by Dahlia Adler
It’s only an hour drive back to Radleigh, and Cammie driving me is a whole lot more convenient than taking the bus, but I still feel completely wiped by the time I drag my ass back into Barrow. All I want to do is drop my bag and pass out for a million years.
Unfortunately, life seems to have other, terrible plans.
“Andi?” I drop my bag on the floor and look at my roommate, who’s perched on the couch in the common room, her laptop balanced on her knees. “I thought you were going home for the week.”
“Tonight,” she says, her tone flat, no sign of surprise that I’ve returned unannounced. She hasn’t even lifted her eyes from the screen since I walked in. At least when Mase dumped her, she pretended to watch TV with Samara. Now she just looks like a zombie.
“Oh.” I slip off my coat and hang it up, unzip my boots, wait for her to say something, anything else, but nothing comes. I’m afraid to ask what’s wrong, to throw myself in a whirlwind of Mase drama after the day I’ve had and the thoughts that are still consuming me. I decide to leave her alone and take my nap after all.
I only get as far as our bedroom door when she says, “You knew each other.”
Fuck.
There’s no point in denying it. She isn’t asking a question; she’s stating a fact. A rush of anger surges through me at the fact that Mase didn’t warn me he told her, not even a two-second text message saying, Heads-up, we’re busted. But this isn’t about my anger right now. “Yeah.”
“You lied to me. Both of you.”
Again, not exactly ripe for denial. I turn around so that I’m actually facing her. “I’m sorry, An—”
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry.” I’ve never heard Andi snap before, and the harshness of her voice is unsettling, all the more so because I deserve it. Because I’m a dirty liar and she’s a good person and I don’t really have a good excuse at all. “Tell me why.”
“It’s not what you think,” I say quickly, which is dumb. I don’t know what she thinks, and I don’t know what Mase thinks either. “We were just surprised to see each other, that first time. We hadn’t spoken in years, Andi. We were close and then we weren’t. I was just meeting you, and it wasn’t exactly a decent time to reconnect. It was just reaction.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “So that was the first meeting, but what about after that? You could’ve told me. I mean, God, we all hung out. You met his—” Her mouth twists into a frown. “You didn’t ‘meet’ Will, did you? You already knew him. That’s why you picked XO. God, I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” I say firmly. “We were idiots, okay? We should’ve just told you. Lying was stupid. But…” But what? But there’s absolutely nothing between us? If that’s true, then why did we hook up at that party? Why did he show up at my game? Why did I ache with missing him today? Why did every time I saw them together feel like a stab to the heart? “I don’t know what he told you—”
“Nothing,” she spits. “He told me absolutely nothing.”
And then she turns her laptop around, and I feel a twinge in my chest as I recognize the picture on her screen. It’s a shot of Mase, holding up a trophy, looking exactly how I remember him at sixteen—massive smile, glowing with joy, teammates all around him in various states of yelling and cheering…and me, in his other arm, laughing into his chest. His other golden trophy.
“I missed him. He barely takes pictures anymore, but I remembered seeing the pictures on his camp website once, how happy he looked in them. And I missed his smile. So I looked. And there you were. Everywhere. God, I’m surprised I didn’t recognize you, you’re in so many of these.”
I don’t respond. What can I? I’ve given whatever defense I have, and she’s right to be angry. I would be too.
I’m just not sure what I would’ve done differently.
“I’m sorry,” I say hoarsely. “We thought we were doing the right thing.”
“No, you didn’t. When he called me and said he wanted to see me again, after we broke up, I thought ‘He’s gonna realize he made a mistake.’ And then when it turned out he just wanted to apologize for hurting me and talk it out, I thought, ‘Okay, at least I’m getting more of the truth.’ But that was bull, too. And here I’ve been beating myself up over what I’ve done wrong, but the truth is I’m just not you, and that’s clearly who he’s wanted all along.”
“It’s not,” I insist. “Andi, nothing happened between us while you were dating. I swear.”
