“Jess was trying to take her out,” Lauren tells my mom.
“Yeah,” says Amy. “She looked like she wanted to kill her.”
“Really?” My mom’s brows raise with interest. “Why would Jess do that?”
Some of the girls kind of laugh now, and some even make some crude comments about Jess’s messed-up mind, and all I want is to get out of here. “Let’s go, Mom,” I tell her as I stand.
“Well, Jess has always been a good friend to Ramie,” Mom says as we’re leaving. “I’m sure that whatever happened was purely accidental.”
“Yeah, right,” says Amy with a snort.
Coach offers to bring my bike home for me in his pickup, and I tell BJ where the key to my bike lock is.
“And I’ll get your stuff for you,” says BJ.
“Thanks.”
When Mom and I are outside, I actually start feeling a little unsteady on my feet, like the ground isn’t quite even or maybe it’s moving. “Can I hold on to you?” I ask.
“Of course. Are you sure you’re okay?” She looks at me with concern.
“I hit my head when I fell,” I admit. “I guess I’m kinda dizzy.
So Mom helps me into the car and even gives me a blanket to wrap up in, since I’m still just wearing my jersey and shorts, which are pretty sweaty and cold. It’s comforting to see her taking care of me like this, but at the same time I’m worried. What if my wrist really is broken? What if I really am out for the season? I felt like I was going bonkers after missing just one day of practice last week. How will I handle a whole season of sitting on the sidelines?
Was this really Jess’s fault? Did she really hit me like that on purpose? Thinking back, it did seem like it was a full-impact collision, with no holding back. But then Jess, although shorter than me, probably outweighs me by fifty pounds. She could easily knock me over without trying too hard. Still, I have to admit that the hit felt like more than just an accident. It felt like she really did want to take me out. Why does she hate me so much?
thirteen
AFTER WHAT SEEMS TO TAKE FOREVER TO BE EXAMINED AND X-RAYED AND examined again, my wrist turns out to be moderately sprained, which means that although some ligaments have been torn, none have completely detached from the bone. This is good news.
The doctor prescribes the RICE treatment, which means (1) Rest for forty-eight hours, (2) Ice packs every twenty minutes, (3) Compression via an elastic wrap, and (4) Elevation above my heart.
“Does this mean I can’t go out tonight?” I ask the doctor.
She laughs. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Between your wrist injury and the blow to your head, you need to remain quiet and just rest tonight and tomorrow too.”
“What about basketball?” I ask her. “Do you think I’ll be able to play this season?”
“I doubt that you’ll be playing for at least a week or two,” she says as she wraps my wrist. “But, like I told your mom, you need to schedule an appointment with your own family doctor or a sports physician next week. He or she can give you a more accurate prognosis.”
As we wait for someone to return with my prescription for pain meds and some release papers, Mom helps me to dial Mitch’s number on my cell phone. I’m guessing he’s at work, since he doesn’t answer, but I leave a message anyway, explaining the situation, and then Mom hangs up for me.
I know it’s silly, but I can tell I’m close to tears. Why is this happening to me?
“Sorry, honey,” she tells me. “But I’m sure Mitch will understand.”
Finally, we’re back at home. I am so tired I’m not sure I can make it up the steps to my room, but maybe it’s the pain medication.
“Why don’t you stay down here on the couch,” Mom suggests. “That way I can hear you better if you need something.”
So she brings me a pillow and a fluffy comforter, and soon I am settled in the family room. I’m surprised at how kind and caring my mom can be as she brings me things to eat and keeps changing my ice pack. It’s not that my mom isn’t normally a good mom, but I’ve never considered her a very nurturing person. Of course, that might be because Mom has always worked and I’ve always had a strong independent streak. Maybe I just never gave her the chance before.
Mom makes me turn my cell phone over to her, and then she fields a few calls for me. I can hear her explaining my condition and that I need to rest, but I can’t tell who she’s talking to. Finally, I decide that I don’t really care and I just let myself drift off to sleep. I can’t believe how tired I am.
