When Our Worlds Stand Still

by Lindsey Iler

  “Before I have to run, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

  “Oh, God, Kennedy. Please don’t tell me you’re trying to hook me up with someone.”

  “Well, since Facebook told me Skylar and you broke up a while ago …”

  “I was going to call.”

  I force a smile and laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Just like I was going to call.” I wave him off. “She’s been a good friend to me, so please be nice. Plaster on the Mark Whitmore charm, and smile that smile of yours, and she will die a happy girl, I promise.” I sense Bea’s giddiness without turning to see her. “Bea, this is Mark, a friend of mine from high school.” I jab a finger in his taut chest. “Mark, this is Bea, one of my friends from,” I catch my mistake and correct myself, “from here. We work together.” It is not my place to explain how Bea and I know each other.

  My old life shakes hands with my new. Bea leans into Mark as he whispers in her ear. My eyes drop to their joined hands, and I smile.

  Bea’s gorgeous, with her rambunctious, curly hair and stifling blue eyes. She’s difficult to look away from, so I’m not shocked when Mark smirks over her shoulder. Call me Cupid, because my work here is done.

  Except for Violet, Amanda, and Dan, I keep my two worlds as separate as possible. Because of my episodes, and Jackie suggesting additional help here in the city, I stumbled upon Bea at the hardest point in her life. Through our support group, she’s learned the details of my past. Though she claims I saved her, in reality, some days she’s the one saving me.

  “I’m going to check on my tables I’ve kept waiting,” I say, but neither stops their conversation. A giggle erupts from my mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” Kate asks, plugging an order into the computer.

  I point to Mark and Bea. “That.”

  She stares in his direction with the same excited expression Bea had earlier. “Who’s the hottie?”

  “Remember the boy Alex and Bea were arguing about?” I nod my chin in their direction. “I went to high school with him.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Kate clutches at her chest. “If I’d known he was that hot, I would’ve put my hat in the ring.” She reaches across the counter for a pen. “Alex is going to be livid.”

  I shrug. “Well, don’t tell her I introduced them. Let’s pretend it’s happenstance.”

  Kate drags her finger in an X over her chest. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  Alex slams her notepad on the countertop, startling us. “Won’t tell a soul, what?”

  I take a deep breath and release it. “Jesus, you scared me.”

  “Kennedy introduced Bea to the little man candy you two were fighting over earlier,” Kate blurts and walks away.

  “Thanks a lot, Kate,” I shout.

  Without looking back, she waves over her shoulder.

  Alex’s neck nearly snaps when she jerks around to where Bea is hiding. What she finds is her little sister wearing a breathtaking smile, and a laugh dancing from her lips. The hard expression on her face softens when Bea leans into Mark and rests her hand on his chest. I know immediately, the two of them could change each other’s worlds, if only they allow it.

  “Kennedy, do you think you’d like to talk today?” Dr. Wilson asks. “You’ve barely said a word the past two weeks.”

  A door slams, and a girl with crazy, brown, curly hair rushes inside. Her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. As she walks up, she apologizes to Dr. Wilson and takes a seat directly across from me. When she’s settled, her gaze skims over the group. Clenched fists jerk in her lap, and her eyes carry a mountain of fears I’m all-too-familiar with.

  “I’m Kennedy.” My eyes scan each of their faces. Faces I’ve examined the past few weeks. They’ve shared their deepest nightmares, but none of them know mine. Doesn’t necessarily seem fair. “I was in high school. The shy girl who somehow found herself wrapped up in the popular world. We went on a few dates, hung out quite a bit. He attacked me one night, but someone saved me.” Graham’s face hovers in my mind, and I feel the familiar prickling behind my eyelids. “I never reported it, and not a single day goes by where I don’t regret that decision because he attacked me again. This time, no one was there to save me.” The memory has tears washing over my cheeks.

  “How do you get past it?” The curly haired brunette speaks up. When I peer up from my lap, her eyes beg for an answer.

  “You don’t. You learn to get up every morning. You don’t allow yourself to become what happened to you. For me, the hardest part of it all is knowing my attacker. I held his hand. I kissed him.”

