Out of Left Field

by Kris Hui Lee

  I can feel Cody’s stare piercing my back as I watch Sara’s garage close. I don’t know how long we stand in this mess we’ve made.

  Finally, after Joey has disappeared down the street, after all the lights in Sara’s house have gone off, Cody says, “This doesn’t change anything.”

  Frustration and rage course through me. “I said I was sorry!”

  “Actually, no, you didn’t. You aired out all our secrets, and then said you were a shitty person. I didn’t hear an ‘I’m sorry’ in any of that.”

  I’m almost on the verge of tears, and I will them not to fall, at least not until I’m alone. “Then sorry! I fucked up! Okay?!” He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “And I can be friends with whoever I want to be friends with. We don’t have a binding contract that says we have to tell each other everything we do just because we’ve known each other for so long. I was going to tell you. I needed time. You can’t possibly think I’d try and hide something that big from you forever.”

  “But you did try and hide it. You do know we see each other every day, right?”

  “No, fuck you. You’re not mad that I’m friends with Santino or that I kept it a secret from you. You’re scared that one day I’ll meet a guy who’s not going to be my cousin and that our eleven years won’t do shit to stop me from liking him instead of you.”

  That’s it. Game over. I’ve struck his Achilles’ heel. I don’t even know if what I said was true or not.

  His eyes are so cold they seem foreign to me. I half expect him to flip me off because I deserve that and so much more, but he disappears inside his house without a word.

  I walk home slowly. I’m like a zombie as I trudge upstairs, change back into my pajamas, and collapse in my bed, still sweaty from my run and my fight. I stare at the ceiling.

  I thought going for a run would help clear my mind. Instead, it made everything worse.

  Much, much worse.

  • • •

  In second grade, we had this batty old teacher with gray hair named Mrs. Gianopoulos. Behind her back, we’d call her Mrs. Giant Octopus. The nickname was Joey’s brainchild, and it stuck with us the entire year.

  The year after Mrs. Giant Octopus taught our class, she retired. My dad says it was because she was seventy years old and probably wanted to spend with her grandchildren instead of other people’s kids. But I know the truth. She retired because of us.

  How do I know this? Well, on the first day of class, me, Joey, Cody, and Sara got into a fight over who got to sit in the comfy beanbag during silent reading time. It was a violent fight that ended with Sara pushing Joey into the bookshelf, which fell over and nearly smooshed this shrimpy little girl named Mia Sherman.

  We were complete nightmares, all day, every day. I can’t imagine how Mrs. Gianopoulos survived the whole year with us.

  Thinking about this now makes me cringe with embarrassment and shame.

  Thinking about a lot of things the four of us have done makes me cringe with shame. All our jokes and high jinks, all the random shit we’ve done out of sheer amusement or boredom, all the craziness we’ve gotten caught in together…

  We were grade-A little rascals.

  But I try to imagine what my life would be like if none of it ever happened, if we were boring kids with boring friendships who did boring things. If you take the three of them out of the equation, and I’m left with maybe half my life, and it’s not particularly interesting.

  I think about how we’re still friends after all these years, the four of us, after all the silly arguments and stupid shenanigans, all the teasing and shoving and ridiculousness.

  I don’t know how we’ve made it this far. Will we endure after this? Will we be friends after this fight? I’ve taken for granted all they’ve done for me. How they’ve always been there for me, how they’ve made me me.

  And what about after high school? We’re nearing the end, nearing the time when we part ways to be adults. Can we stay friends if we’re not hanging out on the sandlot every Saturday? How can friendships built off irresponsibility, immaturity, and pure child’s play transcend into the adult world?

  I don’t know the answer, and it scares me that this—what’s happened between me and Cody and what has caused one hell of a messy chain reaction—has marked the end of our childhood friendship.

  It scares me because for the first time, I can see a future where the four of us do not exist together.

  17

  The last thing I want to do is go to a wedding. The second to last thing I want to do is put on a dress. The third to last thing I want to do is see Santino.

  But alas, here I am, in a car on my way to a wedding, in a dress, where I will see Santino.

  It’s no doubt a beautiful day for a party—sunshine but no heat, a slight breeze but no wind. It’s the kind of day that makes everyone feel good. You’re dressed up, you’re with your family, and you’re on your way to celebrate one of the pivotal points of a person’s life—their promise to spend the rest of their life with another person.

  I feel so far away from all that. It might as well be storming, and we might as well be on our way to bury a corpse. Not to mention every time I pass a surface that is remotely reflective, I have to see myself in this dumb dress, which reminds me of Cody and how we went from nearly making out to not talking.

  Friday in school was a nightmare. Cody, Sara, Joey, and I executed expert level moves to avoid each other all day. The classes we had together were so awkward even our teachers noticed.

  “You two are quiet today,” Mrs. Sorren remarked in English.

  Cody shrugged. I kept my eyes focused on the pen in my hand.

