“What’s gotten into you, Becker?” she demands as I walk past her to take my place on the bench. “Get your head on right.”
I nod, wiping nonexistent sweat out of my eyes. Briefly, I look behind me at the people in the stands, trying to pick out the scouts in the crowd. They’d be the ones with clipboards, pausing every couple of minutes to write notes down. I twist the orange bracelet signifying me as a rising senior around on my wrist. I imagine the words they might be writing down. Unfocused. Lazy. Unaware of her surroundings.
I’m out the rest of the game and we take the second loss of the day. Coach Prince tells me I’m going back in for the must-win set. I make a couple of good plays and feel myself coming back to life. But I can’t sustain any kind of momentum and soon, I’m weaving stories in my head about what a complete failure I am. Ball after ball sails out of bounds. Mistake after mistake. I know this oppressive feeling that I’ll never be good enough like the back of my hand.
At the end of the day, our record is a paltry two wins, two losses. I look like an outstandingly average middle hitter. Sometimes I run into the net. Sometimes I steal balls from my teammates. I never look polished, never finish all the way. I sit on the bleachers behind our empty bench, running through all the mistakes in my head, reliving them, getting them right.
I get so lost in the act, in picking myself apart. I wonder if any scouts will bother showing up for our games tomorrow.
Lia plops onto the bleachers next to me. “Don’t do this. Get out of there, Nell,” she says, pulling a hand away from my head. “You’re fine. You know you can be better and you will be tomorrow.”
“I suck,” I say, pulling my hand back and resting it against the side of my head, scraping my fingernails over my face. “All I had to do was take this seriously. But no, I couldn’t be bothered to get a proper night’s sleep. I just went out there and personally fucked myself, Lia. Do you see that?”
She does not return the self-pity I wanted. “What did you really do last night?”
I shake my head. I’m not telling her, not when she’ll judge me for it. I don’t need that on top of everything else. I want to talk about the game. I want to talk about how bad I was.
“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to assume it’s something worse.”
“That’s doubtful,” I say, not looking at her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Did you sleep with him, Nell?” she asks, sounding somewhere between disbelief and mistrust.
“No,” I tell her. “I couldn’t sleep and we were just … on the phone. Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”
“You’re right,” she says, her voice betraying her relief. “It doesn’t. Stop thinking about it. And I don’t mean him. I mean, if you get down on yourself, you’ll never get out of your head. Have fun, but play your game on your own terms. I know how important this is to you.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “If they see me bounce back tomorrow, that’s even better. Phoenix rising from the ashes and all.” I don’t really believe it, but Lia gives me a half smile, nodding back encouragingly. I squeeze her arm affectionately. “Your setting was really strong today,” I tell her.
Lia shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t feel right, either. Not like I have at my best. This is usually my favorite tournament. The whole family comes and we get a hotel and go out in Charleston for the night. And now, I keep looking back on the past couple of years, wondering where all that money came from.”
“Lia…,” I say, not sure what to do.
“It’s fine. Not a big deal.”
“No, it is.” I grab her shoulder. “I can ride back to Cedar Woods with you. We can blast really bad music and scream.”
“What about your mom?” she asks.
“She’ll be fine,” I say, waving my hand dismissively. Mom had driven up by herself today, since Dad had to work. I wait for her as she makes her way down the bleachers. She’s keeping a straight face for my benefit—she knows how terrible I was today.
“It wasn’t that bad,” she says at the look on my face.
I almost laugh. “Wasn’t it?”
“You made a couple of great saves.” I don’t believe her. “You look tired. Like you don’t feel like yourself. When you get home, why don’t you ice your shoulder and go to bed?”
I stretch out my shoulder, surprised she noticed. “Sure,” I say because I always go along with her. “I’m going to ride home with Lia.”
“Nell, I’m not going to nag you,” she says.
“Lia needs company.”
Mom looks over at her, then back at me, her expression clear. “Oh. Okay.” She gives me a close-mouthed smile. “Make sure you get something for dinner with lots of protein. I’ll see you at home.”
“Sure.”
She touches my face. “Love you.”
I grab up my gym bag and call behind me as I head off, “See you later!”
* * *
The phoenix does not rise from the ashes.
I know from the first ball I touch. I don’t have it. I’ve lost my magic.
I can feel the fury building behind my eyes, growing as the day goes on. I can’t blame lack of sleep—not exactly. I decided I would ignore the buzzing of my phone last night, no matter what. Only no buzzing ever came. I checked my phone again and again, but the screen didn’t change. And then I couldn’t sleep because I wondered why my phone wasn’t buzzing. And why it mattered.
It was another excuse. Not a very good one.
By the afternoon elimination game, I can barely hold in my frustration. I hit a ball into the net to lose the final point of the set, a perfect pinnacle of my downfall. When the ball rolls sadly back to me, I pick it up and slam it into the gym floor.
“BECKER!” Coach Prince calls after me. “You’re out for the next set. Evans, get over here, you’re starting.”
It’s punishment, and I deserve it.