  She nods in understanding and frowns down at her lap. The remainder of the session, I wonder if she’ll open up to us, a group of strangers. A few times, her lips open and close as though she’s about to speak. Perhaps she’s afraid. Lord knows, I’ve been, but the moment she walked into the room, this need to protect her, to tell her my story because hers might be the same, won’t leave me alone.

  Once Dr. Wilson dismisses us, I hang around, waiting to talk to the brunette. She offers me a small smile as she passes, and I shout for her to wait.

  “I’m Kennedy.”

  “I’m Beatrice. My friends call me Bea,” she explains as she continues to walk to the door. “What you said in there…” The fight she isn’t aware she holds in her small frame, overshadows the fear in her eyes.

  “Don’t say a word. Maybe next time you’ll find the strength to speak up. It may not take the past away, Bea, but I’m quickly learning it helps.” Without giving it a second thought, I hand my phone to her. “Give me your number. Maybe we can hang out sometime.”

  “Why are you smiling?” Alex asks, her eyes glued to the two of them.

  “Sometimes life works in weird ways, you know? Things really do come full circle,” I answer, turning my attention to Mark and Bea.

  Alex bumps her hip into mine. She nods her chin in their direction. “What’s his deal? Do I need to worry?”

  My face hurts from smiling at the memories I have with Mark. “You don’t need to worry about her as long as he’s around. He’s one of the great ones.”

  She watches them for a brief moment and turns back to me. “I’ll take half of her tables if you’ll take the other.”

  “You’re a damn good sister,” I yell as she walks away.

  “Don’t tell anyone. I’d hate to ruin my badass reputation,” she calls over her shoulder,

  The remainder of the night, I run around with no way of knowing which direction I’m headed. I love busy days and nights, but adding the extra tables has given me a headache. When I catch Mark hugging Bea goodbye, I know the blistered feet and tired eyes tomorrow morning in class will be well worth it.

  “Ken, I’ll call you,” Mark shouts over the crowd as an excited, smiling Bea walks over to me.

  “I’m sure you will, lover boy.” I wiggle my fingers goodbye. Beckett and the rest of the guys don’t try to hide their appreciation of me when they pass. “Bye, boys.”

  I empty my collected tips from my apron. Mockingly counting the bills, I wave them in front of Bea’s face. “Was he worth missing out on all this?”

  “Or all this?” Alex joins in on the game.

  “I don’t care if I won’t be able to eat for the next week, he was worth every lost penny,” Bea answers, plopping on the stool next to me.

  I wrap my arm around her shoulder and tug her close. “He’s a good guy. You could’ve done worse, Bea. Actually, you’ve done worse.” I’m referring to the bass player in the grunge band she forced us to watch in some seedy, underground club last year.

  “Robert!” the sisters say in unison.

  “Kennedy, is he the Mark you told me about when we first met?” Bea reaches over the bar and fills a cup of water. David sneers in her direction, and she shrugs an apology for dirtying another glass he’ll have to wash.

  “The one and only.”

  Bea groans at my answer.

  “What?” I clock out from the computer. “I
t was in high school, and it’s not like we slept together.”

  “You were around him for four years, and you didn’t sleep with him?” Kate chimes in, clocking herself out as well. “You have more restraint than me.”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t think about it,” I answer, giggling at how uncomfortable the topic is making Bea. Her cheeks turn a particular shade of pink. “Bea, all I did was give him a hand-job.”

  Kate holds up her hand for a high-five. “Nice.” I slap my hand against hers and the three of us grin at Bea. “Nothing screams high school relationships like an old fashion hand-job.”

  Bea jumps from the stool and walks backward, her hands firmly on her hips. “I hate all three of you, but I don’t have time for that right now because I have a phone date with a rather attractive guy later tonight.”

  Alex winks at Kate and me. “Ask him about the high school hand-job, Bea,” she shouts to her sister.

