Select Few

by Marit Weisenberg

  I closed my eyes, the hope and fear inside me wanting release but I had to sit perfectly still for hours. Admittedly it was an exciting kind of fear. I was headed down the untraveled path Elizabeth and Novak had decided not to take. If John would still let us.

  I sensed eyes on me and opened mine, warily meeting the curious pair belonging to a fashionable-looking girl across the aisle. I closed my eyes again, wondering if I’d been recognized. I wore a baseball hat of John’s that I’d found at the bottom of my bag, and it still smelled slightly like him: a citrus-scented sunscreen mixed with sweat.

  All through the airport, I’d hurried to make the direct flight to Detroit and for the first time all summer, I’d forgotten to worry about who might be watching. I’d used cash to pay for my ticket, but I’d used my full name and shown my ID to the ticket agent. I was on their manifest if anyone wanted to find me.

  Donna was likely keeping tabs on me at the Rosewood, but I’d made arrangements. So as far as she knew, I was sitting back in my hotel room, running up my bill.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to stretch out my legs. What was I going to say to John when I first saw him? I knew I should get in and out of Michigan and be back at the Rosewood as fast as possible. We weren’t out of the woods yet, but we were so close, and nothing, not one suspicious thing had happened since the photographer incident back in June that would lead me to believe my family knew about John. Unless I’d missed something.

  I couldn’t relax. I pitched forward, searching through the airline magazines in the seat pocket. There wasn’t anything that could hold my attention. I glanced at the paper my seat-mate was holding, thinking I could read along without him knowing.

  Unfortunately, it was the sports section instead of my preferred world news. Just as my attention drifted from the front page, out of the corner of my eye, in a bold headline was: John Ford.

  I asked to borrow the paper and scoured the slim story on the front.

  Texas high school graduate, John Ford, attending Stanford in the fall, ranks number seventeen in junior tennis in his state. In the wake of his win at the Boys’ National Clay Court Championships, he has gone on to the National Boys’ Tennis Championships in Kalamazoo and skyrocketed into the semifinals, beating many of the nation’s best players with near perfect games, wowing gathering crowds, and becoming the most talked about junior player in years.

  It continued onto another page, accompanied by a photo. What John was doing would have made headlines regardless, but it was superficial good looks that would keep him there.

  After four hours of sitting on the red-eye flight, dying a slow death, knowing at that moment I was unable to protect him, I hurried through the airport and tried to keep my patience as I waited for the car service that would take me the two hours west to Kalamazoo and Stowe Stadium.

  Flags welcoming the USTA National Boys’ Championships to Kalamazoo College’s Stowe Stadium flew above me as I made my way to John. For the semis, he was playing on center court with stadium seating, much grander than the courts where I’d seen him play regional tournaments.

  There was a media tower in the background and the air was muggy. Families milled about this epicenter of junior tennis. This tournament was the penultimate dream for the kids who had been playing since before they could remember.

  Entering the stadium, I found the Ford family almost immediately. All four of them were gathered together, gazing down at center court. When they began to walk together, Alex had his head bent, trying to hear what Kathleen was saying to him. Taro and John walked behind them, Taro’s hand on John’s back. Alex turned his head and said something to John over his shoulder, making John smile.

  I’d imagined running up to John the second I saw him, but now something held me back as I watched their family.

  Right then I wanted to leave. I felt like I was from the wrong planet, that I was all wrong, that I wasn’t worthy of John or his family. I remembered this feeling; it was how I’d felt around my family.

  I decided I was never going to feel that way again.

  The family splintered off into different directions, but Alex lagged behind, stopping to check his phone.

  When I approached him, his reaction was the opposite of what I was expecting.

  “You’re here,” Alex said with great relief. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s going on. It’s becoming obvious. I’m proud of him but…”

  “Do you know where he’s headed?”

  “Locker room. He has a match in ten minutes. Maybe wait until after.”

  “I don’t think it can wait.”

  Alex thought for a moment. “Yeah, go.”

  When I found the locker rooms, there was a gathering on the men’s side, as if a VIP was about to exit at any moment.

  “Allie?” I said, surprised to see a familiar face although we had never officially met. I recognized her from the graduation party in June and because she had lived large in my mind that entire weekend until she’d left. “What are you doing here?”

  She reared her head a bit at my question, taken aback at my rude tone.

  “I’ve known John since kindergarten. My family came to see him play in the semis,” she said evenly.

  “No, I mean, what are you doing right outside the locker room door?”

  “Wishing him luck.” There were three other girls hovering at the edge of the locker room. John had fans. The others were now looking curiously at Allie and me.

  “What are you doing in Michigan?” she asked. “I thought you and John broke up.” She said this stonefaced.

  Oh. In the background, the crowd on a nearby court gasped and then started clapping. Before I could think of how to respond to Allie, there was a bustle of activity at the entrance of the locker room. A silver-haired gentleman walked out, and then gestured broadly to the people behind him to tell them to proceed.

