by Piper Bee
I don’t hate him as much as I did a second ago.
TRACK 27 - MAKE IT WITHOUT YOU
AUGUST 2ND
I stare at my outfit in the mirror as if I’m waiting for some revelation of what’s missing. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong. This cream Peter Pan collar top with the pearl detail is nice. The pleated A-line skirt is a flattering coral color. I even pulled a braid strand back, so I’d feel more… me, I guess.
I fight the urge to text Lena a picture and ask her advice.
Even if we’d forgive each other this second, the reunion would be a small reward in a pit of grief. Jin’s leaving today, and neither of us get to have him. It’s kinda funny. Lena and I would probably bond over the shared trauma if it wasn’t the very thing that tore our friendship to pieces.
Good riddance, cruel summer of minor injuries. At least you were stupidly short.
I still have a couple weeks before classes begin, but attending Orientation today feels like it’s the death of the summer in between high school me and college me. That’s kind of why I picked the last possible slot to attend.
“You can do this,” I whisper. I’m not entirely sure why I need to hear it. This is exactly the plan I started with. I took a detour but I’m still taking the original path I had planned.
I pick up my phone on instinct. There are three contacts my thumb avoids like they’re upturned thumbtacks.
Cale. Because I broke his heart.
Lena. Because she broke mine and I broke hers, too.
And Jin. Do I even need to say it?
But my thumb kinda wants to be pricked for Jin. To set things straight. To tell him I still mean it, even though I disengaged completely. But there’s a reason I haven’t.
I want him to be free.
Knock knock. It’s Mom’s knuckle.
“Come in,” I say, smoothing my skirt.
She presses the door open with more caution than necessary. “Hey, sweetie.” There’s a pity smile on her face. “I talked to Jan-di. I’m sorry, honey. I wish I’d known—”
“It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” Even if I’m still sucking up something whenever he’s tangentially mentioned.
“Your brother is very remorseful.”
“Okay, Mom.”
Her lips twitch, as if she’s not sure about what to say. Or she doesn’t know if she should say it. The crows feet around her eyes reveal the latter.
“If you hadn’t been so secretive—”
“Okay! I get it.” My heart twists.
“Joy, I don’t mean to blame you.”
I nod. “Okay.” That word makes up half my verbal utterances lately.
She mercifully decides not to say more and puts her hands on my shoulders. Her eyes meet mine. And then she pulls me into her arms.
I don’t want to at first, but I bury my face into her shoulder. She squeezes tighter.
“Are you really okay?” she asks.
My eyes tingle. “I will be.”
“Joy,” she says, pulling away to face me. “I always say Carson and you are my pride and my joy, but…” She brushes my cheek with her thumb. “I am so proud of you. No matter what you do, I’m proud to have you as my daughter.”
I’ve never actually heard her say it so clearly. I mean, I guess she didn’t have to. I feel now that it was always true, but hearing it gives my heart a glimmer of happiness.
“Hey.”
Mom and I look back at my door. It’s Carson. He slaps my door frame. “I’ll be in the truck.” Then he’s off.
Mom rubs both my arms at once and sighs. “Time for you to live your own life.”
I stare at her for a second. It feels weird to hear her say that, too. “Okay,” I say, but… I might mean it.
She smiles at me as I move past her to leave, but I turn around.
“Mom?” I say. She waits for me to say more. “Um… it wasn’t Carson who destroyed the watermelon the other day. It was me.”
Her eyebrows go up.
“I just… I didn’t want you to think he snapped or something. Actually, I think the therapy’s working.”
Mom nods, and I can see she’s fighting tears. “Okay, sweetie. Now go. It’s mandatory.” Her smile has gained a few wrinkles since I started high school, but it’s the same one she had before I went off to my previous freshman year.
I head out of the house and land in Carson’s truck. I agreed to ride with him because I know he’s trying. Once Dad told me about the therapy, I softened up.
I will always love him. Not because I owe it to him, or because he needs me to, but because I need to love him. And from now on, I’m doing it my way.
Today, that means letting him drive me to orientation. We get on the road, less than twenty minutes until I officially declare an end to my summer.
“So, I had this thing planned,” Carson says. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “I don’t want to call it a ‘surprise.’” He laughs like there’s a bad aftertaste with the word.
“Probably better not to,” I say.
“I’m, uh, supposed to give a speech at your orientation. They picked a couple student representatives or whatever, and I chose your orientation day. So, I’m gonna go up on stage.”
“Oh.” My eyes trail away from his cautious smile. I almost feel bad for having such a flat reaction. I pick at the peeling pleather on the car’s bench seat.
“I just wanted to be there for you, too,” he says. His curls droop around a semi-sad expression. There’s something different about him. Like he’s practiced calming himself for long enough that he doesn’t have to try so hard anymore.
“I’m looking forward to it, Racecar.” I hazard a small smile. He joins me.
When we get to the overfull parking lot, I survey my surroundings. Campus is… fine. Landscaped with a few flowering bushes, trimmed grass on small hills, and mature trees to shade the concrete walkways. There’s a large angular fountain in the middle of the rows of buildings, mismatched by the decades they were built in. Some little kids play in it, waddling and squealing as the fountain shoots sparkling streams into the air, soaking up their last bits of summer.