I watch as they lose the final game and the match. Well, watch is probably an unfair way to put it. I can barely make myself pay attention, fuming, wasted on the bench. I hate me when I’m not perfect. I don’t say anything as Coach Prince debriefs us after the game. She’s disappointed. We could do better.
I’ve been listening to it on a loop in my head for the past two days; that song is tired.
When I get in the car at the end of the day, Dad’s eyes are all over me.
“You didn’t have your best stuff today, kid. It happens to everyone.”
I shake my head, rolling my eyes in the direction of the window so he can’t see me.
“You’re not owed success, you know,” he says, and I hear a touch of annoyance in his voice.
“I know,” I answer. Even my voice sounds like an eye roll.
“But that’s not what embarrassed me. What embarrassed me was you throwing a tantrum. Slamming the ball like a brat.”
I look over at him. “I’m acting out like a regular teenager. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Don’t speak to me that way. You have to be a team player. You have to accept defeat.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I can only imagine if Mom heard you say that.”
“Well, she’s not here, is she?” he asks, starting the car. Classic rock plays in the background. “The kind of treatment you act as if the world owes you now…”
I stare up at the car roof. “Don’t give me this.”
Dad holds on to the steering wheel tightly. “You’re stuck in between two worlds,” he tells me, his voice annoyingly calm. “You get to decide, Nell. You get to decide who to be.”
I turn to stare at him, my jaw clenched. “You sound like a fortune cookie,” I say.
He puts the car into drive. He doesn’t speak to me as we ride to the sandwich shop where we’re meeting some of the girls before we head back to Cedar Woods. I can feel his disapproval radiating from across the car and I already feel terrible about what I said.
It’s the attitude I take as I get my sandwich and sit across from Lia. She seems just
as mad as I am, which at least fuels me on. I’m angrily spreading mustard onto my sandwich when she says, “Can you stop pouting? You’re making my food taste bad.”
“I’m not pouting,” I say, which is completely irrational because I’m definitely pouting. But I’m in the mood where being accused of doing what I’m doing only makes me more indignant.
“So you played like shit. It’s not like you’re the only one.”
“Right? Because I didn’t blow up my expectations at all.”
“So what, Nell?” she asks, chucking down her sandwich so that it falls apart. She keeps her voice low but frustration sharpens her tone. “Do you know how much better I would’ve looked if you were out there killing it? What about me, Nell? What about my scholarships? I want scouts to see me, too. Don’t you get that? Don’t you get that my life is a disaster? It’s always—always”—she grabs up her tray, and I see so clearly that she’s leaving and I want to tell her not to, but I don’t find the words—“about you.” She finishes brutally and is gone from the table in an instant.
I slump back in my seat, defeated.
Taylor falls into her empty spot. “That looked fun,” he says, biting into his sandwich.
I sit in silence, contemplating my own terribleness. Taylor throws a chip at me and it hits me in the middle of the chest. “Cheer up.”
I grimace at him.
“She’ll get over it,” he says. “You’ll be fine.”
“She’s right. I’m being an asshole.”
Taylor shrugs like he’s not so sure. “Lia’s not mad at you. She’s mad at Mom and Dad. Her anger manifests outwardly while I fall apart on the inside.” He bites into his sandwich. “But life goes on.”
“I shouldn’t be so self-involved.”
“It’s who you are. You’re always focused on you because you’re the best.” He shrugs again, turning back to his sandwich. “Just do something for her to show you care. That’s all she needs. She can’t sulk forever.”
“I’m not sure that makes me feel better.”
“Join the club,” he says.
“What’s up with you?” I ask.
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Amanda. She’s different lately.”
I attempt to eat as well. “Different, how?”
“It’s, like, she loves to go out to parties and socialize and she’s—I don’t know. Shallow or something? Not how she used to be.”
“She went through a lot,” I tell him, trying to be reasonable.
“I know, I know,” he says, as if he’s convincing himself. “I want to be patient. That’s why I came down for the games today. So I could zone out and get some perspective or something. I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”
I’m not so sure. Taylor has a pattern with the girls he dates. Once he’s decided things have gone south, it’s hard to turn it around.
Taylor’s looking at me and keeps biting his lip as if to stop himself from talking. “Can I ask you something?” he says at last.
“Shoot,” I say.
“Is there something to the rumors floating around? I heard you were with Jackson Hart when Doug got hurt.”
I sip my water, not looking at him. I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. “Who told you that?”
“You know how he is, Nell.”
“Oh, not you, too,” I say, setting my cup down. “It’s nothing. I’m just blowing off some steam. That’s what I told Lia and that’s what I’m telling you. It’s. Nothing.”
Taylor doesn’t say anything for a minute. And then, “I’m not here to tell you what do.”
That seems fair, so I say, “Good.”
We mindlessly chatter through the rest of the meal, about college visits and summer plans. I go to clean off my tray at the trash can when I see Lia headed toward me.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, before she can speak. “I know the tournament is important to you, too, and I wasn’t respecting that at all. You’re right.”
“S’okay,” Lia says. “I’m sorry, too. We’ll do better next weekend, right? You’re fine. We’ll be fine.”
I nod.
She holds up her hand as if for a high five, but I lace my fingers through it and pull our hands together and we both laugh.