  During lunch, we all avoided the cafeteria. I know this because I went to the library to stay clear of them, and instead, I ran into all three of them in the most awkward meet up we’ve ever had. (Okay, so maybe we weren’t so expert in avoiding each other.) Cody, quick-witted as he is, dodged into the computer lab, making it off limits to the rest of us. Sara took over our table in the atrium. And, I guess, realizing only one of us could stake claims to the cafeteria, Joey scurried away to the food and the rest of his friends, leaving me to find an empty corner under the staircase by the band wing, where I listened to the wind ensemble practice a John Williams movie medley for forty minutes.

  And then there was baseball practice after school.

  Dear God, that was a nightmare.

  It was as if I didn’t even exist. I would have rather taken devil eyes from Ray and snarky jabs about being a traitor from the team. But I got the cold shoulder instead. The silent treatment. Even Carrot and Jiro wouldn’t look me in the eyes. The guys had finally accepted me, welcomed me into their brotherhood, and I botched it.

  I hate how much of my life is out of my hands—the semifinals, Abram’s wedding, and now everything with Cody. But that’s life, right? It throws curve balls at you from out of left field, and you catch whatever comes your way, no matter how sucky a throw it is.

  • • •

  Abram and Geanna’s wedding reception is being held at this luxurious hotel ballroom. The enormous, dazzling chandelier that hangs above the dance floor belongs in a palace for kings and queens. They’re really going all out, which makes me feel guilty for not being overjoyed to be here.

  We’re early, seeing as Mom—good sister that she is—offered to come by to help with the last details of the setup.

  “You are abnormally silent,” Nick says. We’re sitting on a sofa outside the ballroom, ordered by Mom to stay out of the way. “You seem to be scheming. Trying to find a way to ditch the dress and find some shorts?”

  “No.”

  “Plotting a coup on the kitchen staff to steal all the dessert?”

  “No.”

  “Dude, what’s wrong with you? Why are you being such a sour face?”

  I shrug, which is so unchar
acteristic that Nick stares at me like I’ve suddenly got five eyes and a horn growing out of my head.

  “Are you still pissed that Abram’s getting married to Santino Acardi’s mom?” he asks. “I thought you were over that. In fact, I thought you were friends now.”

  “How did you know that you didn’t want to play baseball in college?”

  He cocks his head to side, apparently confused at this abrupt change in subject.

  “Uh…” He rubs his hand absently over the stubble on his cheeks. “Well…it wasn’t my entire life in high school. You remember how I was. I liked playing, but I definitely didn’t dream about the Major Leagues.” He bites his lip, hesitating before he says, “And you know, I don’t want to be the asshole to break it to you, but getting on a Major League team might be tiny bit harder than getting on Chizz’s team.”

  What exactly does it say about my life that he thinks I’m even considering the Major Leagues as an option?

  “No, I’m not asking for me,” I say, trying to ignore the image forming in my head of me standing on the mound at Wrigley Field.

  “Who then?”

  I shrug. “No one,” I say. I can’t even say Cody’s name out loud, for fear it will break open the gate that’s been keeping my guilt at bay.

  “You used to be good at lying, you know.”

  I frown.

  “Until you tell me, I’m going to assume that you’re asking for yourself, and I just want you to be realistic about this. To play in college is hard. I know guys who are doing it, and sometimes it sucks. And for you to get on a guys’ team, you’re going to have fight real hard for it. Like spending all next year training and—”

  “It’s not for me.”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “Cody.” His name feels like molten lead on my tongue. What is he doing right now? Cursing my name? Cursing Santino? Venting to Joey? Throwing darts at my photo? Inventing a time machine to go back to the day before we met to make sure it never happens?

  “Why’d you say his name like that?” Nick asks.

  “Like what?”

  “Like he died?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You did.” He smirks. “Oooo, is Marnie finally having boy problems?”

  “Shut up.”

  “That’s what someone says when the other person is right.”

  “Shut up.”

  He leans back in the seat and crosses his arms smugly. “Well, well. Look who’s getting all red.”

  I punch his shoulder, and he flinches.

  “No need to be embarrassed,” he says. “Everyone knows.”

  “Knows what?” I ask.

  “Ha! Knows what, she says. Dad has already picked out which baseball players you and Cody should name your children after. Mom’s been checking to see if birth control has been billed to our insurance. And me? Well. Older brothers just know these things.”

  I throw him a disgusted look.

  “Don’t glare at me like that. I’m right. I’m always right.”

  That he is right doesn’t matter. The last person I want to talk to about boys with is my older brother. Sara is the one I need to talk to. Hell, I wouldn’t even mind talking to Joey, because who else knows Cody like I do, maybe better? Certainly not Nick.

  “I’m going outside,” I say. “It’s too hot in here.”

  “Is it because you’re in loooove?”

  I punch his shoulder again, and he topples onto his side laughing. I don’t look back at him as I head into the ballroom where the hotel staff and members of the bridal party are frantically running around, yelling directions at whoever is listening. I give Geanna a halfhearted smile as I pass her, but she’s trying to make sure there are enough chairs, so she doesn’t notice.

