was dating Autumn’s roommate, spied me from his group and jerked his chin in greeting. I stared back until he rolled his eyes and turned away.

  “Hey, baby boy! Yoo hoo!”

  I whipped my head toward the stands. They were sparsely populated with diehard track fans willing to brave the cold for these last prelims.

  And, apparently, my mother.

  “You have got to be fucking
kidding me,” I muttered.

  There she was, Miranda Turner, in a purple and white Amherst jersey, customized with W. Turner on the back. Her bleached blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, showing her plated-gold hoop earrings.

  She waved jazz hands at me, then pointed with both fingers at the man sitting beside her. I couldn’t see much from the field, but my initial impression was of a fifth-grade science teacher. Balding head, oversized glasses, mustache and a windbreaker.

  Ma cupped her hands over her mouth. “This is Paul I was telling you about, remember?”

  Her thick accent carried over the cool air. This is Pawl I was tellin’ yoo ‘bout, remembah?

  I gave a quick wave and pretended that stretching my leaden muscles required all my concentration. No sign of Connor in the stands yet. Maybe he was too hungover to show. He didn’t owe it to me to come to the meets. But it would be the first one he had ever missed.

  “That would be the perfect topper to this shit sandwich of a day.”

  My first race was the 200-meter dash. Hayes lined up in the lane next to me.

  “Got your mama here to see you, Turner? That’s so cute, I could puke. But I’ll leave the puking to you, after.”

  I opened my mouth to shoot back a cutting insult but nothing came out. My brain was too sluggish and tired.

  “Nothing to say?” Hayes clucked his tongue. “I’m disappointed. Has the Amherst Asshole changed his ways?”

  I ignored him, took my starting position and concentrated on driving oxygen deep into my lungs, hoping the cold air would snap some energy into me.

  The gun fired.

  Normally, I could anticipate the shot, my muscles coiled like a spring, ready to take off the instant the sound cut the air. Not today.

  Three strides in and I knew it was over.

  For the first time in a long time, I had four guys ahead of me, including Hayes. I dug deep to give it everything I had, driving my legs faster and faster. I caught up and passed a few of the runners, but Hayes was uncatchable.

  I crossed the finish line after him, and came to a slow jog. Hands planted on my hips, chest wheezing worse than my car had this morning. I didn’t have to look at the scoreboard to know my time was a good second and a half behind my best.

  “Second place,” Hayes said, hardly winded. “This is new. Or were you trying to get a look at my ass? My girlfriend’s in the stands, don’t make her jealous.”

  I sucked in air and glanced up at the bleachers. Ruby was there, in bright yellow. And sitting next to her, with my mother and Paul to his right, was Connor.

  He cupped his hands over his mouth. “You’re still my boy, Blue.”

  “You’ll get ‘em next time, baby!” my mother shouted.

  I hid a smile in my shoulder and blinked stinging sweat out of my eyes.

  Coach Braun approached. “Talk to me,” he said in his no-nonsense coach voice.

  “Shitty sleep,” I said. “I’m okay. I’ll push through.”

  Coach pursed his lips, nodding. “Settle in. Focus. We’re still in prelims and today isn’t the last day you’ll see the NCAA.”

  “I know. I’m good.”

  Forty minutes later, I was lining up again for the hurdles.

  I’m so fucked.

  My legs felt like dead weight after the first race. I felt the pressure of my mother’s presence and Paul sitting next to her. Sitting where my father should’ve been. Autumn wasn’t there to trick my male ego into a better performance. The NCAA people were there, and I felt the catastrophe coming even before the starting gun went off.

  I cleared the first three hurdles, but getting my body over each one grew harder and harder. On the fourth hurdle, I didn’t tuck my right foot enough and my toe hit the board. Not hard enough to knock it over, but enough to throw me off my rhythm. My three-step cadence faltered, and my muscle memory short-circuited.

  I shouldn’t have even tried for the next hurdle, but I was moving too fast. My left foot hit the board and my right foot hooked under it as it tipped. I crashed down hard and flung my hands out to save me from smashing face first into the turf. I tumbled with the hurdle tangling in my legs, then lay flat on my back, the wind knocked out of me.

  Sucking in deep breaths, I took inventory. Nothing broken. Nothing sprained. But I ached all over and my palms were scraped all to hell. My right knee stung like a bitch. I sat up slowly to visually assess the damage. I’d scraped the skin off my knee cap and a steady stream of blood was oozing down my shin and calf.

  The medical team and Coach Braun rushed over. Before they could surround me, I saw my mother, Paul, Connor and Ruby on their feet in concern. My mother clutched Paul’s shoulder and he had his arm around her.

  “Wes.” Coach Braun crouched down. “Hey. Look at me. How bad?”

  I couldn’t meet his eye. “I’m fine. Road rash and some bruises.”