I sleep off and on into Sunday, then I start to get antsy. So Mom helps me wrap my wrist in a plastic garbage bag and I manage to take a shower and put on some clean clothes.
“Did Mitch call today?” I ask Mom. I know that he called last night, and that she told him about my little accident. But he told her he’d call me today.
“No,” she tells me.
“Oh.”
“But Jess did.”
I make a face.
“She told me she was sorry and that it was an accident, Ramie.”
“What did you expect her to say? That she did it on purpose?”
“She wanted you to call her back.”
“Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.”
Mom looks surprised. “You’re not going to call her back?”
I scowl at her. “No, I’m not. Why should I?”
“Jess used to be your best friend, Ramie. you can’t just wipe her out of your life because she’s gay. She’s still a person with feelings.”
“Yeah, some pretty hateful feelings. you don’t know what that felt like yesterday, Mom. She had it out for me during the whole practice. Everyone saw it. And when she hit me, it’s like she really did want to kill me.”
Mom shrugs. “Well, I suppose it’s natural for her to feel some animosity toward you, Ramie.”
“Why? I haven’t done anything to her.”
“Yes, that’s the point. you haven’t done anything. you avoid her, you don’t return her calls, you’re probably ignoring her at school, and I’m sure it’s hurting her a lot.”
“Hey, I’m the one in pain here,” I remind her as I hold up my bandaged wrist.
“Your pain is only temporary.”
“But Jess chose her pain, Mom. She brought it on herself. It wasn’t my fault.”
Mom just gives me that look now, the one that suggests I don’t really understand this whole thing. And so I give the look right back to her, plus a little more.
“You may be a family counselor, Mom,” I say, “But you don’t know squat about some things.” Then I march up to my room and slam my door. Okay, immature, I know. But how can my mom be so dense?
It’s about five when Mitch calls me on my cell phone and asks if it’s okay to come see me.
“It’s way better than okay,” I tell him. “I was just wondering if it’s possible to die from boredom.”
“I just got off work and thought I’d pick up something to eat. Can I bring you something too?”
“Sure.”
“Pizza sound okay?”
“Pizza is perfect.”
Then I hang up and call down to Mom, telling her not to fix me any dinner, since Mitch is bringing pizza.
“Then maybe you won’t mind if I go to the gym with Brenda,” she says.
“Fine with me,” I tell her. Actually, it’s fantastic with me. I mean I do appreciate her help this weekend, but I think we’ve both maxed out our limit on mother-daughter bonding time.
I spend a little time primping before I go downstairs to make sure the house is presentable, which it is, and before long Mitch shows up.
“That smells yummy,” I say as I lead him into the kitchen. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
He sets the box on the island, then leans over and gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek. “That looks like it hurt.” He points to the lump in the middle of my forehead.
“Yeah.” I open the lid and peak into the box. “But not as much as my wrist.”
“How did it happen anyway?” He removes his jacket, then hangs it on the back of the bar stool.
“My mom didn’t tell you?”
“No. She just said it was a basketball injury.”
I kind of laugh as I use my good hand to reach for plates.
“Here, let me help,” he offers, reaching over my shoulder to get them for me.
Soon we’re both sitting at the island and, as we eat, I tell him the story of how Jess tackled me during the scrimmage.
“You’re kidding?”
“I wish.”
“She really did it on purpose?”
“That’s what everyone said. She’d been playing pretty rough before that. I mean if it had been a real game, I’m sure she would’ve been out of there.” I take another piece of pizza. “I never even saw her coming, but when she hit me, I went flying.”
“Man, if she was a guy, I’d let her have it.” Then he chuckles. “On second thought, maybe she sort of is a guy.”
I make a face. “That’s not funny.”
“What did the coach say?”
I roll my eyes. “Not much. He has a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy and says we girls have to sort these things out among ourselves, thank you very much.”
“So, it’s okay if Jess kills you then?”
