The First to Know

by Abigail Johnson

  I simmered during the entire drive, ready to boil over again at the slightest comment from Dad, almost hoping for it. Without Mom’s presence, I might not be able to hold back. But he was as silent as I was. We didn’t exchange a single word until we were walking to the field from the parking lot.

  “This is over now. You play, I coach—”

  “We win,” I said, my gaze locked ahead.

  “Win or lose,” he went on, “everything about last night is over. Next time you want to make other plans, fine, tell me. Do not lie to me or your mom—do you understand me?”

  I glanced at him. He was squinting into the setting sun, not looking at me. “I understand you better than I ever have.”

  “Good. And you’re grounded next week.”

  Play ball!

  Chapter 18

  We won the game. Jessalyn and I didn’t talk, but I hit the crap out of everything that came my way, fielded like my life depended on it, and yelled and cheered so much that my voice was gone by the end of the night. Not that I needed it. Dad kept his word about dropping the argument. We didn’t mention it driving back from the game or once we got home. Mom must have said something to Selena, because she refrained from commenting about the total lack of bragging—on my part—and game analysis that we all usually shared in after a win. Rather than winding me down, however, the atypical quiet only added to my resentment toward Dad. Here was another thing he was taking from us.

  If I’d been Selena, I’d have taken one look at the faces around me once we spilled into the living room and kept my mouth shut about anything even remotely contentious. But Selena could be a huge dumbass sometimes, and she couldn’t leave well enough alone.

  She strode into the center of the room as the rest of us were heading toward our respective corners and, with her arms spread wide, said, “I guess now is as good a time as any to share my exciting news. Sit, sit!” She directed us to the couch in front of her. It was telling—or it should have been to Selena—that none of us moved with any kind of enthusiasm.

  Mom went first, raising her chin and determining that she was about to hear something good. I followed after, frowning in warning at my oblivious sister. Dad remained standing behind the couch, his expression somewhere between Mom’s and mine.

  With her arms outstretched and her palms down, Selena smiled full-out. “You have to promise to hear me out. This is good news.”

  Which, of course, meant it wasn’t. Not even Mom could keep her chin up after that opening.

  “I’m leaving college.”

  Mom shot to her feet. “No. Nope.” She blinked at her daughter. “Selena, no.”

  “Mom, you’re supposed to let me finish—”

  “If you are starting with dropping out of college, then no. I’m not supposed to do anything.” She turned to Dad, arms slapping against her sides. “Dennis, back me up.”

  It was beginning to dawn on Selena that her exciting news was exciting only to her—and even that was being thrown into question by our parents’ reaction. Dad wasn’t yelling yet, but he was gearing up.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  Selena’s laugh lacked conviction. “Nothing happened. I just figured out what I want to do and I don’t need college to do it. Really, you guys should be happy. Think of all the tuition you’ll save!” She bounced her gaze between our parents, her face falling more and more each time she settled on one. “I was really hoping you guys would be more supportive. Isn’t this what I was supposed to be doing at college? Figuring out what I want to do for the rest of my life? Some people need all four years—or more. I only needed two.”

  “When you put it that way, you’re kind of a prodigy.” I waved my hand in a flourish.

  Selena glared at me. “Shut up, Dana.”

  “Hey, I’m just here for moral support, which you are clearly going to need once you drop out of college.”

  Mom made a sound in her throat that drew every eye in the room.

  “I’m not dropping out!” Selena said. “I’m moving forward!”

  “Where exactly are you moving?” I asked, knowing it couldn’t be good or she would have led with it.

  “Well, you guys have always encouraged me to dream big and work hard toward whatever goal I wanted. I’m taking your advice.” She filled her lungs with fortifying air. “I want to move to Nashville and become a singer.”

  “No, you don’t.” My face scrunched both in disbelief and annoyance. We sang in the car, and she’d sung in the choir at church before, but singing as a career, no way. She’d never shown any interest in that. But when Selena didn’t respond, my expression fell as flat as our parents’. “Since when?”

  Selena turned more fully to face me. “Since kind of a while. I’ve been learning to play the guitar, and I’ve even sung at a few coffee shops. I’m writing my own songs, and Gavin thinks—”

  “Ohhhh,” I said, just as Mom started shaking her head.

  “A boy? This is about a boy?” She looked at Dad. “Both of them in the same day.”

  Selena had no way of knowing Mom had asked me almost the exact same question earlier that day.

  “Gavin is not a boy.”

  Mom stretched her five feet two inches to an imposing height. “He better be, because if you say the word teacher—”

  “He’s only a couple years older than me, Mom. And he’s really talented. He’s worked with a ton of great people and knows basically everyone in Nashville.” Ignoring the escalating hostility in the room, Selena let her obvious enthusiasm flood her voice. “And get this, he thinks he can get me a record deal within six months. Six months! Can you believe it?”

  Nope, I really couldn’t.

  “Brother Todd, was it? Does he also have plans to ride off into the Vulcan sunset with you?”

  Selena snarled in my direction. “Shut. Up. Dana.”

  Sitting back on the couch, I crossed my arms. If she wanted to fly solo with our parents, that was fine by me.

