Maako pulled a tooth from his mouth and tossed it away. "You saw?"
"I did."
Everything? Maako said.
"Yeah."
"Then you know," he said, spitting again. "Say a word and Kyle's done. Fight me all you want, but it won't protect him."
I stood up straight. "You're such a loser."
Maako half laughed. "A loser?"
"I didn't do this for Kyle."
***
Pennyweather was shouting, really going berserk. Veins rose from his neck and spit flew from his mouth. I didn't think it was particularly funny, but I wasn't especially concerned, either, mostly because my thoughts weren't entirely coherent. Besides, I relished having beaten the snot out of Maako, and, in a perverse way, even having had the snot beaten out of me.
"What were you two thinking? No, don't bother answering that," Pennyweather said. "I told you a month ago to let go of this personal crap. You don't have to love each other. You don't have to like each other. You don't even have to acknowledge each other. But, for God's sake, you can't fight each other."
He grabbed some magazines and threw them at us. Pages tore and the covers came off a few. The outburst didn't faze me.
"Does this have anything to do with the missing trophy?" Pennyweather said. "Does it?"
I shrugged.
Maako just sat there.
"Fine, play dumb," Pennyweather said. "I want to keep you both out of the entire game tomorrow—yes, the whole goddamn game. But we can't afford that. And I'm not gonna punish the rest of the team for your stupidity. I'm gonna do the next best thing—both of you will sit the first half. If we get behind—I don't care what the score is—then so be it."
Pennyweather stood behind his desk, arms folded, his tie undone. His voice was a normal volume, but no less menacing. "If we lose..." He kind of laughed and shook his head. "If we lose, it's gonna be on your heads. I'm not taking the fall for this. There are consequences." He turned away from us and stared out the office window. "Now, get the hell outta here."
I left first.
Moments later, I heard Maako's steps behind me.
***
"I'm sorry, sir," the woman said.
"You can't put me through to her room?" I asked a second time.
"No, I can't."
"Why not?"
"Sir, please calm down."
"Can you at least tell me if she's a patient? Last name is spelled G-I-A-N-N-I."
"It's hospital policy not to give out that information," the woman said.
"Hospital policy? This person is really important to me. I need to know if she's a patient in your hospital, but you're telling me you can't because of some ridiculous policy?"
"Yes," the woman said. "That's what I'm telling you."
"So that's it?"
"I'm afraid so."
I hung up the phone and threw it into the pillows on my bed.
Pennyweather kept his word.
Maako and I sat at opposite ends of the bench for the first half of the state semifinals against Randolph. After scoring the game-winner last Saturday, I should've been hungry to get on the field and break the 1-all tie. I should've been chomping at the bit to prove my play against Columbia hadn't been a fluke. But I wasn't.
And while I did start the second half, I might as well have been at home on our couch. My head wasn't in the game, and I had no feel for the ball. Halfway through the third quarter, Solomon made a perfect chip pass over the Randolph back line that sprung me for the goal, but my shot sliced way off to the right. A few minutes later, I dribbled a breakaway out-of-bounds. The rest of the time, I was lost. Even with the cheers and clapping from the Millburn fans, my mind and body had betrayed me.
Pennyweather eventually pulled me from the game. "Wasn't your afternoon, Jonny," he said as I passed him on the way to the bench.
The team scored three goals in the fourth quarter, advancing to the finals with a 4-1 victory. Stuart was brilliant in net and Solomon had the defensive game of his life. Dennis put one in. Richie did, also. Kyle had the other two, including the game-winner. He was back on track.
Some things never change.
***
When the team bus returned to the high school, Pennyweather took me aside. "Great game the team played today," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
I nodded.
"Look, Jonny, I'm not gonna sugarcoat this," Pennyweather said. "We're gonna try a different lineup for the finals..."