  We roll in laughter, once again at Bea’s expense, but in reality, the three of us couldn’t be happier for the smile on her face. Bea, much like myself, hasn’t been dealt the easiest hand in life. Of course, Bea is stronger than me and hits her problems head on.

  I reach over the bar top, silently asking for my purse. “I’ll see you girls tomorrow.”

  The cool air hits my skin when I push through the front door. With my eyes to the sky, I recall the nights back in Tennessee. Southern skies can hold you captive. I remember being hypnotized by the navy blue, cloudless heavens. I’ve debated many complicated decisions while looking into the starry skies back home, but I’ve never taken any time to slow down in the city to appreciate the sky above me.

  After the short walk home, I smile at our doorman as he holds the door for me. “Thanks, Richard.”

  “Amanda and Violet got home almost an hour ago,” he explains, offering a tender smile.

  “Do you always know where everyone is?” I turn to our nosy protector.

  “Just you girls. Violet’s father pays me good money to look after you three.” Richard tips his hat.

  “Of course, he does.”

  The elevator opens into our private hallway. With the key in the lock, I push open the door to find Amanda sitting at the kitchen table, her legs propped up and a textbook on her lap. I drop my purse on one of the chairs and sigh in relief to be home. With a deep breath, I smell what can only be Violet’s famous stuffed shells.

  “Please tell me that’s what I think it is,” I holler.

  “Oh, it’s exactly what you think it is.” She bends down and pulls the pan from the oven.

  I walk into the kitchen and pull a fork from the drawer. “You will not believe who I ran into at work tonight.” With the fork deep in the pan, I cut off half a shell and stuff it in my mouth.

  “Would it happen to be Mark?” Violet whispers.

  A smile spreads across Amanda’s face. “We already know,” she admits. “He called Dan. Dan called Violet. You know how it goes.”

  “Am I always the last to know everything?” I take another big bite of the cheese-filled pasta. “Oh, and Mark and Bea hit it off. Like for real, hit it off.”

  Amanda slams her biology textbook shut and stands, staring at Vi and me. “Aww, they’re perfect for each other. How did we not put that together sooner?”

  “Well, Mark would actually have to be present for us to plug him into the equation,” Violet argues.

  “Shouldn’t be too hard now, since he transferred to UConn to play ball. He was at the bar with his teammates.” I take the other half of the shell and shove it in my mouth. “He looks happy.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Amanda adds, grabbing her own fork.

  I’m not sure what being truly happy means. I remember moments as a child where I achieved true happiness, but my teen years were spent alone, hidden away. I suppose I have no one to blame but myself. Seclusion felt more comfortable on my skin, and I managed to create this strange barrier around me, a fortress to keep anyone from getting too close. My mother says I’ve always been a loner. Even as a youngster, I preferred my own company. It wasn’t until my junior year of high school that everything changed for me. I chased happiness.

  “Are you going to throw it, or stare at it until it grows a set of tits? It’s fucking frigid out here,” Rico yells at me from behind home plate. I’d pay big money to erase the wide smirk off his face. “No wonder all our early games are down south. Fuck.” He blows a puff of warm air into his hands. “Seriously, it’s about to snow.”

  “Why is your ass even here right now?” I shout, fondling the ball until the stitching is perfect beneath my fingertips.

  Rick, A.K.A. Rico, has gone from being my enemy to someone I depend on. How it happened, I’m not sure, but I’m almost positive we both realized we have more in common than we care to admit.

  “Pretty Boy isn’t here to help you, and Coach told me I’d be kicked off the team if I didn’t get my ass out here.” He explains his sudden interest in my pitching. “And since I don’t want to go back to junior college, I figured I’d come out and witness you fuck this up.”

  “Real supportive.” I shake my head, set up the pitch, and rocket it across home plate into his waiting glove. Rico throws it back, and I stretch to catch it before it barrels over my head.

  “How many pitches do you usually throw before you call it quits?” Rico crouches into position and holds his glove out in anticipation.

  “Fifty. Seventy-five.” I set up for another and throw it into his glove. “Depends on how long it takes.”

  “I don’t get you pitchers.”

  “What’s there to get?”