  I kept looking at the ground as I hobbled off the track to a smattering of applause. A medic sat me down on a cooler, cleaned up my leg and bandaged my scraped knee.

  “Not your day,” Coach said, his hands on his hips, a sympathetic softness over his face.

  “Of all the days,” I said.

  “They got all your times from the last two years, Wes. This season is only starting. We all have shitty days. This is yours.”

  I nodded. I was supposed to anchor the 4x400 relay but that was out of the question. “Sorry, Coach.”

  “It happens,” Coach said aloud, while his expression spoke, Me too.

  I looked away from him to see Hayes casually walking over.

  “Hey, man,” he said. “You okay?”

  “All in a day’s work.”

  “You tangled with the hurdle pretty fucking hard. I don’t know how you managed not to face-plant or snap a leg.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  Hayes looked at the sky with a disbelieving little laugh. “Okay, whatever, bro. I’m sorry you got hurt. I enjoyed kicking your ass in the two hundred and was looking forward to doing it again in the four-by-four.”

  I swallowed the sharp comeback. What was the fucking point? I was only the Amherst Asshole when I was winning. Without my speed, I was…

  I believe Sock Boy is the word you’re looking for.

  After the meet, Connor, Ma and Paul came onto the field.

  “My poor baby boy,” Ma said, holding out her arms to me. I bent to give her a hug and was enveloped in a cloud of cheap perfume. “Honey, what happened? I never seen you fall so hard.”

  “It happens.”

  “Hey, man,” Connor said, clapping my shoulder. “That looked fucking rough. Haven’t seen you take a digger like that since freshman year.”

  “Thanks for noticing.”

  “Let me see your hands,” Ma said. “Oh God, you’re a mess.” She looked up at Paul. “Every other day, he wins all his races. But of course, bring someone special to see my boy and he wipes out. But I’m glad you’re okay. That’s the most important thing, right? This is Paul. Paul Winfield. Paul, this is my son, Weston.”

  “Good to meet you,” Paul said.

  “Likewise,” I said.

  “I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to add insult to injury.”

  I sized him up, trying to discern any signs he was a bum like all the rest of the guys Ma hung around with. Freeloaders who moved in to live rent free, eat her food and drink her beer while she worked at the hair salon.

  Paul weathered my scrutiny with calm, smiling placidly under his mustache as he put his hands in the pockets of his khakis, rocking on his heels.

  “Now, don’t you give him that look, Weston Jacob Turner,” Ma said, wagging her finger with its gold and pink acrylic curve. “Paul’s a good man and he’s good to me, so you just take that attitude and stuff it.” She gestured to Connor. “Why can’t you be more like this one? Mr. Handsome, always smiling.” She reached over and patted Connor’s cheek. He had his shades on, despite the cloud cover, and looked a little pale and a lot tired.
<
br />   “You feel like eating, Wes?” Paul asked quietly. “Or maybe just sit and ice the knee?”

  “Yes,” Ma answered. “Where are we going to lunch? Hannigan’s? I just love that little country bumpkin breakfast joint.”

  Connor grinned. “Lunch at Hannigan’s then. On me.”

  “Well, aren’t you the sweetest,” Ma said. “Sounds perfect.”

  I studied my best friend. He called to where Ruby stood with Hayes. “Ruby. Lunch?”

  “Love to,” she called back, but Hayes’s smile vanished as he and I exchanged glances. She conferred with him and then sighed. “Rain check, okay?”

  “Definitely.” Connor turned to us and gestured across the field. “Shall we?”

  We headed to the parking lot, my mother walking ahead with her arm linked in Paul’s, gabbling away, while Connor matched my slow limp.

  “How’s the knee?” he asked.

  “Hurts like a sonofabitch, but I’ll live. How’s your hangover?”

  “Hurts like a sonofabitch, but I’ll live.”

  My glance slid to him then away. “How late did you get in?”

  “Around three. I didn’t think I was so wasted, but apparently I had a whole conversation with Autumn on text that I don’t even remember.”

  “Oh yeah?” I said, securing my Academy Award nomination for Casual as Fuck. “How’s she doing?”

  “Good. Really grateful that she made it to be with her dad.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “So what happened out there today?” he asked, shooting me a glance. “Did you not get enough sleep?”

  No, as a matter of fact. I was up until three in the morning texting your girlfriend for you.

  “I don’t know what happened. Bad day. Couldn’t be worse timing either.”

  “Why not?”

  “NCAA people were here.”

  “Shut up.”

  “One of them was a liaison to the regional Olympic Committee.”

  “Oh fuck,” Connor said. “Man, that sucks.”

  I shrugged. “I guess.”

  “You guess? The Olympics.”

  “I don’t know about the Olympics,” I said. “The Olympics won’t pay for next year’s tuition. If the NCAA people were feeling generous today, I blew it.”