He went on about starting just two forwards because he thought our offensive zone was getting clogged with players. It was coaching bullshit. I knew what he was getting at. I had played myself out of today's game and he couldn't take a chance that I'd do the same tomorrow. He told me to be prepared to come in off the bench, but I knew he said it more out of obligation than really meaning it.
"Sure," I said. "I'll be ready."
Pennyweather looked at me. He seemed genuinely disappointed. Maybe he expected me to bitch and moan, or give him some song and dance to convince him otherwise.
"I know you've had something on your mind all week," he said. "If you wanna talk, my office door is always open."
I didn't say anything.
"Guess it wouldn't help if I told you to put it aside until after the championship game," Pennyweather said.
I shook my head. "I don't think so, Coach."
Saturday morning's game was going to be a coronation. That's what the Star-Ledger wrote. It was what the town expected. The game in which Kyle Saint-Claire would lead Millburn to the Group III state title and a top-five final ranking in New Jersey. He didn't disappoint.
On a frigid, damp field at Seton Hall University, Kyle scored on a second-quarter penalty kick to break a scoreless tie with Rahway, then a few minutes later delivered a crisp give-and-go pass that Brad buried into the net. In the final quarter, with storm clouds on the horizon, Kyle drilled a shot from twenty yards out that left the Rahway goalkeeper pounding the turf in frustration.
When the referee blew the final whistle, Millburn players and their families, classmates, and fans all stormed the field. At the center of the celebration, Kyle was hoisted onto Richie's and Solomon's shoulders. He raised his arms high.
I stood off to the side. People patted me on the back, offering congratulations. That I was now part of a state championship team didn't matter much. But I feigned a smile anyway.
I didn't take the team bus back to the high school. Instead, I walked off the field toward the university parking lot where my mom was waiting. I couldn't tell if she was happy that we had won, disappointed that I hadn't played much, or confused that I wasn't excited like everyone else.
"Do you want to stick around awhile?" she asked.
Looking back at the mob of people on the field, I saw Kyle take turns embracing Stuart, Brad, Gallo, and even Maako. For an instant, Kyle looked at me. His smile withered the smallest bit. Or maybe it was just my imagination.
"No," I said. "Let's go."
***
I stood outside our house.
I had no place to go and nothing in particular to do; I just didn't feel like sitting in my bedroom. So I wandered around the backyard, tossing pine cones, picking at tree bark ... and thinking. Lots of thinking. About Annalisa.
By the end of the week, people at school noticed she hadn't been to class. Rumors ran rampant. One had her tripping on the way home from the circle and messing up her face—now she was in post-op at Overlook Hospital. Another had her parents sending her to a rehab center in Manhattan. The most popular one claimed Mr. Gianni had been called back to Sicily because the feds were closing in. People were so glib. If they only knew the truth.
I had circled the house a few times. Eventually, I took a seat on the curb. Soccer season was finished. I wasn't sure that had sunk in yet. It had been the bond between Kyle and me. Training each August; playing on the school team each fall. It was what kept our friendship intact. Where did we go from here? I wondered.
; I rummaged the pavement for a handful of pebbles. A few cars passed by, and the bells of Congregational Church rang at the top of the hour. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kyle walking toward me.
"Congratulations," he said.
I didn't bother looking up.
"To us."
"Us?" I said.
"The state championship is ours," he said.
"Yours more than mine."
"We win as a team," Kyle said. "And you and me are teammates."
"Does it matter?" I said. "The season's over."
I picked out a pebble and flicked it toward the gutter. It bounced through the metal grate. I flicked another, but that one careened away.
"Look," Kyle said, "I was an asshole last week. I'm sorry, okay?"
He sat down on the curb opposite me. We didn't say a word for a while. Kyle grabbed some pebbles. He tossed one at the sewer. It missed. He threw another. That missed, too.
"And thanks for taking shots at Maako," Kyle said.
Disgust and disillusionment roiled inside me. All toward the guy, twenty or so feet away, who had been my best friend most of my life. Finally, I couldn't hold back any longer. I stared Kyle straight in the eye.
