by Kristin Rae
Jesse’s helped to his feet and led to a bench, and I follow, feeling completely useless. The muscles in my forehead start to throb, and I rub the tension away.
He’s walking. He’s going to be fine.
“Everybody back to practice,” one of the coaches says. “Franklin! On the mound. Warm up.”
The players scatter and I offer to sit with Jesse and wait for Angela to come back with their mom so we can go to the hospital, a place I’m becoming entirely too familiar with. As if I weren’t already worried enough about my new baby brother, I’ve got to add a boyfriend with a head injury to the list.
I scoot close enough for Jesse to lean against me if he wants, but he presses his back into the chain-link fence just behind us instead, tilting his head back a little and breathing heavy through his mouth. I reach for his hand, but he doesn’t exactly hold on to me, which makes me feel even more useless.
“Where did it hit you?” I ask, studying the right side of his head where I thought he grabbed when it happened. The knot is already the size of half a golf ball. “Oh. Ouch. What can I do?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles. “I’m fine.”
A sputter of laughter nervously bubbles from my lips. “Well, this just gives new meaning to your hardheadedness, doesn’t it?”
He closes his eyes and grunts in a way I can’t decipher. Was it what I said, or is he really in that much pain? Sure he’s conscious and everything right now, but what’s happening inside that expanding lump?
“You’d never take a line drive to the head onstage,” I say, not without bitterness. Sports are stupid and dangerous and it takes all my effort not to tell him so.
Jesse palms either side of his face, smashing his cheeks in until his lips look like a fish’s mouth.
“Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself,” I say, reaching for his hands.
“No, you stop,” he growls.
I gasp, straightening and pulling away from him.
“You have to stop telling me that what I’m doing is wrong. I don’t dance onstage anymore; get over it. How many times do I have to tell you that baseball is what I want to do?”
I swallow the tightness in my throat, but it only grows. “Even after something like this?” I manage to get out.
“You get hurt sometimes; it’s part of it,” he says, and I can hear the eye roll in his voice. “I’ve got my dad pulling me one way, you pulling me the other. I can’t fight you both, and I can’t make both of you happy. And it’s making me crazy.”
“But I just want—”
“I know what you want. I’m not him.”
My mouth hangs open like he just slapped my face.
“That’s not even what I was going to say!” I don’t mean to raise my voice, but he knows me better than to think I’d walk away now. “I was trying to say that I just wanted you to be honest with yourself. With your friends, your dad. I hate that you feel like you have to hide things because of how other people will react.”
“Wake up, Madison.”
My stomach drops at the sound of my full name spitting off his tongue.
“This is real life. People tear each other down for things they don’t understand. It’s easier to only show the parts of you they can handle.”
“But it’s not really you,” I huff, tugging on my own hair in frustration. “You wouldn’t even be saying any of this if you weren’t concussing or whatever right now.”
“It is me. It’s just not what you want me to be.” He takes a deep breath and grips the edge of the bench. “It was like pulling teeth to even get you to come to one of my practices. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t like who I am.”
I take in a shaky breath of my own, gathering courage to say, “I do like who you are, Jesse. I just don’t think I should be the only one who knows all of you. So what if the kids on the baseball team laugh at you? Let them be jealous and miserable with their lives while you’re happy with yours. Your real friends, the ones who matter, the ones who might actually grow up to be decent human beings, they’d support you no matter what you did.” I take one last shot in the dark. “You could do both.”
“I don’t want to do both,” he snaps, then winces, gingerly touching his head. “Not only do I like baseball and want to make it my career, but I also don’t care about performing anymore. All of your best-prepared speeches and movie quotes aren’t going to change me. You say you want me to be all of me all the time, but you only want to see half of me. The half you like. And it’s stupid. It hurts. You either like all of me or you don’t.” He pauses to take a few breaths. “The end.”
Nothing. I’m out of words. My hopes, my daydreams, slaughtered in a gutter somewhere. He’s only breaking up with performing, but somehow it feels like he’s breaking up with—
“I don’t think this”—he motions weakly between us—“is working anymore.”
—me.
He doesn’t look at me.
Coward.
And I can’t look away. It’s as if this is the last time I’m ever going to see him this close. If only I was on his other side so I could see the scar, the one like Gene’s.
In the worst timing of all bad timings, I spot Angela and Mrs. Morales rushing over, my window for fighting closing quickly. There’s so much I want to say that everything jumbles together in my head and nothing comes out but a strained squeak, and I have to stop myself before I erupt into Niagara Falls.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears, turning all extra noises into a dull roar as Mrs. Morales whisks him away and Angela probably asks if I’m coming, and I have no idea what kind of expression I’m wearing or what I say or don’t say. I don’t even know how much time passes before I’m aware that I’m staring at the ground while baseball practice carries on around me, business as usual. The whole team has probably figured out what happened by now, and they’re laughing among themselves about the girl who tried too desperately to hang on to the Baseball King, only to be left alone on a cold metal bench.