“And after?” she asks, raising her meticulously arched brows.
Shit. Bad word choice on my part. “Once,” I admit. “Just once, and never again.”
She looks like she’s gonna throw up, and the very least I can do is spare her the sight of my face. “I’m just dropping this off, and then I’m heading back out,” I promise, walking past her into our room. Her clothing is spread out all over her bed, waiting to be stuffed into a suitcase—an uncharacteristic mess in the half of the room that’s usually clean. I drop my bag on my own bed and slip my phone out of my pocket, opening up my ever-running group text with Lizzie and Frankie.
Cait: Hey, can I stay at your apt tonight?
Neither one answers right away, but the question’s basically a formality; I have a spare key, and with Lizzie and Connor in Pomona and Frankie home in Longmeadow, no one else will be using it. I pack another, smaller bag—pajamas, my toothbrush, deodorant, and something to go running in in the morning, after which I can return safely to my room. The idea of walking over there now instead of passing out in my own bed right now exhausts me even more than I thought possible, but I’ve had enough interpersonal misery for one day, and I’ll happily trade my own mattress for some blissful solitude.
My phone beeps.
Lizzie: Uh oh. What happened?
Lizzie: And yes, of course you can, duh.
Cait: I’ll fill you in when I get there.
I hoist the bag onto my shoulder and take a deep breath before walking back out. Andi’s still sitting on the couch, staring stonily at her computer screen, though whether the pictures of us are still on it, I have no idea.
When I say, “Have a good break,” it’s over my shoulder, and I don’t look back.
• • •
It takes a minute to remember where I am when I wake up the next morning, squinting into the March sunlight streaming through Lizzie’s window. By now, Andi should be in her own bed in…God, I can’t even remember where in Jersey she’s from. I really am a shitty roommate.
I drag my ass out of bed, wash up, and get dressed for my run. In a flash, I remember that it’s Sunday; if I jog over now, I’ll make it in time for youth basketball at the community center. It’s highly unlikely Mase will be there—presumably he’s in Philly for break—and I know Jake’s in Miami with a bunch of guys from his frat, but I could use some company, even if it’s just of the kids. Hopefully they’ll vouch for me and let me stick around even without the boys. And if not, well, I need the run one way or another.
It turns out being vouched for isn’t necessary; the first person I see when I step inside is Mase, smiling smugly around the whistle in his teeth as he holds the ball on his fingertips over his head, out of reach of the kids jumping for it. It’s been a few weeks, but I recognize the kids as Peter, Carlos, and Xavier, and I love that they love working with Mase enough to keep coming back. It’s easy to see he connects to them really well, and if he really doesn’t have a career in playing professionally anymore, he’d make a pretty kickass coach or even gym teacher.
For the millionth time since I first saw him again, I feel a pang of sadness that I have no idea what the guy I used to discuss everything with has planned for his future.
It isn’t Mase who notices me standing in the doorway of the gym; it’s Peter. “Hey, Miss J!” he calls. “You playing with us?”
I glance at Mase, but his expression’s impossible to read. I should probably say I was just running by, but my blood is pumping with the desire to move, and the fact t
hat I haven’t even started on the spring break training schedule Brady gave us isn’t helping. So, fuck it. “That all right?” I ask, directing the question at him and the other guys rather than the statue between them.
“As long as you’re on our team!” Xavier replies, just as Carlos jumps and knocks the ball off Mase’s fingertips. “We need someone tall.”
“Hey!” another kid, DeShaun, says as if he’s insulted, but there’s no way he tops five-nine.
“You wish, Winslow,” Carlos says with a snort, which sets off a mini-battle that Mase promptly breaks apart with his whistle and obnoxiously sexy arms. He divvies the teams up, and for the next hour, I let myself sweat everything out—the awkwardness with my father, the fight with Abigail, the “I told you so” radiating from Cammie the entire ride back to Radleigh, the horribly uncomfortable conversation with Andi… The only thing I can’t ignore is the fact that once again, I’ve come to Mase—consciously or not—to take me back out of my head, to bring me to a happy place when everything else is miserable. And he’s delivered, is still delivering, is making me smile over and over again as he teasingly dribbles just out of my reach or groans when I hit a particularly nice three or dunks with such awe-inspiring form, the kids’ mouths actually drop open.
