Winner Take All

by Laurie Devore

  He pushes his wet hair out of his face. “Jesus, shit, don’t you see? I thought you had me all figured out. I lose every day to this bullshit. To some urge to feel control over something because I can’t feel control over anything that matters. You’re always in control. You tell yourself to feel nothing and you don’t. Of course I used the last desperate gasp of air I had to try and burn you down.”

  “I’m a goddamn mess!” I yell at him. The rain picks up then, too much for even the trees to hold back. “I’ve got nothing but empty accolades and that hatred everyone here feels for a girl who wants it all like I do. You think I don’t know what they think of me? That I think I’m too good for anyone else. That I can’t feel fun, feel anything—can’t breathe. You knew it. I’m still not enough. The only time I’ve ever felt the littlest bit of space to an imperfect person since I came to this hellhole four years ago was when we were together! So damn you, Jackson Hart. Damn you for being a liar and damn you for convincing me you weren’t and damn you for making me realize I was never more than another game to you.”

  His face changes as I say it, yell it, let myself live out every bottled-up emotion of the past month. His eyes are serious, and he says, “Of course you weren’t a game. You were mine.”

  “I’m nobody’s,” I tell him.

  He laughs sadly. “No, I guess not. That was my desperation talking.” He inclines his head toward me. He slides both of his hands into my hair on either side of my head, tilting my face up to look at him. Inches away from my face, he tells me, “I know what you think, but it was never about the chase. It was never about having you or winning you or anything else. It was always about you. I never felt like I played you—I never wanted to.

  “I only ever wanted to be right there, wherever you are. There wasn’t a game between us—there was just us and everything else in between.”

  And so fast, he kisses me soft, too quick, and it feels like a last time. That’s the funny thing about kisses and looks and moments stolen under covers—that you never really know while it’s happening that it’s the last time and you’ll always be trying to catch hold of it like a lightning bug on a summer evening, that one last memory, wishing to feel it again.

  But summer always comes to an end.

  He lets go and steps back from me, turning to run away from the school, mud splashing up his calves. I don’t watch him, though; instead I tilt my face toward the sky, letting the rain soak my hair and wash away what was left of yesterday’s makeup that I hadn’t bothered to rinse off, his words echoing behind him.

  51

  Everyone crowds around Lia as she limps into school on crutches the next Monday morning. I know she won’t want the attention but she’ll let everyone fawn over her anyway so they feel better. Columbus walks beside her, carrying her bag. Apparently, that secret is out, too. And I watch from afar like the spectator I’ve been relegated to.

  I texted her over the weekend but didn’t push when she didn’t answer. I realize exactly how deep the hole I’ve dug myself is, so I keep my distance. From her. From Taylor. From Jackson.

  It’s like if everyone you’ve ever known forgot you were alive.

  We have a volleyball game Tuesday so I head to the gym after school to warm up. Lia sits on the bench with her leg propped up, watching us with longing in her eyes. Right before we go out to start the game, I run to the locker room and change jerseys. Into her number. Her jersey is too tight on me, but I don’t care. I run back out and the other girls are excited about it, to see her represented.

  I sit down on the bench next to her without saying anything. She hands me a water.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she says like she doesn’t want me to. “I’m not dead.”

  “You should be out there,” I tell her.

  “I know,” she answers, icy.

  “You should be out there because you really love it. Because volleyball means more to you than it does to me, and I’ve been taking that from you for longer than I can remember.”

  She doesn’t answer, staring straight ahead.

  “I want to win, Lia. You know that. It’s everything to me. That doesn’t make anything I’ve done okay. But this is for you, okay? I’m going to play for you and the team and the game. Not for me, for a change.”

  She sighs. “It’s about you, Nell.”

  “What?”

  She glances at me, taking in the jersey. “Wearing that isn’t for me. You’re doing it for you. Because it’s always about you.”

  I swallow.

  “It’s your world and the rest of us will always just be living in it. I’ve always thought I had to live with that. To live with Nell’s scholarship and Nell’s panic attacks and Nell’s valedictorian spot.”

  “I never meant for you to feel like that.”

  She laughs. “And then Nell’s boyfriend, only that wasn’t good enough, either. Nell’s dramatic breakup. Nell’s fake pregnancy. And you never, ever own up to any of it. You couldn’t even stand the fact that I had something going on in my life. That wouldn’t work for you and now look where the hell we both are.” She stares back at the court. “So, fine, go play in my jersey and let everyone soak up your Nellness. If only we could all be so fortunate.”

  “Lia—” I start.

  “Get out of my sight,” she says, crossing her arms, and I feel my heart break like a glass. Or maybe like a bone.

  I know it’s time for me to stop arguing so I nod and push off from the bench, heading to the court.

  I try not to think too much about what Lia said while we play, and we win. I do what I promised—try to make everyone else look good. Not worry so much about my own stat sheet, about who everyone will think is the best player.

  And I feel okay.

  The fans are getting rowdy by the end and run out onto the court to celebrate when the last point lands. I run into a group hug and as I pull away, I spot Taylor standing right there next to me.