"I know what you did."
"What are you talking about?" he said.
"I know what you did last Saturday night."
"At the circle?" he said. "I drank too much, sure. Got a little loud, definitely. But I didn't do anything."
"Don't bullshit me," I said.
"I'm not."
"We've been friends a long time, Kyle."
"Yeah, and friends don't accuse each other, out of nowhere."
I shook my head. "But you're lying."
"For the sake of playing this little game of yours, let's just say I am lying. How would you know?"
"I saw," I said. "I was there."
"Where?"
"In the woods."
The color in Kyle's face disappeared and his shoulders sank. He picked up a pebble and threw it at the gutter. Then he picked up another. And another. Rapid fire. And each time he seemed to be venting more and more frustration, until, finally, he stopped.
"I didn't touch her, Jonny," he said. "I stopped before anything happened."
I stood up. "This was Annalisa. You knew how much I liked her."
"We had that bet," he said. "She was off-limits anyway."
"Fuck you, Kyle. You knew. And you still did that."
"It was Maako, not me."
"Stop lying!"
"You were drunk out of your mind, right?" Kyle said. "You must've been. Everyone at the circle was. And it was dark as hell in the woods, right? You could barely see a few yards ahead. With all that, you're gonna trust that you saw something happen, when I'm telling you it didn't?"
"You hurt her," I said.
"It was a mistake."
"It was more than a mistake."
Kyle shook his head. "Don't you think I realize that? You have no idea how it's killing me inside. I throw up everything I eat. I can't sleep at night. School's a complete waste."
"You seem fine during games," I said.
Kyle ignored me. "I can't keep a thought in my head. I feel like I'm going outta my mind." He glanced back at his house. "A few nights ago, I wake up suddenly. I thought I saw someone in the corner of my room. I look at the clock and it's like two thirty-one. I look back and whoever was there is gone."
"I have no pity for you."
"If I could do it over, Jonny, I would. But I can't."
"So, what're you gonna do now, Kyle?"
He looked at me. "What're you gonna do?"
"I don't know," I said.
"My life hangs in the balance, Jonny. The rest of senior year. Getting into college. Playing soccer ever again ... This is my life we're talking about. My life."
We sat there, not saying a word, not looking at each other. Some time passed. Then Kyle said, "Remember in sixth grade when we were gonna see who could bat a golf ball over Ol' Man Leonard's house?"
I looked at him. "Why're you bringing this up?"
"You remember, right?"
"I guess."
Kyle had gone into his garage to find more golf balls. In a rush to be first, I hit a line drive right that shattered Mr. Leonard's dining room window. Before Kyle came back out, I ran across the street and hid behind some bushes. Within moments, Mr. Leonard burst out of his house, his face beet red. He yelled at Kyle, "Who did this?
Did you do this?"
"I never said a word, Jonny," Kyle said. "Maybe you should've."
"There was no reason to tell him—or anyone—you did it. Can't unbreak a broken window, right?"
"What's your point?"
"I took a beating for that, you know," Kyle said. "Later, Ol' Man Leonard banged on our front door. Told my dad I was the one who broke his six-hundred-dollar window and that I'd lied about it. Ol' Man Leonard wouldn't leave until my dad assured him I'd be punished. And punished I was, Jonny. Dad knocked me around a bit. Made me quit Little League. Asked what the hell was I hitting golf balls at houses for? Why didn't I tell the truth about breaking the window?"
I don't remember any of that," I said.
"Memories are tricky," Kyle said. "But no matter how you see it, Jonny, just like the time we busted up those mailboxes and dumped them in the pond, I took one for you."
"You didn't have to."
"I didn't think about whether I had to or not," he said. "We're best friends."
"But you didn't have to."
"Saved us from spending all our snow-shoveling money on some stupid window, right? Best friends protect each other, Jonny. Don't turn on me now."