The time passes too fast, and then it’s time to go, and reality comes rushing back. Mase and I fall into step together on the walk back to Radleigh, and as we chat casually about the kids and the game and the fact that he’s still on campus because he’s working as a personal trainer on the side, the urge to bring up my conversation with Cammie bubbles just below the surface until there’s finally a lull, and I can’t resist.
“Do you remember that visiting day when both my parents came to camp and they got into that huge, embarrassing fight?”
He grins. “Hard to forget. I spent half an hour helping your dad wash marinara sauce out of his hair.”
“Oh, yes, that was particularly epic.” It’s relief to be able to laugh about it now; at the time, I thought it’d traumatize me forever. “I had no idea how I was going to make it through the summer after that. How I was gonna make it through the day. And then you…”
I can’t finish. It’s too much. And anyway, I don’t need to; it’s clear from the little smile on his lips that he remembers. He was at my side for the rest of the day, making sure no one would dare say a word. And as soon as they were gone, he took me down to the lake and let me cry in his lap for an hour, no teasing, just stroking my hair until I was all cried out. And then, when I was feeling like a gross, snotty mess, it was his idea for us to strip down to our underwear and jump in.
Under normal circumstances, I might’ve hesitated, but teary and disgusting and miserable, faced with the option of seeing the object of my massive crush in his boxer briefs…I got down to my sports bra and patterned cotton boy shorts in three seconds flat.
That was the night he told me about Will, all the shit he got in West Philly, how painfully closeted he had to be to everyone—even Mase—for a while, and how shitty Mase felt for it.
That was the night we talked about our hopes for college—not just pipe dreams but the plans that burned in our blood at night, keeping us awake, dreaming of collegiate uniforms and March Madness. The little things, like hoping we’d be able to keep our numbers—21 for me, because it’d been my dad’s; 47 for Mase, for his dad’s birthday.
That was the night he told me what it was like growing up without a father—how hard it was to watch his mom struggle after her husband died, to see his whole family hurting every day, to be able to do nothing except this, and dream of being good enough at it to bring them all better lives someday.
That was the night I fell for him.
“That was the night I fell for you.”
I’m shocked at myself for saying it aloud, and then I realize I didn’t; he did. I freeze in my tracks and look up at him. “Really? I was a teary mess, practically using your mesh shorts as a tissue.”
He laughs, and there’s just a little embarrassment to it, a shyness I’ve never seen from him before. It’s incredibly fucking cute. I have thought of Mase in many complimentary terms before, but “cute” isn’t really one of them. It’s surprisingly unsettling.
“I liked that you were comfortable crying in front of me. It’s cool to have someone get that vulnerable with you.”
“Oh really? So if Brockhurst had cried into your lap, that would’ve been cool?”
He grins. “Sure.”
“Liar.”
His smile turns into full-blown laughter. “Fine. It’s cool when a hot girl gets that vulnerable with you, especially when she’s such a stone-cold badass most of the time. Better?”
“Much,” I say, jealous that his cheeks hide a blush much better than mine do. But talking like this, joking like this…it’s like all the blood rising to the surface of my skin is bringing all my feelings with it. One prick and I’ll bleed everywhere.
“It’s cool when a hot girl blushes, too.”
And there it is. His voice is teasing, but it doesn’t matter whether it’s just a joke; it’s never been that to me. “So then what’s been up with you since you got here? With us? If you liked me so much then, why do you hate me so much now?”
His dark eyes flash as the smile drops from his face. “I don’t hate you, Cait.”