  “Hey,” I say to him, my voice cracking.

  “Hi,” he returns. My teammates dance around us.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he tells me. “I just wanted to say—thanks. You came through when it mattered. You found Lia. You’re like family to us, Nell.”

  I feel my eyes watering. “It was my fault it happened to begin with.”

  He inclines his head. “Maybe.”

  “And what I did to you—that wasn’t okay.”

  “Nope,” he agrees. “But you know, when you can’t find your sister, it kind of puts things into perspective.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I guess it does.”

  He almost laughs in a self-deprecating way and glances up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe you let me believe you were pregnant. You were supposed to be the one out of us who had it together.”

  I shrug. “I don’t.” But I keep standing in front of him and he looks at me, waiting for me to say whatever it is I’m thinking. “What did it mean to you?” I ask him, curiosity bubbling up inside of me. “I know that I needed someone who would hold on to me and not ask questions and I’m grateful for that—you honestly helped so much—but did you feel anything for me?”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “You love to save people, Taylor. You aren’t as good when they don’t need the saving.”

  He thinks about that for a moment, eyes trained on me. “I guess I do.”

  “We’ve known each other for so long,” I say. “But it was always simple before.”

  “I don’t know, Nell,” he answers. I can feel the chill return. “You never needed anyone to take care of you before and when you did … I couldn’t leave you hurting.” He shrugs. “What you did sucks, but also, I kind of feel better just knowing you’re okay. I guess when I thought you wanted me, I had just broken up with Amanda, too, and yeah, sometimes it’s nice for someone to be there.” But he only shrugs again.

  “Yeah,” I say. “It was nice.” I pause. “I never thought about it
before everything happened with Jackson. What a part of my life you are. You’d always just been Lia’s brother and you’d never needed anything and I never had either but we both did. You didn’t leave me alone. Thank you.”

  He looks down. “You matter to me. I’m sorry you didn’t see it before.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I grab on to my hair right above my ponytail, thinking of how much Taylor did for me, how many times he’d been there when I needed someone. I’d been so lost in myself for so long, in proving something to people who never asked me to begin with. “I ruined everything.”

  “Things have been bad enough. We can’t splinter our family any more. We’ll be okay,” he tells me. “One day.”

  One day feels like a very long time away right now. But there’s one thing I know about Taylor. Well, two.

  That he’s too nice. And that he means it.

  52

  It doesn’t take long for school to kick into high gear. My GPA crawls up a hundredth of a point to tie Jackson and me in class rankings, but I see him. Lying in the grass behind the school, scribbling notes into his books. He’s trying.

  I spend most of my time when I’m not playing volleyball studying. There’s something satisfying about getting lost in a monotonous routine.

  Oftentimes, I find myself adrift but somehow still afloat. Without Lia, I’m anchorless, but at the same time, I know I’m coping better; the panic attacks have stopped and I guess if they start again, I’ll finally have to tell my parents.

  That’s the nice thing about falling from grace in such a truly disastrous manner; there’s something freeing in it. Everything still matters, but it doesn’t feel quite as attached to my personhood.

  Cedar Woods’ homecoming dance falls the day after the homecoming football game at the marina in town. As I’m getting ready, Mom walks into my room and puts a hand on my back, fussing with the hook on my dress. “Is Lia coming with the other girls?” she asks me.

  I shake my head.

  “I remember when I broke up with my best friend,” she says, her fingernails scraping my back softly. “In college. She used to always look at me before I went out and say ‘Are you wearing that?’ or ‘It doesn’t look like you’re ready.’ I finally told her to go to hell.”

  I glance back at her. “Lia would never do that.”

  She looks at me in my reflection, her eyes dark and serious like mine. “I know. But you cut out the bad people in your life. And then you fight with all you’ve got to keep the rest.” She cups my chin. “And no one’s better at fighting than you, my dear.”

  She kisses my cheek, having to reach up to do it, and goes.

  Sometimes it’s hard to adjust to this version of her. The one who goes to therapy, who doesn’t know whether she wants to stay married, who doesn’t know if she wants any of the things she always has.

  It’s like putting together the pieces of a puzzle I’ve never seen completed.

  Michonne and a couple of other girls show up and we take pictures at my house before the dance. Right before I go, Dad grabs on to my arm and pulls me back.

  We’re standing outside in the sun of our perfectly suburban lawn and his eyes scan my bright orange dress, picked to make me stand out. I’d never shied away from my height or from being intimidating, but it was time to finally stop shying away from not being perfect—or someone else’s idea of perfect.

  In this dress, I’m a force to be reckoned with.

  “Your mom and I have been talking,” he says to me, and my heart pounds. “She says you’re still feeling some guilt. About what you knew and when.”

  I swallow.

  He slides his fingers up so they rest on my shoulder. “I would never, ever blame you for anything. What’s been going on between your mom and me has been going on for some time and it was unfair of us—irresponsible of us—to let what’s been happening the last few months continue without talking to you about it.”

  I shake my head, unable to look at him. “I never meant to get in the middle of anything.”