Like a wounded sloth, I mope through the mostly empty parking lot to my car and collapse onto the seat, the car rocking forward and back underneath me. I hug the steering wheel and smash my forehead into my arms and finally let out big, blubbering, scarf-soaking sobs. Maybe I can float home on the river of my tears.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jesse was lucky, according to Angela—he won’t return my texts, though, and I’m too chicken to call. He had to stay at the hospital overnight just to be safe, but thankfully there weren’t any fractures or hematomas or anything life threatening, just a mild concussion. Not that I’ve stopped worrying about him. Or us. Doctor’s orders, he didn’t come to school the rest of the week, and Angela can’t get any information out of him, so the longer I’m left to stew over everything he said to me, the more I’m convinced he hates me.
The end came so fast, and I was too distracted by concern over his injury to be able now to clearly recall our entire conversation, but I think he basically told me that I ruined my first relationship because I wanted him to dance. Which feels epically stupid now, because I don’t even want to dance anymore.
If Jesse came to watch one of my final performances of Crazy for You, I missed him. I’m sure he didn’t, though, seeing as how he hates me and all.
Sarah and Ryan finally got a chance to come to a show, so did Angela and Tiffany, and my parents each came a night while the other stayed at the hospital with Christopher.
Rider even surprises me by escorting Ma to closing night. After the depressing week I’ve had, it feels reassuring to be supported.
“Tap dancing, huh?” Rider asks, carrying all my junk to the car after the show. “And singing at the same time? I didn’t know you could do that.”
I smile at his rare half-compliment. “I’m sure you noticed I can’t do it very well.”
“All three of my kids can do anything if they put their mind to it,” Ma jumps in, squeezing my hand.
“Three,” Rider mumbles, shaking his head and tossing
my bag into the trunk of his Camaro. “Unreal.”
“I’m so proud of you!” Ma continues. “You were so good! Oh, I wish I had time to make you a cake.”
“You’re trying to make me blush, and it’s not going to work!” I laugh. “No, really, thanks, but I’m hereby proclaiming that tonight was my first and last closing night of a musical production.”
“What are you saying?” Ma gasps, turning me to face her. “This was your dream. To be like Judy Garland and Ginger Rogers and all those people on your bedroom walls. It was like you were one of them up there tonight. I had tears in my eyes.”
“You’re easy,” I say, tears welling in my own eyes. “And it was a dream come true up there, and I’m thankful for it.” I pause, remembering the work Jesse and I put into my training. All the secret hours we had together that he can’t take away from me. Thanks to him, for this tiny moment in my life, I did get to feel like one of my heroes. And I’ll never forget it. “It’s just not for me. I have to be realistic about my shortcomings, and focus on improving my strengths.”
“You’re so weird.” Rider laughs, pulling the passenger seat forward for me.
“Well, your dad and I support you in whatever you want to do, you know that.” Ma kisses the top of my head before I squeeze into the backseat. “But I do think you’re too critical of yourself.”
“Can we just drop it?” I groan. “It’s over.”
It’s all over.
“You really don’t want to go to the wrap party with the rest of the cast?” Ma asks, closing the door after settling in the front seat. “I’m sure they’ll be wondering where you are.”
I shake my head even though no one can see me crammed back here. “I told them I was spending time with my family tonight.”
On the drive to the hospital, Mom asks Rider all about school and girls and if he’s keeping up with his laundry. I only half listen to his answers, my brain still running through all my mistakes from the show as I keep talking myself into believing I’m making the right decision, leaving one of my loves behind. Wondering what Jesse would have seen onstage if he had come like he promised. If he would have been proud or embarrassed. Or indifferent.
Rider drops Ma off at the door, and we coast to find a parking spot. When he helps me out of the back, he cups a hand on my shoulder and looks me in the eye, our faces illuminated by the buzzing light overhead. I’m usually not this close to him, so I haven’t thought about it much before, but we sort of have the same hazel eyes. His lashes are thicker than mine, though. So unfair.
“What’s going on with you?” he asks, with real concern scrunching his brows.
“Meaning?” For a distraction, I pull out my phone from my pocket and check for texts. None.
“This whole weekend, you’ve been, I don’t know, bummed about something. And now you’re all, ‘I’ll never dance again!’ ” He rolls his head in a circle and places the back of his hand on his forehead.
I clear my throat, staring back at my phone’s blank screen, waiting for it to do something and pull me away from this intervention. “I’ve just been worried about Christopher.”
“I don’t think that’s it. You know Christopher’s doing good,” he says. “Does it have anything to do with that guy? The one with the girl’s name?”
Don’t smile. “Jesse.”
“Ma told me a few weeks ago that you two were together.”
“She did?” My shoulders fall. And here I thought I was keeping him in the dark. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d been right when he predicted the whole thing.
“Like we didn’t all see that coming,” he teases. “But then I saw him tonight, sneaking out as soon as the show was over.”
Heart flying, I narrow my eyes at Rider to gauge his honesty. “He was there?”
He gives a quick nod and a grunt. “What did he do?”
I can’t believe Jesse came.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Obviously, something happened.” He crosses his arms. “I saw it in his face, and I see it in yours. Do I need to have a chat with the kid? How badly should he suffer?”