The time when the toddler walked up to me at Victoria Lake tickles my memory. I’m kind of jealous of those carefree kids.
The Student Union building is utilitarian in essence, working overtime to represent literally every side of identity with multicolored flyers in the windows. Carson and I split before I head into the ballroom and find the alphabetical line A-J.
For a brief second, I remember Mr. Allen Jr. and his sarcastic passes with Cale during glee practice.
I miss Cale.
I figured the best course of action was to let him have space until he made the first contact. It’s been brutal going to bed at night knowing it’s still not “later” enough. I know I’ll see him once classes start. We’re in the same FreshQ, which is the nauseating term for the “freshman qualifying course” that all students must endure. Cale will make it bearable. If he’ll talk to me.
My arms are overflowing with school merch that I know I’ll never use. I pass by the booths. Study Abroad. School of Business. Beekeeping Club. Dentistry.
Right. Because free toothbrushes will sell me on a lifetime of dentistry.
“WILL NEW STUDENTS PLEASE TAKE THEIR SEATS!” blares through the speakers a little too loudly, in some man’s monotone voice.
I plant myself in a cushioned chair, facing the stage draped with lackluster navy curtains. The man speaking into the mic has the energy of a bored cat. He introduces a video: The History of Frederick University. I zone out halfway through the title. Spoiler: it’s remarkably boring.
“Wasn’t that soooo great?” says a chipper blonde woman into the mic once the video’s over. It’s like FredU can’t decide the energy they’re going for here. Reminiscent of the singing contest at Americanafest.
“Up next, our resident baseball star, Carson Becker!” she says, and my heart skips. I don’t know why I’m nervous for hi
m. Entering the stage wearing a baseball cap, he salutes charmingly and wins hearts in three seconds flat. When he hits center stage, mic taps echo from the tip of his finger.
“Hey everyone! F-U!” he chants, and there are laughs, a cheer or two and a whole lot of eye-rolls. I’m in the eye-roll camp.
“I’m a pitcher for the Gophers,” he says, his dimples are visible even from way in the back. “I really found my center in baseball. As a kid, I liked trying to see how far I could hit or how fast I could pitch. But I learned something real fast. No matter what your gameplan is and no matter how hard you train, there’s nothing like the pressure of the game. I also learned that I’m not a great hitter. I strike out a lot.”
Carson pauses. His eyes flutter to the ground and he measures a breath. The audience grows silent.
“But I keep playing. In baseball, striking out is basically inevitable. You have to deal with it. Now, here’s something that I did not learn so fast. In life, the same thing is true. You’re gonna strike out. Even if you trained hard, or planned it all to a T, or you’re left counting on your lucky charm.” His eyes pick me out of the crowd. “You’ll fail your team.”
My pulse latches onto his words. He goes on, “In my life, I kept trying to force wins where I should’ve accepted defeat. It doesn’t matter if you win or lose. There’s always another game coming. Another ball hurtling toward you. What matters is that you play.”
Everyone else may think this speech was meant for them, but I see it in his eyes.
It’s for me. Just me.
Suddenly, everything else fades away, we’re standing on the field.
“Even if it means you lose, show up and play your game.” His voice is like an echo.
I’m holding my breath like I’m on home plate and he’s on the mound readying a pitch.
“If you don’t play, you don’t win.”
It hits me. Carson doesn’t always win… I never play.
I’m still in the bleachers of my own life.
Carson must’ve thanked the audience, because everyone applauds.
I can’t be here. This isn’t my game.
I stand up. Sporadically the crowd joins me. And amid the cheers, I leave the ballroom because Frederick University is Carson’s game, not mine. It’s time for me to leave his field and go figure out where mine is.
Because like Carson said, I’ll never win if I don’t play.
When I’m in the hall, the crowd’s cheers fizzle out and someone mumbles into the mic what’s next in the mandatory orientation session. It no longer applies to me.
My heart races. I see his contact, push my finger on his number. Hard.
TRACK 28 - CLEARLY
STILL AUGUST 2ND
He didn’t pick up. It kind of feels like karma.
“Joy, wait up!” Carson jogs down the maroon carpet toward me. When he gets close, I realize he’s farther from me than he’s ever been. My big brother doesn’t need me to hold him together anymore.
“I have to go,” I tell him.
He reaches deep into his jeans pocket and keys jingle when he lifts them out.
Then he gives them to me.
“I know, Joy Bear.” And there’s a Carson smile that’s meant just for me. Adoring, protective, and now, crooked and bittersweet.
My fingers wrap around the truck keys. “Thanks, Racecar.”
We both jump into an embrace without warning, like we read the other’s minds. His tight bear hug squeezes the air out of me, but I wheeze it out willingly.
Then I ask, “Wait, what about you? How will you get home?”
He grins. “I’ll find my own way.”
♫
I’m finally in the driver’s seat of Carson’s truck. It’s awkward and roomy. I dreamed of driving his truck, but I never expected him to hand me the keys. He dangled them above my head often enough. I don’t hate the memories now, though.
