by Kris Hui Lee
“Hey, aren’t you going to pay for that?” Cody asks, gesturing toward the dress.
Flustered, I nod and turn toward the line for the cash register.
Back outside on the terrace, our arms haphazardly brush against each other as we walk. I can’t tell if we’re walking closer on purpose, as if daring the other person to initiate the hand holding or if it’s a coincidence.
“You think the guys are still there?” Cody asks, nodding at Cecil’s as we pass.
“Probably,” I say. “I bet they’re on their second round of dessert by now.”
“Dear God,” Cody says. “I pray for everyone working there.”
We keep walking.
His arm brushes mine.
Again.
And then again.
I can’t focus on anything but how much I want to slip my hand into his, fold my fingers between his.
I’m so focused that I don’t realize we’re approaching Santino’s mom’s storefront until the chime sounds as the door opens and Santino steps out.
We all make eye contact. I look at Santino. Santino looks at Cody. Cody stares at Santino. We all stop.
Time freezes, and for a moment, I can foresee the apocalypse.
15
Beside me, Cody tenses. Santino’s eyes dart back and forth between me and Cody, and all I can think is, Shit, shit, shit.
Part of me thinks that Cody and I can resume walking, as if no one’s there. But Santino gives me a slight nod and says, “Hi, Marnie.”
Cody tears his gaze from Santino and looks at me. It seems impossible that we had that moment in the dressing room, because now he looks like he wants to stab someone with a pitchfork.
“Marnie.” This is the unmistakable tone of Cody’s voice that means: Explain yourself RIGHT NOW.
Santino bites his bottom lip. “So I gather you didn’t tell him.”
“Didn’t tell me what?” Cody says, his stare still on me, his eyes sparking with anger.
It’s like I’m underwater and can’t tell up from down or left from right.
“Well…” Santino says. “Awkward.”
“You know Marnie,” Cody snaps at Santino when I don’t reply. It’s not a question.
“Of course I know Marnie,” Santino says, his voice turning cold. I can’t imagine he knows how to talk to Cody any other way.
“And how do you know Marnie?” Cody asks, his voice terse and strained.
The infamous Santino Acardi smirk appears. I know it—he won’t be able to help rubbing our secret family union and pitching sessions in Cody’s face. That asshole. If I don’t interrupt, Santino is going to make a mess of everything. But it’s like my tongue is gone. Vanished. When I need it most, it bails on me.
“Didn’t Marnie tell you who helped her out with her sidearm pitching?” Santino asks.
Fuck him. Fuck him.
Fuck me.
Cody stalks off without even looking to me for confirmation.
“Cody!” I call after him. Halfway to the fountain, he whirls around and opens his mouth to shout back. But he stops himself. Then he says, “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to know.” And then he turns and walks away.
Fury and confusion and hurt are written all across his face. It’s like he’s broken his other wrist, only this time, I’m the one who hit him.
This is the last thing I expected to happen tonight. After everything that went on between us, I’m stunned at how fast the tables have turned. I can’t even get my feet to move. It’s like I’m cemented here, and I can only watch him walk away from me.
“Marnie?”
I want to punch Santino. I want to break his wrist the way he broke Cody’s. I can’t believe I befriended that two-faced bastard. Did he really have to bring up the pitching like that?
“Marnie—”
I turn and shove him in the chest.
“Why’d you have to keep talking? Why couldn’t you have kept your mouth shut?”
His eyes widen like he can’t believe I’m mad at him.
“You did it to spite him,” I say, practically spitting. “Why does everything have to be a freaking competition? Was it not enough that you benched him for the play-offs?”
“What?!” Santino cries. “This is my fault?!”
“Uh, yeah? Mr. Didn’t Marnie Tell You Who Taught Her How to Pitch? Why the hell would you say that if not to piss him off? Why couldn’t you just let us keep walking?”
He scoffs angrily. “Well, sorry if I don’t let Cody decide when I can and can’t say hi to my cousin.”
“I’m not your cousin.”
“You will be. And it’s not my fault that you didn’t tell him. You’ve had more than enough time. So no, none of this is my fault.” He flips the keys in his hand around his finger. “Now excuse me. My mom left her phone at the store, and I have to get it home to her. And my stepdad is making pineapple turnover cake tonight. Wouldn’t want to miss that.” He pushes past me and then turns. “Oh yeah, congrats on winning your game and good luck at the semifinals. I hope you don’t fuck up.”
Great.
Santino’s pissed.
Cody’s pissed.
But there’s no question in my mind who gets priority. I hurry after Cody, calling his name, but he ignores me as he walks faster and faster, until finally I have to sprint to catch up with him. “Cody!”
He does an abrupt about-face to half shout, half plead to me, “Anyone but him, Marnie! Anyone in the entire fucking universe but him!” He stares straight in my eyes, the playfulness and mischief from earlier gone, replaced by pain and resentment.
Stupidly, I force out a lame, extremely guilty sounding, “It’s not what it sounds like.”
His eyebrows fly up in disbelief. “Really? Really? ’Cause it really sounded like you and Santino Acardi are friends.”
Okay, so maybe it is what it looks like.