  John emerged, head down, with a stride that said he was going to a job. Right away, I saw that John had that thing fully now—that star power.

  Allie walked forward and approached John’s official entourage. Then a man scooted in front of Allie, blocking her. A flash from his camera went off, surprising everyone.

  “This is a private area,” one of the tournament officials in a staff polo shirt barked at the small crowd.

  John saw Allie and smiled his sexy, warm smile, happy to see her. Then he saw me. A curtain immediately dropped over his expression.

  “John!”

  He paused briefly and then kept walking. The event organizers stared at me.

  Allie muttered under her breath, “Leave him alone.”

  “John,” I said louder, more insistently. Everyone in the small space stared at me.

  John looked like he was going to ignore me, but then he paused and turned around, confusing his escorts. He walked the fifteen feet back to me.

  “What?” he demanded, softly. “Why are you here?”

  “I came here for you.” Everyone heard me. John didn’t say a word. “I got your text, but then you wouldn’t answer my calls…” I drifted off, aware of our audience. It was weird to stand across from John and not touch him, but I knew he would flinch.

  “What text?”

  “The one that said you wanted to talk to me after I went to Stanford,” I said impatiently, knowing we didn’t have much time. I saw one of the escorts flick out his wrist and look at his gold watch.

  “I didn’t send that,” John said blandly.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, but I didn’t have time to address it. “Look, nothing happened between me and him. So don’t do this. Don’t let this be a fuck-you to me. Please stop. What if you win this and go to the US Open? You’re already drawing a lot more attention to yourself.”

  “No.”

  “It’s not a joke,” I said in a serious voice. I touched his back,
already lightly sweating beneath his white tennis shirt. “We agreed.”

  “You broke all our agreements,” he said and walked away.

  The standing ovation rode through the crowd like a wave, everyone around me rising when John stepped onto the court below. He was the story, the sweetheart from Austin, Texas, who’d decimated a handful of the nation’s best juniors.

  John didn’t react to the crowd as he walked onto the court with his tennis bag slung over his shoulder. He set it down on a bench. Then, he did smile, and his vibe was modest, which ingratiated him even more to his audience. From the few matches I’d actually watched John play, he always seemed like this—relaxed. Back when I first read his mind, I’d realized what a mess of stress he was on the inside. I would have killed to know what he was thinking now. Angus was right, now I could sense that John had an energy, a kind of humming vibration; it was similar to the sensation I had this summer when Angus was near.

  Match play commenced, and John was sleek, covering the court in seconds, making it look easy, like he’d been born for this. He seemed so free as he played. But I also felt like I didn’t know him—the boy who’d been losing high school practice matches when I first met him about a year ago now wasn’t losing a point.

  John hit wide to his opponent—the number three junior in the country, an eighteen-year-old from Los Angeles with an almost identical build to John’s—toying with him, hitting from his backhand to his forehand over and over again in a falsely reassuring, hypnotic rally, the tension becoming almost unbearable as we anticipated it ending any moment.

  When John won the point, the crowd rose to its feet again, a catharsis after the collective holding of breath. But everyone kept holding their breath because John was on a streak.

  I stayed seated for what felt like hours, tucked tightly in the stands, a huge distance from the scene that felt like an endless, unmasking spectacle. I had to do something before John won forty-eight straight points in the semis of the Nationals.

  It was like the first time I saw him play in high school. I’d messed with his game, except, back then, I’d helped him win.

  I focused my energy on the ball and did what I could to alter its path when John least expected it. His perfect second serve went out and he lost a point. The crowd was so disappointed.

  John looked up and searched the stands for a moment, no doubt knowing what I’d just done.

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been playing tennis almost his whole life. This was something he had worked and practiced for. I waffled. How could playing a game really be that dangerous? When John began to play again, I reluctantly stopped interfering. I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to take this away from him. I was also so tired of being controlled by fear.

  I rose and excused myself, edging past annoyed tennis fans who craned to see around me. The match was just minutes from being over, and I needed to position myself so I could try to catch John on his way out.

  The pathways were nearly empty as I walked through the maze back to the area where I thought John would reappear. People began to stream out of bleachers and fill in the walkways.

  I thought I sensed John’s energy and that was what was guiding me to him so I was confused that I seemed to be lost. When I finally found John near the locker room once more, his family had gotten to him first. Kathleen was holding his face and kissing his cheek and then Taro hugged both Kathleen and John at the same time. Alex stood back a bit. Trapped, John held his hand out to the side to Alex and the brothers managed to clasp hands for a second.

  When Taro and Kathleen moved away from John, their faces showed how stunned they were.

  “I don’t know what to say about that match,” Taro said. “That wasn’t like any tennis I’ve seen you play.”

  “One more match and then the US Open,” John said it like it was a done deal.

  Taro paused and then, in a serious tone, said, “Just to be clear, taking this further has to be something you want.”

  I didn’t want to approach the Fords, who at that moment felt more intimidating than the family I’d had. Probably because they were the family I wanted.