“I guess.”
“That’s messed up, Ramie.”
“I know.”
“Are you out for the season?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you care?”
I set down my drink. “Actually, I do care. I decided to go back and I really do want to play. But this whole thing with Jess kinda puts a damper on things. I just told myself to ignore her and to do my best, and then this happens.” I hold up my wrist and just shake my head.
“Someone ought to set that girl straight,” he says.
I laugh. “Was that a pun?”
“Maybe.”
“I wish she would go back to straight.”
“Well, that’s probably not going to happen, Ramie. you might as well accept that Jess is a lesbian and just move on. Just get over it, you know.”
“That’s easier said than done.”
He nods. “Yeah, I’m sure it is. If it makes you feel any better, even my dad is a little stumped about this whole thing.”
“So, he knows about Jess?”
“Yeah. I heard him and my mom talking. Jess’s mom and my mom are pretty good friends, you know. Mrs. LeCroix told my mom the whole story.”
“So, what does your dad plan to do?”
“He said he’s praying about it.”
Just then the doorbell rings. “I wonder who that is,” I say, starting to get up.
“Why don’t you let me get it?” he offers.
The next thing I know Jess is standing in my house and both Mitch and I are kind of speechless. Like, speak of the devil. Not that Jess is the devil exactly. But, still, it’s pretty weird seeing her here, especially after we were just talking about her.
“You didn’t return my call,” she says, looking down at the floor.
“Sorry,” I say in a halfhearted way. “I was kind of knocked out by the pain pills.”
She glances over at Mitch and then back at me. “Yeah, I can see that.”
I stare at her. Now what is that supposed to mean?
“Anyway,” she continues, “I wanted to come tell you that I’m sorry. I told your mom yesterday, but I thought I should tell you too, in person, you know.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I take a step closer to her now. She’s barely in the living room, but I’m clean over on the other side. Mitch is about halfway between us, leaning against the couch and watching.
“You didn’t mean to hurt me?” I repeat as I slowly walk toward her.
“It was an accident.”
I just shake my head. “Wow, that was some accident, Jess.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose!”
“Fine,” I say in an irritated voice, holding up my bandaged left wrist as if it’s a visual aid. “Whatever.”
“I didn’t!”
“Then why did you come here?” I ask. “Why are you telling me that you’re sorry?”
“Because I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“Oh, but it’s not your fault?”
“I told you, I didn’t mean to do it!”
“Hey, I never said you did,” I say in a quiet but cynical tone. I’m getting mad now. Why did she come here to say she’s sorry if she’s not? Why does she seem so intent on torturing me like this? Why can’t she just leave me alone? I want to scream!
“You might as well say it, Ramie. Everyone else is saying it!”
“I can’t control what everyone else is saying, Jess.”
“Maybe not, but you don’t have to add fuel to their fire.”
“What?” I stare at her as if she’s a stranger. Once again, I’m trying to remember why we were ever friends in the first place. How could I stand being around her all those years? Was I really that desperate?
“You know what you’re doing, Ramie. Oh sure, you pretend to be this strong and caring Christian, but you’re just a phony—a big hypocrite. you’re turning everyone against me, and you know it.”
“You are totally crazy, Jess!” I glance over at Mitch now, hoping that maybe he can jump in and say something to help, but he seems just as bewildered as I am.
“Thanks.” She tosses us both a plastic smile. “That’s just the kind of affirmation I was looking for tonight. Thanks for caring, both of you.”
“Why am I always the bad guy with you?” I demand. “Like you pretend to come over here to apologize to me tonight, but then you end up pointing the finger at me again. Like your problems are all my fault, Jess. I don’t get you. It’s like you want to blame me for everything.”
“I’m not blaming you for everything. But, hey, if the shoe fits, wear it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I demand.
“It means that you are not totally innocent, Ramie. you can’t keep playing the poor little victim all the time. And you can’t keep casting me as the evil and twisted friend who is ruining your life.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The way you go around acting like poor Ramie, like this is all about you, like you’re the only one who’s hurting here. Well, here’s a news bulletin: I’m hurting too!”
