“What?” Eva says. “Why would we help this creep?”
“Because everyone deserves to be helped out, Eva.”
“But—”
“Please, girls,” Eva’s mom says. “I think the dogs really did a number on the poor kid.”
. . .
“Owwww!” Tony says.
“Quit your whining,” Eva says, giving his ankle another splash of hydrogen peroxide.
We’re in the bathroom, cleaning out the bite marks on Tony’s leg. I can hear Eva’s dad talking to the police on the phone. Eva’s mom hung out in the bathroom for a few minutes but then decided no adult supervision was necessary. Tony’s a little too pathetic to do anything worse than yelp in pain. In fact, he hasn’t stopped shaking for a second since the dogs attacked.
“Owww!” he says again.
Really, the bites don’t look too bad. More like scratches than cuts. When we first lifted Tony’s pant legs, I thought we were going to find really nasty wounds, but his jeans protected him pretty well.
“Just wait until the cops get done with you,” Eva says. She has Tony’s foot propped on the toilet seat so all the peroxide and blood drip into the bowl. “They’ll cuff your wrists so tight you’ll get permanent scars.”
What is she so mad about? I wonder, remembering how angry I am with Eva. After all she’s done to me, what right does she have to threaten anyone? I’m mad at her for being mad at him. He’s just a dumb kid.
“You might as well sic the cops on me while you’re at it,” I say. My voice gets louder as I talk. “I snuck into your house too.”
This gets everyone’s attention. Eva stops roughly wiping Tony’s ankle. Tony stops yelping in pain. They both stare at me silently.
Which is good, because I’m not done talking. Not even close. I tell Eva about the whole plan. When I’m finished with that, I go back further. I go over everything she’s done to me this year and all the horrible ways she’s treated me. I tell her how I got kicked off the team, and just like that, I’m bawling my eyes out. Next thing I know, I’m so angry I’m shaking. “How could you? After all that happened this summer, how could you do this to me? Huh?” I glare at her through bleary eyes. “How does someone do these things to another person?”
But Eva doesn’t answer me. First, she glares at me and I think she’s about to yell and then her eyes fog up with tears. I think her hand is trembling because she spills some peroxide and Tony gives another yelp.
. . .
Despite Eva’s threats, the cops don’t handcuff Tony. Eva’s family doesn’t even press any charges. Her parents agree that he’s learned his lesson. “There’s no lesson like forgiveness,” her dad says, patting Tony on his shoulder. I wonder if he’d say the same thing if he found out Eva liked soccer babes more than soccer studs. Based on her behavior this past year, I doubt it.
Eva and I watch Tony limp out the front door, and Eva says, “I’m sorry, Addie.”
We’ve both been holding onto our dogs’ collars for several minutes, but now that the cops and Tony are gone, we finally let go. I can hear Eva’s parents doing one more sweep of the upstairs, making sure everything is where it’s supposed to be.
“I know that’s not even close to good enough, but I really am sorry. Tomorrow I’ll go to Coach and tell him what really happened, okay?”
I almost say thanks but stop myself. Why should I say thanks when she’s just doing the right thing?
“I don’t know how to explain all the stuff I’ve done to you this year,” she says. “I’m not even sure I can explain it to myself. At first, I thought I could just stay away from you—but that just made it worse. It was like you weren’t even the same person to me. You were just this person I hated. The fact that I could do terrible things to you proved that you had to be a terrible person, if that makes any sense.”
It doesn’t—not really. But I’m glad she’s trying to explain it, even if there’s no way she totally could.
Because I’ve already said everything I have to say and there’s really nothing else either of us can say, I change the subject. “Did you see Belle back there? Chomping on that kid’s ankle? She’s never done anything like that before.”
“She must’ve learned it from Skittles.” We watch the dogs start to wrestle each other again. “We do lots of strange things because of the ones we care about,” Eva says.
I
t’s late in the season, and we’re playing Ironwood again. We’ve won most of our games, and were looking ready for the postseason until our goalie, Alyssa, got a concussion. During practice, it seemed like her replacement, Becca, was going to be solid, but now I’m not so sure. Coach has spent the whole game screaming his lungs out at her.
I feel really bad for Alyssa because I know how hard it is not to be able to play. I feel bad for Becca too. I also know how brutal Coach can be. But honestly, it’s nice to have something to focus on besides what happened with Eva.
She fessed up to everything she did to me, just like she said she would, and wound up suspended from school for a week. She was also kicked off the team. Mom said I should consider suing, and I did—but in the end, I couldn’t go through with it.
For one thing, I couldn’t bear to do that to our dogs. Eva and I don’t see each other much, but when we do, it’s to reunite our canine companions.
Besides, Eva has apologized more than once, but she has never asked me to forgive her, and there’s something I admire about that.
She stayed away from our games for a while. But eventually, she started coming as a fan. That is where she is now: in the bleachers, cheering us on.
A few moments later, a ball comes bounding my way, and I advance it to midfield. Things are congested in front of me, and I have a decision to make. Where should I go with the ball next?
“Whoop!”
It’s Eva’s voice, from the stands, and I have to decide whether to trust it.
She said during our last doggy play date that she was thinking about trying to return to the team next year. She wanted to know if I’d be okay with that. I told her I’d have to think about it.
But I don’t have any time to think right now. I have to act—and I do just that. I send the ball sailing over the Ironwood players’ heads. As I watch the ball fly through the air, I can see Eva nodding from the stands.
Just as the ball lands on the other side of the field, Faith swoops into view. She takes the pass and runs with it, charging forward with no opponents in sight.
Archenemy Page 5