His jaw tightens. “I’m not even talking about that. I’m talking about us. The fact that I’m done with us.”
I close my eyes for a breath. Gather myself. “If you break up with me now, I will survive. It will hurt like hell, but I’ll come out stronger on the other side. Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” he says, but he’s lacing our fingers together the way we used to, sophomore year. He leans forward and rests his forehead on our knuckles, squeezing so tight it almost hurts. “That’s exactly what I want.”
A shock of pain shoots through me as he strengthens his grip. I pull my hands away. “You don’t mean that. You’ll feel better after you get some rest.”
“I do mean it. I’ve never meant anything more. You should go, Sharp.” He won’t even look at me now. “You should get out while you can. Come out stronger on the other side.”
I reach to guide his face back toward me, but he turns away.
“I love you, Jake. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me too.”
He looks up, eyes swimming. “If I say it, will you go?”
He won’t say it. He can’t. As rough as things have been between us lately, he wouldn’t lie to my face. Not Jake.
“Yes,” I agree. “If you say it, I’ll go.”
“I don’t love you anymore,” he says, his eyes hard.
“You’re lying,” I say, and even knowing I’m right doesn’t make the hurt any less.
“Grow up, Sharp,” he says. “Did you really think this would last forever?”
I had wondered, and the thought makes me sick. Because now, as much as it hurts to leave, I can’t imagine spending one more minute with the shell of a person in front of me. Ever since his injury, I’ve been trying to help him, fix him, change him. And that’s my own damn fault.
I’m almost gone when I hear his voice behind me, flat and defeated.
“There’s no staying on top of the pain, Daphne. You can tell your patients that someday. They’re better off learning to love it.”
“Goodbye, Jake,” I say, wiping my cheeks. “I hope you find something to love besides your own pain.”
I feel the bitterness and the bite of the words as I speak them, but I mean them, every one.
After the breakup, it’s Seth who stands beside me at Junior Warriors every Saturday for a month, getting the kids to line up and showing them the drills. It’s Seth who loads the balls and takes the Rodriguez boy to the locker room to get cleaned up when he loses a tooth.
Once the kids have gone home on their last Saturday, Seth and I are sorting the tiny, sweaty jerseys into mesh bags when our hands touch, just for a second. Maybe it’s all the static of the kids taking them off and the jerseys brushing past each other, but I swear there’s an actual spark. I’ve known Seth as long as I’ve known Jake, but is this the first time we’ve actually touched?
I shake it off and we go back to sorting the jerseys, joking about who has to take them home and wash them.
“My mom buys organic detergent,” he says. “They’ll come out smelling like vinegar if we wash them at my house.”
I narrow my eyes. “Your clothes never smell like vinegar.”
I take a step closer, just to be sure, and then I’m breathing him in. Neither of us worked up much of a sweat helping the kids, but still, I’m surprised how good he smells.
“Contraband,” he tells me, waggling his eyebrows to let his blue eyes bring me in on the conspiracy. I wonder if it’s a move he picked up from Jake, or if I’m imagining Jake everywhere he doesn’t belong. “I smuggle in the real stuff so I won’t smell like salad dressing. True story. And no, I’m not using my secret stash on kid jerseys. The Chapman kid barfed on hers.”
“Okay,” I concede. “We’ll wash them at my house, but you have to help.”
Seth brings the jerseys in, turning them all red side out before tossing them in the machine. There is something sexy about a guy who not only does his own laundry but actually cares about it. Especially when you’ve watched him be patient and fun with kids four Saturdays in a row. Especially when you can see the curve and cut of his muscles under his worn Nike T-shirt.
While the washing machine runs, we sit at the kitchen table and catch up on our calculus, working through the problems together. The only weird thing is that it’s not weird at all. When the buzzer sounds, Seth slides his hand over mine, and a little shock runs through me. “Stay put,” he says. “I’ll get the jerseys in the dryer if you figure out that derivative.”
Forty-five minutes later, the derivatives are solved and we’re on to Dickinson for AP English when the buzzer sounds again and the jerseys come out of the dryer, soft and warm. I pile them on top and start to fold.
“I’m impressed,” Seth says.
I try not to roll my eyes. “That I know how to fold laundry?”
“No,” he says. “That you can fold the laundry right here. Our washer and dryer are always covered with crap, so I have to fold my laundry on my bed.”
I have never in my life thought about Seth Cooper’s bed, but I feel my face threatening to flush. I search for something to say, but I’ve spent too much time with these boys, and all I can hear is Kolt’s voice in my head saying, “Please don’t let folding secret scented laundry be the most exciting thing that happens on Seth’s bed.”
Seth grabs a jersey and gives me a little side-eye and a smile. Is he blushing? As we fold, I wonder why I’ve never really noticed him before. If maybe it’s because the spotlight was always so focused on Jake that everyone else ended up in the shadows.
And I hate that I’m thinking about Jake in this moment. I wonder how long it will take before the ghost of what we were leaves me in peace.