“Are you going out with him?” he asks almost breathlessly, as if the words are burning him from the inside out.
“No! Cody, I would never!” He opens his mouth, most likely to object, but I interrupt before he can say anything. “My uncle is marrying his mom!”
This does nothing to soften his mood.
“That’s what I have to get a dress for,” I say, the desperation leaking from my voice. “My uncle and his mom’s wedding. He’s going to be my cousin, and I was trying to be friends with him to make my mom and my uncle and his mom happy. I was going to tell you. I really was—I really, really was. But I got scared you’d get mad. I should have told you. I was going to and—”
“YOOOO!”
Joey and the rest of the guys spill out of Cecil’s, all high on their dessert.
“They’re still here!” Carrot announces to the guys behind him.
Joey comes over, practically galloping from his sugar high.
“Waddup, friends?!” Joey shouts, hooking an arm around Cody’s shoulders. Cody doesn’t respond, and Joey draws back. “What’s going on?” he asks, the smile falling from his face.
“Nothing,” I say, as Cody turns to Joey and informs him, “Marnie’s been hanging out with Santino.”
All the guys hear. The biggest silence in history washes over us.
“You what?” Joey asks, glaring at me.
Great. All the points I’ve gained with the guys are gone. Just like that.
“Cody,” I say, still more worried about him than anyone else.
“It’s fine,” he says, his voice quiet and tense. “Just go.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry about me,” he says, but he won’t meet my gaze. “Just go home. You’re probably tired from pitching today.”
He turns away, merging into the group of guys, using them as a shield against me.
Like hell I’ll be able to sle
ep tonight. How will I, knowing he’s pissed at me? I don’t think he’s ever been mad at me, at least not for real. Not like this.
The guys take Cody’s cue and start walking away with him, some of them shaking their heads in disappointment at me. Even Carrot and Jiro give me admonishing looks.
As they disappear out the exit of the town square, I sit on the edge of the fountain with my shopping bag at my feet, listening to the rush of water.
The guys hate me again, Santino and I are on piss-poor standings, and I’m way in the negatives with Cody.
Somehow, from where I started, I’ve taken two steps forward and about a hundred steps back.
16
When I come home from my win-turned-loss night, I find Mom on the living room sofa reading the newspaper. At the sight of my Samson’s shopping bag, she drops the paper and takes off her reading glasses.
“It took you long enough,” she says with a smile. She gets up, holding out her hands for the bag. I give it to her, and she pulls out the dress.
“This is beautiful,” she says. She holds it up against me. “Very nice.” She kisses me on the head. “Thank you. I’m very happy you picked out a dress.”
Well, actually, Cody picked it out.
Say, Mom, what would you do if you severely pissed off your best friend/the guy you might possibly have a huge, huge, huge, huge crush on?
Also, I really wish you would have come to the game. Are you going to congratulate me for winning?
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m just tired,” I say, putting the dress back in the bag. “I think I’m going to go to sleep.”
Sleep, as in, lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and drown in self-hatred and guilt. Cry.
Yes, I cry.
Not like sobbing with mucus dripping from my nose, but there are tears. My pillow gets wet. (I know, I know, I’m such an angsty teenager.)
Why didn’t I tell Cody the moment I found out Santino was going to be my cousin? Was it because I didn’t want to pile onto his shitty day, or because I thought he would be mad at me for something beyond my control?
When I put it that way, there is no argument. I’m an idiot.
And there it is, a fourth category of idiocy, and it’s all my own.
I remind myself that our team won sectionals. We won, and I was pitching. Wasn’t that what I wanted? Wasn’t that why I threw myself headfirst onto the baseball team? Wasn’t that why I put up with Ray’s animosity, Joey’s lack of support, and the seemingly unending pressure? I did it to win. To show myself I could.
And all I’ve done is show myself what an asshole I am.
How can something so good and so bad happen within hours of each other? I’ve reached a stalemate with myself, and I can’t help but think that emotions are measured on a scale, where they cancel each other out until you don’t feel anything at all.
• • •
Running sometimes helps me de-stress and sort out my feelings. I’ve been known to go on runs at midnight, like after finishing a ten-page paper the night before it’s due. My mom is an advocate of sleeping off stress, but when I try to do that, my mind spirals into the depths of despair, where I spend hours tossing and turning in half-consciousness, thinking the worst thoughts my brain can possibly think.
So after an hour, I get up to run. I’ll run until I’m so exhausted that I have no choice but to fall asleep upon impact with my pillow.
For the most part, our neighborhood is safe. Every once in a while, you’ll hear of someone almost getting hit by a drunk driver, or in our case, someone stealing a bike from an open garage. But otherwise, it’s safe to go running at night by yourself.
Still, though, I’d feel better if Cody was with me, not just because then we’d be on good terms, but because running around alone in the dark in a quiet neighborhood can get eerie sometimes.
As I round the corner back onto my street, a deep growl comes from someone’s backyard. I flip so much shit that I almost run up Cody’s driveway, ring his doorbell, and ask to borrow his baseball bat. (Or ask him to wrestle the damn wildebeest for me.) I know it’s just Reilly Schwartz’s devil dog, but still.