I nod as I walk closer. “Yeah, I can see you’re hurting, Jess. I can see that you’re totally miserable. But it’s your fault. you brought this on yourself.” I turn and look at Mitch. “I don’t know why they call it gay,” I say to him. “It sure doesn’t look like it’s making her happy!”
Jess takes a step toward me now, and we’re only a few feet apart. Her eyes are narrowed in anger and her hands are curled into tight fists. It looks like she wants to hit me, like she wants to finish what she started, and suddenly I feel seriously scared. “You’re the one who’s making me miserable!” she yells. “You’re the one who seems set on destroying my life!”
“Okay,” says Mitch, stepping between us, his back to me. “Calm down, Jess. Getting upset is not going to help—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she yells.
“If you can’t calm down, I think you should leave,” he says in a very grown-up voice that makes me appreciate him even more.
“This is between Ramie and me, Mitch! It’s none of your stinking business!”
“Ramie is my girlfriend,” he tells her. “So that makes this my business. And I can understand how that might make you jealous, but you’re going to have to get over it because Ramie is not a lesbian and she never will be.”
Okay, I’m kind of shocked by this. But at the same time I’m relieved. I’m glad he said it. It’s something I’ve wanted to say myself but just couldn’t put into words. Then Jess does something I’ve never heard her do before. She uses some bad language. She cusses at both of us. Then she turn
s around and storms out, slamming the front door so loud that one of my mom’s glass figurines falls out of the window and crashes onto the slate floor.
I’m shaking as I lean into Mitch. “Thank you,” I tell him.
He runs his hand over my hair. “What a witch,” he says. “It’s hard to believe you guys were ever friends.”
“She’s changed, Mitch.” I press my head into his shoulder as tears begin to pour down. “She’s really changed.”
fourteen
MY DOCTOR GIVES ME THE OKAY TO GO TO PRACTICE DURING THE NEXT WEEK, but only to stay in shape, and I must wear a wrist splint. He makes me promise that I won’t do anything that might stress my wrist. No scrimmages, no passing drills, and no direct contact. Mostly I just dribble and jog and try to shoot with one hand. Then I sit in the bleachers and watch as the others play, or else I do my homework. It’s better than nothing. I also keep stats for our first preseason game, which we lose. And then I go back to my doctor the following week, telling him that I think my wrist is almost well, but he’s not convinced.
“You can keep going to practice,” he says. “But no actual games until the real season begins. Isn’t that after Christmas anyway?”
“Yeah,” I admit with disappointment. “But we have Rendezvous next weekend. It’s an invitational tournament, and everyone was hoping I’d be able to play.”
“Sorry.” He frowns as he closes the chart. “The last thing you need is to play a bunch of games all in one day, Ramona.”
I know he’s probably right, but everyone on the team is really disappointed. Well, everyone but Jess. I’m sure she’s elated. But she and I do not speak. We keep a good distance between us. And we don’t even make eye contact. Sometimes I imagine that she doesn’t even exist, or that I don’t know her, and that I never did.
Frankly, I’m surprised that she hasn’t quit the team. Everyone treats her like she’s carrying some dreaded disease. But then she loves basketball. I guess she loves it enough to put up with the crud that girls toss at her. And I have to admit that I don’t mind when they do. Of course, I don’t say any of that stuff myself. I know it’s not Christlike. But I don’t defend her either, even though I know that too isn’t Christlike. Jess has obviously found a different place to get dressed down. We never see her in the girls’ locker room anymore. I’m guessing she uses a stall in the restroom, since I saw her coming out of there once with her gym bag, completely dressed. And she probably showers at home. I know it must be inconvenient, but it’s an inconvenience she has brought on herself. I don’t see any reason she should make the rest of us suffer.
Bright Purple: Color Me Confused with Bonus Content Page 10