"So I should just forget what I saw?"
"You said it before; we've been best friends a long time."
"Maybe too long."
Kyle's face turned hard. "You mean that? Do you?"
I didn't answer.
"Fine," Kyle said. He stood up. "We're done, Jonny. We'll go our separate ways. Do what you want. I'll deal with all this shit on my own. But don't come crawling back to me when you find yourself back in the same place at school. You know what I'm talking about. Go back to being an Abigail Blonski. You had a view from the top. I guess you couldn't handle it."
It was after midnight. I lay in bed for hours, thinking about whether Kyle had been right. Was I bailing on him? He had brought up an obscure incident in the past, but I remembered others well enough. Times when Kyle protected me, or I protected him, or when we both lied to avoid getting caught. Considering our years of friendship, how much of my loyalty did Kyle deserve?
Maybe it was best to let life move on. In a way, that's what Short Hills was about. Immense houses, buffered by huge lawns, hidden behind walls of trees and shrubs—the stiff upper lip revealing little to the outside world. Let time pass. Let memories fade. Let reputation mask any sordid occurrences that might be hiding just under the surface.
But that didn't feel right.
In truth, it seemed entirely wrong to lie comfortably under flannel sheets and a wool blanket, sheltered in this bedroom, in this house. Maybe I needed to spend time on my back sprawled out in the woods, half clothed, the late-fall wind blowing through me, with what was left of my senses scrambling to comprehend what was happening. Maybe—
I ripped the sheets and blanket off and sat up. Of all the hundreds of towns in New Jersey, why the hell did the Giannis move to Short Hills? Why not Summit? Or Springfield? Or Maplewood? Then maybe I could've somehow met her at a store in a mall. And I could have known her away from Trinity and Stephanie. Away from the circle. Away from Maako and Kyle.
And then none of this would have happened.
***
I stood in the attic.
The storm had arrived. Heavy raindrops drummed the slanted roof above me. The air reeked of pine. I hated the smell. I could taste it in my mouth when I breathed in. It made me gag. With each quickening heartbeat, I felt a rush of blood spread throughout my naked body, down my arms and legs to
the ends of my fingers and toes.
It was cold.
I wanted it cold.
Had the lightbulb above me been on, my breath would've been visible and my immersion in darkness would've been broken, and I would've shivered. But I kept my eyes shut and the light stayed off and I did not recognize the chill, so I did not feel it.
Time passed, until I could finally let my mind go...
I was at a playground.
A child, alone.
Out of a light mist, I walked up to a small carousel. It had once been cherry red, but after years of sun and rain and snow, the paint had faded to a dull crimson. I put my hand on the rail and pushed hard, running in a tight circle until I couldn't possibly go any faster. Then I leaped forward onto the spinning platform, feeling its invisible force try to throw me off. But I held on, until it eventually came to a stop.
Then I ran to a nearby slide. As I climbed the ladder, I heard a voice, sweet and reassuring.
"Jonathan..."
I peeked over the top.
There was a little girl standing in a halo of light. I climbed down the ladder and stepped toward her. Slowly, at first. Then I ran, but she wasn't any closer.
She called out to me, again. "Jonathan..."
I kept going until my heart hammered the inside of my chest and my legs stiffened and it felt as if my lungs would explode. Finally, I gave up and dropped to the ground.
When I raised my head, the girl was standing beside me. She held out her hand and I took it. We started walking—it felt more like we were floating—until we were standing at the edge of a creek. The girl pointed and giggled. What was it? I stepped closer, eager to see.
"No!"
My eyes begged to be closed, yet I couldn't look away. There was a lifeless body, half submerged in the shallow water. Blood leaked from the mouth, leaving a trail of pinkish red to dissolve downstream. I screamed so hard, my body shook. But no one heard me.
When I turned back to the girl, she was gone.
I was, again, alone.
Standing above the body.
Please, take me—
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