  The entire back wall of the ballroom is a floor-to-ceiling window, with double doors that lead to a patio overlooking a seemingly endless garden. I step out to take in the view and get some fresh air. There’s a gazebo and a koi pond with a white bridge over it, which must be where a lot of brides take photos. About twenty feet from the koi pond are Santino and Neha. They’re on a bench under a willow tree, and they’re totally making out like it’s nobody’s business. Santino is in basketball shorts and a T-shirt—clearly not yet victim to his mother’s demand to be dressed nicely—and Neha is in an aqua dress. It’s completely disgusting, but I can’t stop watching and wondering what it would be like to have someone you’re so crazy in love with that you would make out with them without giving a damn about anything going around you—and at your mother’s wedding reception nonetheless.

  They’re totally oblivious that they’re being watched, but after another few seconds of staring, I start to feel like a creep, so I silently do a U-turn to go back inside.

  “Marnie!”

  The clickety-clack of Neha’s high heels echoes behind me, and it’s impossible to pretend like I didn’t hear, so I stop. Neha runs down the brick path with a giant smile on her face while she smooths the skirt of her dress.

  Santino lags behind her, clearly disappointed at the interruption.

  “I’m so glad you’re here!” She gives me a light punch on the arm. “Congrats on your win the other day!”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “I also heard you and Santino are not on good terms right now,” she says as he catches up.

  I shake my head.

  “We shall fix that.” She grabs his hand and says, “Say you’re sorry.”

  “Me?” he cries.

  “Yes.”

  He pulls his hand out of her grasp. “What happened to being Switzerland? And who said it was my fault?”

  “In my experience, it’s always your fault.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  Neha stands besides me and links her arm around my elbow like we’re best friends. Her energy and boldness is so intense it kind of overwhelms me. I suppose it would take such a person to be Santino Acardi’s girlfriend. “I believe that this dispute involving you and Marnie and this Cody character, who I’ve heard so much about, stems from the fact that you”—she jabs a finger at Santino—“are too competitive. So say you’re sorry for hurting her boyfriend—”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say.

  “And for hurting your cousin in the process.”

  Santino’s jaw drops. “Excuse me, were we not making out five seconds ago?” he asks, gesturing at the bench. “Have you no loyalties?”

  Neha sticks up her chin. “Say you’re sorry.”

  He points at the hotel ballroom. “Go inside.”

  Neha unlinks her arm from me and pouts at him. “Don’t tell me what to do. Particularly when you know that I’m right.”

  He returns her pouty face and then pulls her in for kiss. “Can you please go inside? I promise to be good.”

  She smiles, and jealousy consumes me. Why can’t I have this kind of relationship? How the hell does this happen? When there are literally seven billion people in the world, how do two people meet, become friends, and then become something more than friends, and stay something more than friends? How are they not paralyzed by the looming possibility that one day all that something might become nothing? I hate Santino, I hate Neha, I hate their adorkableness, and I hate that they’re not afraid and that I’m so afraid.

  Neha makes her way back inside, and I’m left with her despicable other half.

  “Did you see the fish in the koi pond?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  He starts walking toward it, and I follow, figuring this is his way of starting an apology. “There’s this really ugly, fat one that looks like it’s about to burst.”

  Water trickles down from the top of the rocky structure in a mini waterfall, and swimming in the clear pond are dozens of orange and white koi. On the side of the fountain is a small dish of
fish food pellets with a sign underneath that says Feed fish sparingly, which clearly no one has bothered to adhere to. Santino points out the gigantic koi.

  I watch as it lazily swims back and forth, pushing the other koi out of its way. It seems like there are too many fish in the pond. No space to move, no space to be alone. I wonder if koi mate for life.

  And that’s when I know I’m in deep—when I’m contemplating the romantic lives of a bunch of pudgy bug-eyed fish.

  “So…” Santino says, watching the fish. “How’s what’s-his-face doing?”

  I frown at him.

  “Must still be mad at you.”

  I grab a handful of fish pellets and throw them in the water. All eight million of the fish swarm to get their share.

  “I wouldn’t dwell on it,” Santino says.

  And here I thought we were trying to come to a peaceful settlement. “I’m sorry,” I say, “but I don’t think I can take advice from you on this subject.”

  Santino bites his lip as if deliberating about saying what’s on his mind. “I think you can, and I would actually advise you to do so. Because I think you’ve known Kinski so long that you’ve been desensitized to his arrogance and assholishness.”

  I drop the rest of the fish food I’m holding in the water and cross my arms. “You know, I thought maybe after all this—us becoming cousins, you helping me out with my pitching—you’d be less of a jerk.”

  “I’m just saying, if he can’t put aside his pride to apologize for yelling at you and controlling who you get to be friends with, then he’s not worth it.”

  A flash of fury burns through me. “Don’t pretend you know shit about us. Don’t you remember you said that our argument was my fault? Well, that hasn’t changed. I’m the one who should apologize. I’m the one who’s too chicken to do it. I’ve known Cody for eleven years. I’ve known you a week. And yeah, I think you’re cool, and I think you’re a good pitcher, but if you think for a second that you can turn me against him, then you really are as much of a blockhead as Joey says you are.”