Maybe because I’m afraid the answer will be too long, I take Seth’s hand and turn him to me. My eyes find his and the next breath brings us toward each other, and even as it’s happening, a thought comes, unbidden, to my mind.
You kissed Jake in this laundry room once.
And then: Seth’s taller than Jake. That’s a good thing.
Before he can kiss me, I slide the jerseys to the edge of the dryer and hop up so I’m sitting on top of it. I draw Seth to me, hoping to separate this moment from that one. But it only makes the two of us closer to the same height, only makes me remember Jake’s taste.
Stop, I beg the ghost. Please.
And somehow Seth senses it. He leans away, searching my eyes to figure out what’s wrong.
“I didn’t see this coming,” I tell him, because I want to tell him the truth, even if I tell it slant.
He sits on the washer, and the metal pops under his weight. “Because you thought you’d be with Jake forever?”
Apparently I’m not the only one the ghost is haunting. “Through high school, maybe,” I admit.
“I thought so too,” he says. “Is it going to ruin the moment if I tell you I didn’t see this coming, either? Because to be totally honest, I’ve been intimidated by you ever since honors math sophomore year.”
“Wait, what?” I’m genuinely surprised. “You’re the one who kept beating me on all those challenge problems!”
He shrugs, flashing the quickest hint of a smile. “You’re the one who got the high score on all the tests.”
“Think how unstoppable we’d be if we joined forces. We could take over the world! Or at least ace the AP calculus test.” I swing my foot, tapping it against his leg. “We do make a pretty good team.”
Seth hops down and pretends to think it over as he picks up the stack of jerseys. “Laundry and math and babysitting other people’s children,” he says. “So that’s the way to impress a girl?”
I laugh, then look him up and down, taking in his shoulders and chest and arms, his messy hair and kind eyes. “Well, none of this is hurting your cause.” I scoot to the front of the dryer, then w
rap my bare feet around his legs to pull him to me. The jerseys are still warm when he sets the stack down beside me.
Seth gives a crooked smile, tilting the faint constellation of freckles across his nose, and I wrap my arms around his neck. When I kiss him, it’s fresh and new and freeing.
Beside me, his phone rattles and vibrates on top of the dryer. I’m still leaning my head toward him as he pulls away.
He checks the screen and sighs. “I’d better go. My dad might lose it if I don’t take these jerseys back and watch game film with him.”
“Your dad expects a lot of you,” I say, realizing we have this in common. I wonder if I should warn him now that he’ll never be good enough for my dad, either.
“I guess. Walk me out?”
In the driveway, he leans against his car door and pulls me close again. “Can I take you on a real date sometime?”
I frown, pretending to consider, pretending that everything in me isn’t already screaming yes.
“Will there be laundry?” I ask.
“No,” he says.
“Will anybody puke or lose a tooth?”
“No. Not on the first date, anyway.”
I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair, and he gives a little shiver. “Will there be kissing?” I ask.
He nods.
“Okay, then,” I say, leaving one kiss on his cheek like a promise.
* * *
—
On Monday, between school and basketball practice, Seth and I go to Ms. Li’s room to borrow an AP calc practice book. He opens the door for me, resting his hand on the small of my back.
“Why, thank you,” I say, reaching behind me to lace my fingers through his as I pull him into the classroom.
Ms. Li sits facing away from us. She’s going over a test with a student, and Seth and I both freeze when we realize who it is.
Jake slumps over the desk, looking totally defeated. Then suddenly he turns, enough that I know he sees how close Seth and I are standing to each other, our hands held together at my waist.
Ms. Li is the only one oblivious to it all. She flips the test back to the front page, giving us a clear view of the big red “14%” on the cover. “One way or another, Jake,” she says, “we’re going to get you to graduation.”
Seth clears his throat, and she startles. “I’m so sorry,” he says—to her, to Jake, maybe even a little to me. “We wondered if we could borrow an AP practice book.”
“Of course, of course,” she says, tucking Jake’s test away as if we haven’t all been staring at the score. She looks at us, her eyes lingering on our hands. Even though they’ve got their own lives outside of school, I wonder if teachers talk about this kind of stuff, and what they’ll think of me if they do.
It’s been a month, I want to tell her. And he broke up with me. And neither Seth nor I expected this.
I stare at Jake, wondering how long he’s been struggling with math and why he never asked for help. And then I remember: because he’s Jake, and he’s not allowed to ask for help. He can’t let himself be anything short of perfect, all on his own.
As Jake stands up to go, Seth steps a little closer behind me, and I give his hand a squeeze. Something in me prepares for a fight, but Jake just gives us a sad smile.
“If you need help—” I start, but Jake cuts me off with a laugh that sounds like it’s been sucked dry of any happiness at all.
“I’m kind of past that point, you know? But thanks. And good luck with your stuff.” He nods at the practice book, but maybe at the two of us. He looks right at me. “I really mean that.”