Of course, ringing Cody’s doorbell at midnight—on this night in particular—would be a very bad idea.
But, bad idea or not, it doesn’t matter, because as I pass his house, the garage door begins to open, and he starts dragging out the recycling bins.
He’s three-fourths to the mailbox before he looks up and notices me. He stops where he is, and when our eyes meet, it’s like an earthquake strikes me straight in the fault lines of my heart.
He drags the bins to the end of the driveway without acknowledging me, and he starts the hike back the way he came. There’s so much tension filling the night air that I can’t believe we haven’t woken the whole neighborhood with our silence.
“So that’s it. You’re just going to ignore me?” I ask.
He stops and turns. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“Don’t I get a chance to explain myself? Tell you the story?”
He comes back to meet me on the sidewalk. “I know the story,” he says coldly. “First, Santino’s going to become your cousin, and you don’t tell me. And then you ask him to help you with pitching. And you don’t tell me.”
“I was going to.”
“But you didn’t.”
“It…slipped my mind.”
“Okay.” He starts for his house again.
I reach for his arm to pull him back, but he shrugs out of my reach.
“Cody—”
Across the street, another garage door opens. It’s Sara’s garage, and from it comes Sara. And Joey.
“I told you it was them,” Joey snaps at her.
Sara ignores him, and it’s clear from the scowl on her face that Cody is not the only one who is extremely pissed off tonight.
“Great,” I mutter. “Just great.”
Without an invitation, the two of them cross the street to join us.
“So, traitor, come to beg for forgiveness?” Joey says to me as he aligns himself with Cody.
“Oh, get off your high horse, Joey,” Sara snaps. “Like you have any right to come to my house in the middle of the night.”
Cody rolls his eyes. “Fuck this. It’s too late for this shit.” And he tries to leave.
I jog after him, and this time, I grab hold of his wrist. Or rather, his cast. He flinches at my grasp, and I cower back.
“What?” he demands. “I don’t feel like talking to you right now, okay?”
Suddenly, my regret turns to anger. “I’m trying to apologize! Can you let me do that? Can you stop hating Santino for five seconds and let me say that I’m sorry?”
He takes a furious step toward me so we’re only inches apart. “I don’t give a shit about Santino. This has nothing to do with how much I hate Santino. We’ve been friends forever, and you didn’t even tell me you were hanging out with him. I told you about not wanting to play ball in college—something I haven’t told anyone—because I trust you more than anyone else. I trusted you not to judge me, but apparently you don’t trust me to do the same.”
“Whoa,” Joey says. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Go back a second.” He comes up the driveway to meet us. “Did I hear you right? Who said what about who not playing in college?”
I ignore him and say to Cody, almost spitting, “Can you blame me for being afraid you would be pissed at me for being friends with Santino? You don’t hate anyone or anything, but you hate Santino, so how was I supposed to feel when I found out he was going to be my cousin? How was I supposed to feel when he and his girlfriend were nice to me after all this time that you and Joey have been building him up as this monster?”
“Yeah, okay, no one wants to hear your excuses, traitor,” Joey says dismissively. He points at Cody. “Wha
t was that about not playing ball in college?”
Cody, whose eyes have been fixed on me, now looks at his friend.
“You’re quitting?” Joey asks again, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion and maybe also anger.
Cody closes his eyes and rubs them with the palm of his good hand. “Oh, fuck.”
“What about all those hours you spent scouring the internet for info about D-one schools with me?” Joey demands. “What about all those camps we went to? What the fuck, man? How long have you been thinking about this?”
It’s total scum of me to use their argument to my advantage, but I go, “Looks like I’m not the only one keeping secrets.”
“Oh, shut up, Marnie,” Cody snaps.
I step away and open my arms up like I’m addressing the whole world. “Well, excuse me if I’m the only one who’s allowed to get shade for not sharing everything.” I point at him. “You don’t want to play ball in college.” I look at Joey and Sara. “You guys are fuck buddies or have been fuck buddies or have some big fat secret you won’t tell us about.” I gesture at Sara. “And you don’t even want to go to college.”
Joey and Cody both look at her. “What?”
“Hey!” Sara shouts at me. “You can’t go dishing my personal shit just to feel better about your own!”
“Like this is news to any of you,” I snap. “I’m a shitty person. I’m a shitty, shitty person.”
“Don’t throw yourself a pity party,” Joey says. “You don’t get a free pass for acknowledging that you’re a shitty person. We’re all shitty people. Cody puts on faces and pretends because he can’t fucking talk about his emotions. You’re friends with Santino. I cheated on Brie with her—” He points at Sara. “And then Sara fucking climbed the tree outside my window to fuck around again. Like five friggin’ days in a row.” He addresses her directly. “But I guess it’s only okay when you do it, because when I climb your tree, then I’m the one who has to get a life.”
No one says a word.
“So there,” Joey says, his voice about to break. He stalks toward the street. “Good night.”
I look at Sara, who avoids my stare and Cody’s. She just shakes her head, suddenly very interested in her shoes. Is she crying? She walks back to her house without a word.