My ringtone sounds. He called back.
“Cale!” I answer, nearly squealing.
“Hey, Almond Joy! What’s up? How you been?” He sounds like his normal self, which is a relief.
“I’m okay,” I say. And I’m not lying. I lay my forehead on the steering wheel. “I wanted to apologize.”
“But you already did, and you didn’t even need to. I shoulda… I don’t know. I should have done this whole thing different.” His laugh is light, but nervous.
I chew on my lip. “There’s stuff you should know, Cale. I mean, I don’t know what you figured out, but you should know the truth.”
There’s a beat of silence. But then he sighs. “You don’t gotta do that. But I’ll listen.”
Before I manage to start off on my speech, I pause. It feels wrong to tell him like this. I look down at the keys in my hand.
Cale breaks the silence. “Wait, aren’t you supposed to be at orientation right now?”
“Yeah. But I’m, um…” Where was I going, anyway? Where’s my game?
“Hey,” I say with new inflection, “Are you up for a day trip? Because there’s somewhere I really want to be and I could use the moral support.”
“You know, Almond Joy,” he says, his voice low enough to fill me with anticipation, “I can make that happen.”
♫
“What, the beater wasn’t up to the escapade?” Cale asks as he plops into the passenger side of Carson’s truck.
My heart’s a rush just seeing him. I don’t address his question.
“It’s good to see you, Cale.”
His face softens and he smiles on one side. “You, too.” He slaps the dash. “So! Where we headed?”
I twist my grip on the steering wheel. “Don’t worry too much about the destination, Cale Salad. The journey might be all you can handle.”
“Whoa.” He puts his hand on his chest like an offended old lady. “Was that vaguely threatening or is it just me?”
I laugh and pull out of the parking lot of Cale’s apartment complex. “I don’t think it was a threat.”
“You don’t think it was?” He flashes me an expression of increased worry.
I missed having him around.
GPS is unnecessary for now. I just have to head north for a few hours. I’m guessing there will be signs to warn me when I get close. But as I enter the freeway, my main concern is clearing the air with Cale.
I’m still struggling with how to start the whole story.
“So… you gonna explain what happened with orientation today?” he asks before we’ve even gone a mile from his house.
“Yeah. But it's a long story so sit tight.”
“I ain’t perfected my duck and roll out the car move yet. You’re good.”
“Everything has to do with the reason we left Salem more than a year ago.” And from there, I tell him about it. About Tyler Fuller and the police and Carson. He gets real quiet and I leave the cab empty of noise for a little while. He stares out the window as we leave town, but it doesn’t seem like he’s struggling with what to say. I think he’s just sitting with it.
It’s not uncomfortable, being silent with him. I’m not sure how long we’re there. Sitting in a length of utter quiet without any awkwardness is a good marker of friendship. We let each other think our own thoughts.
“That never shoulda happened,” he finally says, his voice muted and contemplative.
“If it never happened, I wouldn’t be here with you. I’d be living a fake life, still trying to please everyone but myself. Honestly, I think that’s what I was doing until I left FredU today.”
I explain how things changed after graduation. How I developed feelings for Jin, despite trying not to. Then I’m regaling what really happened when I twisted my ankle, or rather right before I twisted my ankle.
“So you literally fell for him?” Cale says. I’m glad his humor has remained intact.
“More like I crashed and burned for him. Against my own will. But… even though we both wanted it, it’s impossible.”
And I explain why. Jin’s dad.
My loyalty to Lena. Him moving to Korea. And the whole blow-up after Carson’s return game.
It’s the first time I verbalize the truth even to myself. I let Jin believe that the fake dating thing was a lie because I didn’t want him to give up his internship for me.
I believed you… Jin’s regret stung. Like he was shocked at himself for being so reckless.
By the time I’ve finished the entire story, my throat is dry from talking so much. We’re nearly to Seattle.
Actually, it wasn’t the whole story. I guess there’s time to address the part I left out.
“About the game… or, the part where we kissed,” I start, pursing my lips with hesitation. “It wasn’t out of pity. I do like you, Cale.”
“Wait, really?” His surprise is evident in the high pitch of his voice.
“Yeah,” I sigh. “You’re the obvious choice. I’m happy whenever you’re around. You bring light everywhere you go, and more importantly, you’re here.” I glance at him. I want to want Cale. I want water games and clever puns and interlaced, two-toned fingers. I really like being with him.
But… I love Jin. And I won’t run from that.
The exit for the SeaTac airport warns us a quarter mile ahead.
“Girl, you’re gonna miss the airport exit if you don’t get over.”
I refuse to move.
“You think I didn’t figure it out? Jin’s leaving today. We’re heading to Seattle. Simple math.”
I shake my head. “But I can’t make it right anymore.”
“Like hell, Becker! I see it all over your cute little face, you are still hung up on that Korean Prince Charming. Get your BUTT into that lane!”
I hold my breath. We pass the SeaTac exit.
“You missed it!” he shrieks.
“Jin’s plane left this morning,” I say with a large portion of sour regret. “My mom talked to Jan-di right after. He’s already gone.”