  “What’s the timeline here? Is your plan to finish the year or just the semester?” Dad asked through his teeth, a sign he was attempting to maintain self-control.

  “Well...”

  “You already dropped out, didn’t you?” I mimicked Mom’s head shaking. “Wow.”

  “Hey, I wanted to tell you guys the other day, but Dana texted me that she had these unbreakable plans, and—”

  “Whoa, whoa!” I held my hands out at the glare my parents had shifted to me in eerily precise unison. “Tell, she said tell, which means she’d already done it. The other night was going to be her notification of an already occurred event, right?” I looked at Selena for confirmation. “When precisely did you drop out?”

  “It’s not dropping out if—”

  “Before or after you were going to tell us? It’s a simple question.”

  “I don’t really see how that matters.” Except she totally did, based on the wobbly quality of her voice. “I withdrew my enrollment last week.”

  “Oh, okay,” Mom said, in a too-normal voice. She shrugged in Dad’s direction, then turned back to Selena. “I mean, you’re going back, of course, but I’m thrilled to know Gavin is so connected. Good for him.” And with that, she strode into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Who else is hungry?”

  Selena stood agape for maybe half a second before following her. A minute later, Mom was yelling in Spanish and Selena was yelling back in a mix of both Spanish and English, the whole thing punctuated by banging pots and slammed cabinet doors. Dad and I were left alone to listen from the living room.

  “Did you know?” he asked.

  “—how will I know if I don’t at least try!”

  “About her dream to become the next Taylor Swift? No.” But I had to give it to her for timing. Mom and Dad were both still spen
t from fighting all afternoon with me. I hoped she knew how easy she was getting it.

  “—try after college. What’s two more years?”

  “Aren’t you going to wade in?” I asked, inclining my head toward the kitchen.

  “—everything! I’m ready now.”

  Dad shook his head. “They can yell tonight—we’ll talk in the morning. Your mom is better with her anyway.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not!”

  The implication being that he was better with me. Maybe that was true, once. He and Selena got on well enough when things were going well—which they almost always were with Selena—but whenever they butted heads, it was Mom who intervened. I guessed it was more often the opposite with me. I’d never really thought about that before.

  “—the big deal if I use a stage name?”

  “It was a good game tonight. You played well.”

  My skin itched at Dad’s compliment. I would have loved hearing it even a week ago. “Yeah.” But a week ago I didn’t know about Brandon.

  “—you’d spit directly on your grandmother’s grave?”

  “Did you ever wish you’d had a son instead of two daughters?” I started at my own question. Between Mom and Selena arguing in the kitchen, the exhaustion from my own earlier fighting and the game, the filter that had been blocking questions like those failed.

  “—you say that when you don’t even know him!”

  “Instead of you and Selena? Never.” He didn’t pause before answering, which told me everything and nothing.

  “—he your boyfriend?”

  “Not instead, then—in addition to.”

  “—and Dad met at this age, and you’re still together!”

  “I’m happy with the family I have.” Then after a particularly loud bang, he added, “Most of the time.”

  “—think it was always easy? No!”

  Dad’s last comment was supposed to be funny, but I didn’t smile, and he didn’t say anything else.

  “Fine!”

  “Fine!”

  Chapter 19

  The one bright note from Selena’s college-dropout bomb was that our parents were way too distracted to bother enforcing things like a weeklong grounding for me. When Chase invited me to go see his friend’s band play the next night, it was as simple as leaving a note in the kitchen and driving away.

  My under-twenty-one hand stamp hadn’t fully dried before Chase and I spotted each other. I couldn’t not smile watching him weave his way toward me through the crowd, or quell my fluttering heart when his arms came around me and he brought his mouth to my ear.

  “I missed you.”

  “Me too,” I said/shouted, holding him to me a second longer when he started to pull back. He still smelled like the ocean. The smile I gave him was embarrassingly big, but he seemed to like it based on the one he gave me back. His hands glided from my back to my waist, down my arms to my hands, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. My breath caught when his fingers slid into mine, holding my hand the way he did everything, with no hesitation or uncertainty. I probably should have pulled away. I could have softened the rejection by tucking my hair behind my ear or checking my phone or something. I doubt that he would have made a big deal about it. But I didn’t. Being with him that night without being able to ask about Brandon even if I’d wanted to felt like letting air out of a balloon I’d swallowed. That overwhelming constant pressure to know abated somewhat. It was almost too loud to think, and he felt good. I felt good being with him. Just for this one night, I decided to let the world stay away.

  The band, Laughing Gravy, was pretty good. They did a ton of covers from the ’70s, but the arrangements were modern, and a few of the more melancholy songs were murder on my at-the-moment-tender heart. At some point during the set, between songs whose lyrics I’d never remember but whose melodies were indelibly imprinted in my mind, I realized Chase was a guy who could break my heart, and the happy little masochist in my chest only beat harder at the prospect.

  Reality intruded enough that I remembered to check the time, and when I could no longer ignore how late it was getting, I rose on my tiptoes to reach Chase’s ear and leaned into his side. I was going to tell him I needed to go, but he slid his arm around my back, bringing me even closer. Our eyes met and I knew he was going to kiss me. Worse, I wanted to let him.