  “You aren’t. But I should’ve talked to you. I shouldn’t have left it all on your mom. I’ve put too much on her shoulders. Whatever else was going on, I haven’t been an easy person to live with, but you know it, don’t you? All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy.”

  A deep, shuddering breath comes out of me, louder than I expected. “I do know,” I say.

  “You’re good at everything you do. And I’m so proud of you,” he says, “but never forget to be who you are. And never stop doing things that make you happy.”

  My eyes water. “I love you, Dad. Whatever happens.”

  He squeezes my arm. “Same, kid.”

  Someone is laying on the horn in their car. I laugh. “Guess I better go.”

  “Have fun,” he says, and I take off running, badly, in my heels.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, we roll up to the dance like a girl gang, Michonne in a green halter dress with a low back, leaning into my arm, laughing, as we go through the lobby and into the ballroom area. My eyes find Jackson as I pass him, sitting at a table with Tristan, who is in a strapless black dress. Someone as effortlessly badass as Tristan doesn’t need colors to stand out.

  I spot Lia on the other side of the room sitting with Columbus and Taylor, a long white dress hiding her ankle from view. They wave at our group as we come in, but turn away just as fast. I feel a small pang, but it’s quickly forgotten as my friends and I take to the dance floor. One of my volleyball teammates grabs my hand, tries to spin me around, and I have to dip to make it under her arm. I throw my head, my hair flying out all around me.

  It was never like this before, when I felt so self-conscious, so protective of myself, so hidden away, and God, it’s so much fun.

  I’m not so afraid of who I am.

  We break off after a little while, some of the girls dancing with Prep guys or, in Michonne’s case, flirting with the pretty new girl. I grab a cup of punch, sip on it, and watch the dance.

  “You didn’t hear it from me, but you look nice,” a voice says next to me. I look up and laugh at Tristan in spite of myself.

  “You, too,” I tell her, and she clinks her plastic cup against mine.

  “Are you having fun?” I ask her.

  She nods. “Not as much as you, I guess.”

  “But I’ll never look as cool as you,” I reply. We lean into a wall together, comfortable.

  “That’s true,” she says. “But I’ll never get invited to hang out with a group of girls because I’m an evil slut, so I guess we’re even.”

  I lock eyes with her and then look away. “You can come hang out with us if you want, Tristan. No one’s going to stop you. I just didn’t think you wanted to.”

  She shrugs.

  “It could be fun,” I suggest. “I know having to listen to Jackson and Doug talk about whatever they talk about all the time is enthralling but…”

  She laughs. “We’re here together, but not like together or anything. Me and Jackson. Just so you know.”

  “I know,” I say, watching everyone dance and taking another sip. “C’mon,” I continue, inclining my head toward our table. “Let’s go.” And I take her over with me. Everyone eyes her as if she might be up to something, but it fades fast. I even see her laugh.

  The DJ comes in over the sound system. “Let’s slow it down. This song is for couples only,” he says as something romantic starts playing. People are looking desperately around, trying to pair off, to not be left alone. “So find that person—the one who means more to you than anyone else in the world—and tell them right now. This could be your only chance.”

  Tristan glances at me as he says that and goes, “That’s, like, super fucking profound,” in that wise voice she has, and we laugh. But it’s digging into that hole in my heart. I hold myself back as long as I can but there’s a magnetism, a need to not stay. To move.

  This time it feels right.

  I get up and go across the room.
And then I crouch down next to my best friend—injured and solid and beautiful. I hold out a hand to Lia. “Can you dance?” I ask.

  Her eyes go to mine, shocked. Then she glances down at her leg and then behind her at Columbus. Then back to me. “I can put a little weight on it now.”

  She takes my hand. Columbus immediately catches on to what’s happening and is out of his chair, helping to pull her to her feet. I take one step back from the table and he gives her over to me. I can almost see the laugh in her eyes.

  “Let me know if y’all need anything,” Columbus says, sounding ridiculously happy.

  Lia puts her hands on my shoulders to help support herself and I grab her around the waist. We sway back and forth, barely moving. I can feel people watching us.

  She laughs, her face scrunching up. “This is so embarrassing,” she says, glancing at her boot.

  My giggle join hers. “I don’t care. You’re my person. They’ll never get that.”

  “Damn,” she says after a moment, running her fingers under her eye, pushing away a tear trying to escape. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you,” I tell her, my voice somewhere between pleading and hysterical. “I screwed up bad. I know this … rift between us is my fault. I know I treat control like some kind of addiction, and you told me everything was spiraling. I was a tornado of destruction. I was toxic. And I’m sorry.”

  “Yep,” she agrees with terrifying simplicity. But then she smiles. “But God, Nell. You look so good. Happy for a change. This dress.” She rubs her fingers over the fabric.

  “Is it too much?” I ask.

  “You look like you—fearless and comfortable and you.”

  “It’s nice,” I admit. “To feel something like an entire person and not a series of accomplishments.”

  “You always were to me,” she says.

  “I know.” I look away for a moment. “So, how are you?”

  “The injured daughter of a disgraced politician who’s going to be impeached by my boyfriend’s mother? I’ll be okay. It could always be worse.”