  “Is it like hitting the g-spot?” Even from the mound, I spot the thrill in his eyes.

  “Do you even know where the g-spot is, Rico?”

  “What I mean is, do you have to hit a sweet spot or something to make the pitch feel good?” He stands and stretches his legs.

  The description may be horrible, but he’s not wrong. Not speaking for all pitchers, but some pitches never feel right. If my finger slips off the ball too soon, or my grip’s not accurate, small mistakes like that throw off the process. I shrug and smirk.

  Around pitch forty-five, Rico gets antsy, making the decision to stop at fifty an easy one. I’ll regret it tomorrow, but torturing him isn’t something I’m willing to do. He’s a third baseman. His knees are bound to be sore tomorrow from holding the catcher’s stance. I don’t need Coach blaming me for his not being on his A game.

  “That’s enough for today.” I throw my glove, and the leather bounces into my bag.

  “You coming out?” He motions to the parking lot as he steps to the exit.

  When we’re lucky enough not to have away games, the team goes out for wings and a few beers before heading to the real parties. On campus, parties are everywhere, and I’d be lying if I didn’t own up to attending some. Coming into a team with a strong bond was hard. As the new guy, I needed to earn my place with them and partake in the festivities to gain their trust. Now, the urge to meet their standards of what makes a good teammate is gone. I don’t need to get blackout drunk to kill it on the mound.

  “I’ll pass tonight. Maybe next time.” We both know I’m lying.

  “Uh huh, sure you will. Go read a book in bed, pussy,” Rico taunts. “Leave the debauchery to the rest of us.” Rico slides behind the wheel of his Bronco.

  If my teammates knew who I used to be, they’d shit themselves.

  I give a half-ass wave over my shoulder, and toss my bag into the trunk of my Suburban, a birthday gift from my grandmother. Since my grandfather passed, she’s taken a special interest in my life. She’s always been attentive, but this new version of her is a whole different ball game. I swear she visits at least once a month. At first, I thought she was trying to convince me to go see my father. As far as I’m concerned, he died the day he tried to kill my mother and me. It turns out, though, my grandmother hasn’t even visited her own son. With the knowledge of her absence in his life, I ca
tch the sadness in her eyes when she looks at me. Maybe she finds a little bit of him in me.

  The long route home allows the music to relax me. The driveway is packed with cars. Leaving my bags in the trunk, I race up the sidewalk and barge through the front door. The living room is full of my teammates and a few of their girlfriends. I scan over each of them until my stare lands on Rico.

  “I said I wasn’t going out tonight.”

  Rico stands from one of the many armchairs my grandmother insisted on buying. She says they pull the whole room together.

  “I know what you said, but we decided to come to you and stage a sit in,” Rico explains. The rest of my teammates all nod their head in agreement.

  “You can all stay, but I’m not drinking. I’ve got things to do tomorrow.” I plop down on the couch and flash a smile to Griffin’s girlfriend, Sandy, who winks in secret. She’s the only one who knows where I disappear to all the time.

  “One shot, then we’ll leave you alone.” Griffin extends a balled up fist in my direction, and I tap mine against his.

  “One shot.” I agree. “No tequila.”

  “Jack it is!” Rico hoots over the crowd.

  Everyone slaps me on the back on their way to the kitchen. This is what I’ve been searching for, true camaraderie. I miss my old high school team, but these guys are my family now. If I need anything, one call to any of them, and they’ll drop everything and come running. This is what college is about, learning your place, and discovering the person you want to be.

  Sandy sticks behind, witnessing the rest of our friends chasing each other to the shot glasses. “Why don’t you tell them where you run off to? You go almost every Sunday, and any free day you get during the week. They notice your absence, Graham.”

  She follows my glance down the hallway. Rico sets up two lines of glasses and tips the bottle straight in the air, theatrically pouring shots for everyone. They shout over each other, toasting to their future conquests, and poor decisions.

  “Okay, I know why you don’t, but I think you’d be surprised to know most of them would join you.” Sandy turns around to face me. Her head tilts to the side with a sympathetic gleam in her eye.