22
I enter the next week with new purpose, able to focus all my energy on volleyball now that school’s out. I’d let myself get distracted, by grades and class standing and Jackson. But this is the last summer to play with my team, my girls, my best friend—next year will be all college camps and new teammates.
I want to be able to enjoy this. And I couldn’t, not for the past month—in fact, I’d almost become convinced it was a burden, weighing me down. I needed this reset.
The good news is, distractions are eradicating themselves from my life faster than I can catch up to them. I find myself checking my phone constantly, holding it close to me, as if it will vibrate and tell me something. And every time it buzzes and I look down and see the name on the screen, I feel my stomach drop.
It’s never him.
Sometimes, without thinking about it, I watch the hall of the gym during volleyball practice, waiting to see if he will walk by from weight training. I probably wouldn’t see him if he did. Pathetically, I even find myself parking my car close to his in hopes that it will act as a reminder or something. He’ll see it and be like—oh yeah, her.
But the days drag on and nothing happens. Nothing changes. I want to not want him so badly.
If I’m honest, I don’t even know what I want. Some acknowledgment. Some proof that I’m different, like I’ve always thought I am. It happened, didn’t it? I was there.
That can’t be the end of the story.
After volleyball on Wednesday, I’m changing out of my sweat-soaked top in the locker room. “Where are you off to?” I ask Lia as she stuffs things into her bag in a rush like she’s running late.
“Oh, come on, Nell,” Michonne calls from the row of lockers opposite us. “Haven’t you figured it out?” She looks over at Lia. “Who’s your secret man, Lia?”
Lia stops abruptly, knocking one of her sneakers off the bench in surprise. She looks over at Michonne, her face turning red. “My what?”
“The guy you keep running off to see.”
“I’m not—” Lia glances over at me and shuts her mouth. “It’s not like that,” she says instead.
“Seriously?” My voice cuts across the distance, an accusation.
“I can’t talk about this right now.” Lia shoots Michonne a dirty look. “I’m already late. I’ll see you both later. And you can talk to me about keeping secrets then,” she finishes. She picks up her shoe, shoves it into her bag, and takes off as if that settles the conversation. I’m standing there in nothing but my sports bra and spandex, looking stupidly after her.
“Knew it,” Michonne singsongs, turning back to her locker.
“Do you know who?” I ask her, pulling a T-shirt over my head.
“Nah, I’ve just seen her headed out of here.” Michonne throws a piece of gum in her mouth, blowing a bubble loudly before continuing. “Yesterday, it was eyeliner and perfume. And I saw a dress fall out of her bag earlier this week.”
“Someone from Prep?” I ask, waiting for Michonne to close her locker. When she does, I pick up my own bag and walk out beside her.
“Probably.” She rolls her eyes. “These families and their scandals. You gotta stay away from them,” she goes on, like she’s not one of them. “That’s why I only date public schoolers and tourists.”
I laugh, cracking open the locker room door into the blazing heat. “Like there’s so many tourists in Cedar Woods.”
“Gets the job done,” she says. “And it’s always the prettiest boys and girls who stay for the whole summer. So many potential love interests, so little time.” She gives me a wicked grin.
I almost stop dead in my tracks when I see them. Some of the baseball team milling around Jackson’s truck, talking post-conditioning. And h
e’s right there in the middle with that dark hair and dark-blue gaze in the light of day. Michonne laughs mischievously, popping her gum.
The guys wave at the two of us and I feel Jackson’s eyes meet mine. The moment it happens, the temperature drops precipitously. He averts his gaze like he doesn’t recognize me at all.
My heart pounds out an angry staccato rhythm against my chest. “You want to go over there?” Michonne asks. I barely hear her.
I know this part—can put the pieces together like a puzzle. When boys like Jackson are done with a girl, they don’t deal with it. They hope she fades off into the distance, humiliated. Too ashamed or proud to confront them. He thinks he can make me disappear.
Fuck that.
“No,” I tell Michonne. “I’m going.” I get in the car, try to stop myself from shaking. I’m not going to make a fool of myself in front of all those boys.
When it’s time to burn it all down, you can’t let them see it coming.
I slam the door of my car.
* * *
The house is both exactly as I imagined it and not like anything I imagined at all. It’s gorgeous, all the signs of money and time poured carefully into the foundation but with something that so distinctly feels like home. A hand-carved stone fire pit is surrounded by welcoming wooden chairs with a stone walkway leading up to the stone porch. Wood mingles with the stone and floor-to-ceiling windows give the whole thing an open look.
This would be a hard house to burn down.
I walk up the steps like I have some sort of authority and ring the doorbell. The sound chimes all over the house. Someone on the inside pounds down steps, a cacophony echoing in their wake. The door opens and there he is.
He looks like he could be going for a run, aside from his bare feet. His entire face changes when he sees me, and not in a good way.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, exasperated.
I give him a humorless laugh. “Are you kidding me?”
He presses his lips together as he looks at me, and then he stops, staring off into the distance over my shoulder. “I can’t talk to you,” he tells me.
Winner Take All Page 14