I let myself smile. I’m so used to Rider not living at home, I’ve mostly forgotten what it’s like to have a big brother on my side. “Thanks, but I don’t need you to do anything.” I shut the car door and push on it with my side until it clicks. “I’m the one who did all the damage; I’m the one who gets to do all the suffering.”
“You and your dramatics.” After locking the car, he guides me through the parking lot toward the hospital entrance. “Well, even though I’m a few hours away, you know I’m available for ass-kicking at any moment. Just call me.”
Without even fully meaning to, I stop just outside the sliding doors and wrap my arms around Rider.
He pats me on the back a couple times and I mumble into his shirt, “Thanks.”
We aren’t usually the most affectionate siblings, but with Christopher coming early, Jesse dumping me, the residual stress from the musical, and my future now up in the air, I’m feeling more than a bit emotionally compromised. Having my whole family here, loving each other, fills me with a hope I didn’t realize was missing.
Never in a million years did I expect to be eager to flash around pictures of my baby brother at school, but Monday at lunch I can’t help myself from sharing with Angela and Tiffany. Plus, it keeps me from my thoughts about Jesse. Besides the agonizing forty minutes in English class when we sit two feet from each other and it hurts me to look at him—he does say hello and asks me how I’m doing every day, so that’s something—I’m out of the Jesse loop. I miss our carpooling, the late-night phone calls. The kissing.
“Whoa, he’s seriously itty-bitty,” Tiffany says while inhaling a bag of ranch Doritos. “How early was he?”
“Almost two months.” I return my phone to my backpack before any nosy onlookers learn more about me than necessary.
“That’s crazy.” Angela dips a piece of soft pretzel into mustard. “He’s gonna be okay?”
I smile as I wind the cap back on my bottle of Sprite. “He’s doing great. Should get to come home in the next few weeks.”
“Well, we’re super excited about the new mini-Brooks,” Tiffany says, licking the spices off her fingers before tightening her ponytail, “but we do have something very important to discuss.”
My stomach clenches at her serious tone. “We do?”
She nods. “A certain person’s seventeenth birthday is right around the corner.” Her pointer finger circles in my direction. “What are we going to do about it?”
“Oh, no. We don’t—”
“That’s right!” Angela squeaks. “Party! What color scheme do you want? I’m thinking yellow! And maybe pink, since it is Valentine’s Day too. Unless that’s too themed for you. You’re probably tired of the birthday-Valentine’s combo by now, aren’t you?”
“I like pink more than yellow,” I say, “but really, we don’t need to have a party for me. Especially since it’s on Valentine’s Day. I’m sure you guys have better plans.” They stare at me blankly. “Like dates?”
Tiffany lets a stream of purple mineral water dribble out of her mouth instead of a full-on spew, which would have landed on my face. “And where might these magical dates come from? You go to the same school we do.”
“You both had dates to homecoming,” I argue. “I’m just saying, I don’t want you to feel obligated to forgo any potential romantic escapades for my sake.”
Angela chews on her pretzel. “Romantic escapades. I don’t think I’ve ever had a romantic escapade in my life.” She rests her head in her hand. “Sometimes I don’t think I ever will.”
Tiffany raises her water bottle. “May the three of us find ourselves on romantic escapades sooner rather than later.”
As Angela and I tap our drinks to hers and take a swig, I rack my brain for a subject change before we all tailspin into depression.
“Are either of you going to do the talent show
in a few weeks? I hear first prize is five hundred bucks or something.”
“Right,” Tiffany says. “What would I do? Set up a volleyball net onstage and show off my spikes?”
“Who’s spiking what now?” Red asks, plopping down next to Tiffany, across from me and Angela. “Ladies,” he says, then nods to Angela. “Hey, kid.”
I feel her body tense before she slaps a palm on the table, face fuming. “Stop it! Either stop calling me that, or stop talking to me altogether.”
My mouth falls open, and I catch eyes with Tiffany, who’s also surprised at the outburst.
Red raises his eyebrows. “You sure have been popping off a lot lately. I told you, what happened with Jesse was an accident. He’s not even upset about it, so you shouldn’t be either.”
I can’t help what comes out of my mouth. “Wow, you really are thick.”
Angela jabs my side with her elbow. I give her a look that says What? I thought you were letting him have it! This is your chance! Tell hiiiim!
Nothing.
“I think it just got too awkward in here for me,” Tiffany says with uncomfortable laughter, grabbing her tray and looking to Angela. “I’m going to my advisory period. See y’all.”
Angela glances from Tiffany to Red to me, then to her half-eaten lunch. She follows Tiffany without another word.
“You really are pathetic, you know that?” I begin.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He takes a sip of his Dr Pepper, careful not to look me in the eye. He’s so not an actor.
Kids start filtering out of the cafeteria. I’m running out of time.
“I think you’re scared.”
“I ain’t scared of nothing,” Red says, turning on his Southern charms. He shuffles the chicken tenders on his plate.
“You are,” I insist, tossing my food back into my lunch box. “The possibility of a real and happy relationship is right there, and you’re just—”