  “Hi.” I forced myself to interrupt.

  “Julia,” Taro nodded.

  No one said anything for a long moment.

  John just watched me squirm.

  “You made it to Kalamazoo,” Kathleen finally said.

  The Fords were at the very least always polite.

  “Do you mind if I speak with John?” The moment I said it, I knew they were annoyed that I was interfering during this historic moment for their family.

  Kathleen looked at John, who didn’t say no, just watched me passively like he didn’t give a shit. Perhaps Kathleen didn’t like seeing this behavior in her son because she said, “Go,” nodding at John and me. “We’ll see you in a few,” she said to her golden child, and she and Taro headed toward the public area. Once they were out of sight, John walked into the locker room, leaving me and Alex standing alone.

  “I need to take him out of here.”

  “What are you talking about?” Alex asked.

  “You’ve seen it, Alex. At this rate he’s going to win the US Open just to piss me off. Pretty soon it’s going to become obvious that something’s not right. Just tell your parents, he’s with me. That’s he’s safe. He’ll be at Stanford when he’s supposed to be.”

  I expected a fight but Alex wavered. I could see how scared he was by the changes he saw in his brother. Then he said in the most forceful voice I’d ever heard him use, “Do not fuck with him, Julia. Help him.” He turned his back and walked away, giving me his consent.

  I rounded the corner into the men’s locker room. It was quiet and luckily occupied by only a few junior players who took one look at me and left as fast as they could after I projected a sense of unease their way.

  “What?” John said when he saw me. He was taking his time at the locker.

  “Are you going to listen to me?”

  He slammed the locker door. “Was everything you told me bullshit?” He searched my eyes, like maybe if he looked hard enough, he’d see something he’d missed.

  “No! I would never lie to you unless it was to keep you safe.”

  He shook his head at that.

  “You know me,” I said. “Nothing happened between Angus and me. My God, at this point, he’s like my brother. It was a risk traveling together, but I needed the help. I should have asked you. Not him.”

  “You’re always going to need what he can give you, and you want him as himself.”

  I moved closer. “I want you as yourself. Look, this isn’t worth it. Not being with you, getting in your way. When I just watched you play like that…”

  I put my hand against his still-sweaty cheek. When he didn’t jerk away, I reached my other hand to his face. Then John moved his head to evade me. I lowered my heels back to the ground but stayed close, resting my hands on his shoulders. He grabbed my wrists to remove them.

  “I’m not going to be the asshole who gets lied to and cheated on by every girl he’s ever with,” he said, shaking his head.

  “John, look at me!” He reluctantly lifted his gaze. His dark eyes remained cold. “I’m sorry, I should have been honest,” I said, solemnly. “From here on out, whatever you want, that’s fine.”

  John’s eyes were still reserved, but he shifted, relaxing his stance like maybe he was starting to listen.

  “I don’t want to stop,” he said point-blank.

  I exhaled, excited that he was beginning to negotiate. “Don’t. I’m not hiding anymore either. I’ll help you as best I can with what little I know. Hopefully I’ll learn more. In the very short term, we can go to Canada to lay low. Maybe rent a cabin in the middle of the woods. It’s only a matter of days now. Please.”

  He was still holding my wrists. I was so close. I saw in his
eyes the second he became aware of all the places where we were touching.

  I heard some voices farther back in the locker room and automatically looked over John’s shoulder.

  John took the opportunity to extricate himself and walk away. “I need to think.”

  Shamelessly, I followed him.

  John glanced over his shoulder, feeling me behind him, but he continued, ignoring me. I heard the talking again deep in the locker room, but this was my best shot until they kicked me out; I had to keep trying while I knew I might win.

  He headed straight into the restroom area and to a urinal. Surprised, I quickly put on the brakes and ducked around the corner, back into the dressing area.

  He was trying to lose me, but with my back against the tile wall, I called around the corner to him: “I need to tell you about Stanford. I tried to call you right after the interview like you asked, but you haven’t answered any of my calls.” I listened for a response. He didn’t make a sound, but I could feel him standing still in the other room.

  “I told you,” he suddenly said. “I lost my phone. I left it at the cove.” I heard him turn on the faucet, the shrill whine of the sink pipes reverberating in the wall behind my head.

  “Then who texted me?”

  “John?” My voice came out strangled, a primal, rising noise I’d never heard before.

  As soon as he was done, I was taking him away from here. As fast as humanly possible. I peered around the corner. The water was still running, and the towel John had been using lay on the floor.

  But he was gone.

  Maybe it was nothing. I didn’t sense anything unusual. In fact, I couldn’t sense anything at all. It was suddenly like the locker room was the most neutral place I’d ever been. I couldn’t feel the heat of John’s body in the room. I couldn’t smell anything, hear anything, or sense anything moving.

  I ran through the rest of the rooms in the small labyrinth, a high-pitched ringing in my ears. My eyes darted everywhere, half-expecting John to walk around the corner and ask what my problem was.