  And just like that, the metaphorical balloon I’d swallowed inflated back to twice its size. I stepped back and turned my head. “I have to go soon!”

  “What?”

  Between the thunderously loud music and my still-mostly-gone voice from my game the day before, I wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t hear me. “Curfew!”

  “What?” He shook his head.

  I gave up talking and pointed at myself, then the door. That he understood. I led us through the crowds that time, and instead of holding my hand, Chase rested his palm on my lower back. I didn’t know if a guy had ever done that with me before—if he had, I’d never realized how intimate it felt until Chase did it.

  The air outside wasn’t much cooler than inside the bar, but it was cleaner and quieter. The pulsating music inside was still audible, but muted enough that I didn’t need to yell for Chase to hear me.

  “You okay?” Chase asked.

  “Yeah. I just have to get going soon.”

  “What time is your curfew?”

  I told him. I was actually grateful for the curfew, for once. I needed to get away from Chase and clear my head, refocus.

  “We still have time. We could grab ice cream—might help your throat.” He stepped closer and reached for my hand again. “I don’t want to let you go yet.”

  I didn’t want to let him go either. The problem was, I knew he wouldn’t feel the same way when he found out who I was.

  * * *

  We ordered our cones—butter pecan for him and cookie dough for me—and started walking toward an empty bench outside. The ice cream felt amazing on my abused throat, and it wasn’t long before the rasp smoothed out.

  “I really needed this,” I said.

  “Good?”

  “Hmm.” I caught a drip that was running down my thumb. “I don’t eat ice cream enough. My dad is severely lactose intolerant, so we don’t keep any in the house.”

  “That’s my cousin too. He can’t even eat pizza without wanting to die the next day.” Chase laughed a little. “You’d think that would stop him, but Brandon still eats the stuff a few times a year.”

  Another drop of ice cream trickled down my wrist and I left it there. My stomach bottomed out at more proof. Another connection to the father Brandon and I shared.

  “Yeah, that’s commitment right there,” I said, my rasp back. I tried to swallow the sudden dryness in my throat, but it didn’t work.

  “You need a drink?” Chase asked.

  “No, my voice is just trashed from my game. It’s getting better.”

  “How are you guys doing?”

  “My team? Good. I told you we won last night, so we’ve only got the one loss. We have a really good team this year.” It was easy to slip into softball talk, safe, so I did. I kept waiting for Chase’s eyes to glaze over, but they didn’t. He asked about my teammates and how long I’d been playing. He asked a lot of questions, and I answered, finding them easier and easier each time. And even though I shouldn’t have squandered an opportunity to learn more about my brother, it was all too easy to let my self-consciousness over Brandon fade and my growing awareness of Chase take its place.

  Had I thought him just cute the first time we met? That was such an inadequate word for Chase. The way his mouth pulled a little to the side when he smiled and talked at the same time was more than cute. The way he focused completely on my face when I said something, the way he took my hand when we walked and kept
asking me about a sport he didn’t play or watch because I liked it. Being with him, I could have melted like the ice-cream cone I kept forgetting to eat.

  “So what’s it like having your dad as your coach?”

  I stilled. People had asked me that question my whole life and I normally answered the same way Selena did, saying it was the best of both worlds. But it wasn’t like that at all. Rather than give Chase the well-rehearsed line, I told him the truth. “I don’t really know. He’s not my dad on the field.”

  Chase frowned. “What does that mean?”

  I didn’t answer right away, covering my silence by getting up to throw my cone away. “It’s this thing he and Selena came up with...or maybe just him—I don’t remember. Basically, when we’re playing, I’m not his kid and he’s not my dad. He’s the coach and I’m a player. We don’t drag anything from home onto the field, good or bad.”

  Chase’s gaze never left me when I returned to the bench. “You never call him Dad during a game?”

  “Nope.” I wished I hadn’t thrown my cone away, because I had nothing to do with my hands. I picked at a piece of rust on the arm of the metal bench. “My dad...he’s never been super affectionate.” I rushed through the explanation of him being a foster kid and how it was hard for him, even with Mom, to show his emotions, at least the softer ones, because he was never shown how. “So the coach role on the field isn’t all that different from the dad role everywhere else.” My voice trailed off as I heard my own words. “I mean, it is, obviously, but he’s been a coach since before I was old enough to be on a team. I think it’s easier for him to...coach.” I fell silent, and so did Chase. “I’m not explaining this right.”

  “It’s fine. I was just curious.”

  I was grateful when Chase went back to asking about softball instead of my dad, but part of my mind hung back. I felt this need to defend my dad even in the midst of discovering I had a brother. I didn’t want Chase thinking my dad was this cold, unfeeling figure in my life. He wasn’t really... Like Mom always said, he was trying to show us love the only way he knew how. It didn’t always feel like love—the constant scrutinizing focus, the push to work harder and show him I could be good enough...worthy. But I did feel it, even as I wished I didn’t have to try so hard. Or I used to, until these nagging thoughts wormed their way into my brain. Until now I’d never had a reason to wonder if the love I craved from him was worth it.