I watch him leave. I can’t help it. When you care about somebody that much for that long, it doesn’t just go away. But already the feelings I had a few weeks ago have begun to change, and the voice in me whispers, That’s not your load to carry anymore.
Except I can’t seem to leave it behind so easily. Even after practice, when I’m working through more integrals at my kitchen table, my eyes search out the ones and fours, rearranging them into the red fourteen at the top of Jake’s test.
I knew he was struggling, but I had no idea how much. It makes me wonder what else I missed just because it wasn’t in bold red marker right in front of me.
Tell us about the night Jake Foster disappeared.
I don’t think I can tell you anything you don’t already know. He played the game. He pretty much won the game. Nobody expected us to beat Pine Valley, but we did. He did.
Did you see anything out of the ordinary that night? Anything worth looking into?
[Pause.]
No, sir.
You hesitated before you answered that, son. And you sure seem nervous.
I am nervous. I’ve never been questioned by the police before.
There was a party at your house after the game. Did Jake come?
No. Everybody kept texting him, but he never showed up.
Why not?
I wish I knew.
Were you and Jake friends? Would you use that word?
Yeah, we were friends.
Was there ever any conflict between you?
Every day. Three sports and camps all summer—we were each other’s best competition. And competition means conflict. Tackling, guarding, striking each other out.
Did it ever bother you that your dad gave so much time and attention to Jake? That Jake was a better ballplayer than you?
Nope. But thank you for bringing that up. [Sighs.] I’m sorry. That’s not me. I don’t know how to act in these situations.
Apology accepted. Anything you and Jake competed over outside of sports?
[Clears throat.] No, sir.
What about Daphne Sharp?
She’s a person, not a trophy. She’d walk away from both of us if we ever forgot that.
Okay, not “competition.” But the original question was about conflict, right? You two have any conflict that involved Daphne Sharp? Maybe even the night Jake disappeared?
Like I said, he never came to the party.
But she was there before the game, wasn’t she? In the training room with Jake? Even though she’s your girlfriend?
Look, up until this year, nobody would have dreamed of coming between Jake and Daphne. But senior year, he’s been different. Kind of checked out, kind of an ass. To be honest, he didn’t deserve her anymore—and he’s the one who broke up with her. We all cared about her, you know? She deserved to be with somebody who treated her the way Jake had before. I didn’t even realize I wanted that person to be me until it was.
Understood. So here’s the question: Did you see Jake or hear from him at any point after the game?
I saw him driving away with Kolt.
Away from where?
Away from his house.
After the game?
Yes.
But you said you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary that night.
That’s right. Nothing out of the ordinary. What I saw was Jake driving away from his own house with his best friend.
You sure about that?
[Pause.]
Wait, didn’t Kolt already tell you about that?
I’ll work that out with Mr. Martin, but you’re sure you saw the two of them driving away together?
Yes, sir.
What time was this?
Around midnight.
Why were you at Jake’s house?
Because I was worried about him.
You were worried? All on your own? Nobody put you up to it?
[Pause.]
Yes. It was my idea.
So you drove to Jake’s house and saw him leaving with Kolt. Did you speak to either of them?
No, sir.
When was the last time you actually spoke to Jake?
Besides
on-the-court stuff during the game?
Yes.
I…I can’t remember.
Let’s try that one more time, bearing in mind that we have a witness that says he overheard you talking to Jake right before warm-ups. What were the last words you said to Jake then? Before you shoved him into the wall and walked away?
[Pause.]
“I hate you, Foster. I freaking hate you.”
Freshman ball was fun and games, but we knew things were going to change sophomore year. On the first day of tryouts, everybody worked out together so Coach could “see the big picture.” After almost three hours of busting our guts, he shouted at me and Kolt and Jake to get dressed and come to his office.
I figured Kolt and Jake were more nervous than I was, but not by much. Yeah, he was my dad, but by then it felt a lot more normal to call him “Coach.” (When two-thirds of the people in your household are named Seth Cooper, you’ve got to find a work-around.) Plus, it wasn’t like we even interacted that much at home or discussed any subject other than basketball. And at the gym, he definitely treated me like any other player.
When the three of us had changed and made our way to his office, Coach got right down to business. “You boys busy tomorrow after school?”
We shook our heads.
“Well, then, you think you could stay for varsity tryouts?”
We all nodded together, like Ashland High bobbleheads.
Every once in a while, there would be one or two standout sophomores that made varsity, but I couldn’t remember a time when there had been three.
Coach came around the desk, his gaze bouncing between us like he was playing pinball. Even by his standards, he was pretty wound up. “Okay, then. Get some rest, and be ready to work a hell of a lot harder tomorrow than you did today—harder than anybody else out there. I’ve got big plans for you guys, but I can’t hand you anything. You’ve got to earn it. What are you going to do to earn it?”
Kolt opened his mouth, but Coach tapped his jaw shut. “Think before you speak, Martin. In fact, don’t speak at all. Show me your answer on the court tomorrow.”
Fadeaway Page 10