“Oh, really? Because you haven’t exactly seemed happy to see me, and honestly, at times, you’ve been pretty downright shitty. And don’t pretend you’re like this to everyone. I’ve seen you with Andi. I’ve seen you with the team. You’re a different person around them, or you’re different around me, but don’t pretend we’re okay.
“It isn’t just because I still play, either,” I continue. “You wouldn’t be coaching, or doing this at the community center, if you really hated being around active athletes that much. So what is it about me, Mase? Because before you stopped returning my calls, we were pretty damn good friends.”
He snorts. “Friends?”
“Yes, friends,” I snap. “Stop pretending we were just fuckbuddies, Mason. I won’t let you rewrite that. We were friends—”
“Of course we were friends!” he explodes. “You were my best friend. Being with you, sleeping with you—it meant everything to me. You meant everything to me. And like a fucking idiot, I thought I needed my freedom more than I needed to be with you, and I spent months regretting that decision, months trying to work up the nerve to ask if you felt the same way. If you’d wanna try long distance.”
I did, I scream in my brain, but I’m frozen in place by his words; I can’t push out any of my own. I’m too scared to see where this is going, because we’re standing here as living proof this story doesn’t have a happy ending.
“I got up the nerve, finally,” he says, his voice brimming with bitterness. “I was having the game of my fucking career, and I thought, ‘This feels incomplete without Cait. She should be here. This should be our victory.’”
The quiet that follows is thunderous. Finally, I ask the question I’m pretty sure he’s just hinted at the answer to. “How long after this epiphany did you get that concussion?”
He closes his eyes, and I wonder what he sees behind his lids. “Sixteen-point-four seconds.”
The telltale choking of imminent tears climbs up my throat. “I wish you’d called me.” It comes out as a whisper, but I mean it, so strongly. “I should’ve been there.”
“To watch my career end? My life end? Is that what you want?”
“It would’ve been our victory had you won, Mase,” I say, more forcefully now, “and it would’ve been our tragedy, too, if you’d just fucking called. Love isn’t only being there for the trophy shit. I would’ve been there in a second if you wanted me to, and I would’ve stayed.”
“Out of pity, maybe. Don’t kid yourself, Cait. Being the Dream Team couple was half the draw. I couldn’t pick up a ball again for months. I stopped being an athlete. You think you would’ve wanted to be with that?”
“Then be honest, with both of us. Stop romanticizing the past based on who I was when you knew me. I stopped being that person long before I walked into your dorm room with another girl.”
My instinct is to argue again, but for once, I shut it down, and I think about what he’s saying, and whether there’s any truth to it. And if I’m honest with myself, the answer is that I don’t know. I don’t know if who Mase was is too intrinsically tied to the guy I loved, or if the man standing in front of me now could still be it.
I don’t know.
We keep walking in stubborn silence, and it’s only when we reach campus and turn to go our separate ways that I ask my last question. “Why were you at my last lacrosse game?”
He turns, dark eyes cold and glittering, jaw stiff. “Old habits die hard.”
And then he takes off and so do I.
For the rest of break, I do nothing but follow my training schedule, do some advance reading, and watch old lax games online to study up on our competition. Knowing Mase is the closest thing I have to a friend on campus makes me feel even more isolated, and I don’t dare go anywhere I might run into him, other than the gym, where I practically have on blinders. I eat my meals in my suite like a creepy shut-in, and by the time the weekend hits, I feel like I’m going out of my mind.
And it doesn’t help that Andi’s imminent return is hanging over my head.
Friday night, as I’m curled up in bed with my laptop and halfheartedly watching old episodes of Parks and Rec, my gaze won’t stop drifting over to Andi’s side of the room. How the hell are we going to share this space now? We haven’t spoken once all week, not so much as a text. Do we just pretend nothing happened when she gets back? Do we live in awkward silence?
I sigh and pick up my phone, opening the group text with Lizzie and Frankie. It’s grown monumental in length this week, mostly with my whining. Please tell me they’ve changed the school calendar and the semester is officially over. I can’t deal with Andi coming back this week.