All the Things We Never Knew

by Liara Tamani

  I kiss him again. Regardless of Cole’s motivation for inviting him over, Rex being here feels like a thick, cool layer of salve on tonight’s new wounds.

  Rex interlocks his fingers with mine, presses his palms into mine, and brings our hands up to frame our faces.

  I press back, hard, even harder, and he takes a step back. Ha! He wasn’t ready for that.

  “Oh, so first you want to ignore me and now you want to push me around,” he says, grinning.

  I keep pushing, and he keeps stepping backward until he’s up against my bed and then lying back with his feet on the floor. “Sorry, I didn’t have the best day,” I say, standing between his legs.

  “Yeah, I figured the doctor didn’t give you the okay for the playoffs. I’m so sorry.”

  I wish. But sadly, that’s not it. How can I tell him that I’m pissed about having to play? That I would be absolutely fine with never touching another basketball the rest of my life. It seems impossible.

  And it’s not exactly going to be easy telling him that Daddy is trying to use him to bribe me and Cole to leave our mother, either. I’m glad he’s occupying himself with looking around at my walls while I come up with the right words.

  He looks back up at me and says, “It’s okay. You have next year. Senior year is what really counts.”

  “The doctor actually gave me the okay today,” I blurt out, and all my secrets dart off to dark corners inside me, hoping they’re not next. I lie down next to Rex on my bed and look at the ceiling, the only blank space in my room.

  “Yeah?” he asks, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn his head toward me.

  I stare straight ahead. I can’t have this conversation looking into his eyes when all my secrets are being so shy. I grab his hand, trying to let my secrets know that Rex is okay. Then I take a deep breath and say, “Basketball is not why I had a bad day. I know I said that my parents were just taking a break, but they’re not. They’re getting a divorce. Like, there’s no hope. It’s really happening.”

  “So you can play?” Rex asks.

  Not, Sorry about your parents.

  Not, Sorry about your family breaking apart.

  Not, Are you okay?

  Not even, So what’s all this stuff on your walls?

  So you can play? That’s all he has to say.

  REX

  Carli snatches her hand away from mine and places it on her belly. “Can I play? Is that all you care about? I swear, everything with you is always about basketball.”

  Wait! What? Hand aching with abandonment, I answer, “No, of course not.”

  “Well, I sure as hell can’t tell.”

  Hold up a second. Did Carli just curse at me? Cursing in general and cursing at somebody are two different things. But I tell myself to be cool and roll over on my side to face her, hoping she’ll face me, too.

  She gives me a hard glance before staring back up at the ceiling.

  Be cool, Rex. Be cool. “I knew you were going to the doctor today. When I didn’t hear back from you, I was worried that you were going to have to sit out the rest of the season. Can you blame me for that?”

  No answer. She rolls her eyes and starts fiddling with her necklace without even bothering to look in my direction.

  Be cool, Rex. Be cool. “I mean, I drove all the way over here just to make sure you were okay.”

  She glares at me, says, “Nobody asked you to come over here,” and looks back at the ceiling.

  Okay. Clearly I have Carli confused. And it’s my fault. I’ve texted her sixteen times today. And called her three. And then brought my ass all the way over here in the freezing cold to check on her. But you see, I’m not that dude. That dude that’s going to be sweating her. That dude she can ignore and treat however bad she wants. That dude she can push around. Clearly she thinks I’m that dude. But he is not I.

  And I get it, her parents are breaking up. But it’s kinda old news, isn’t it? It’s not like they just plopped it on her today like, Surprise! They’re not even living together.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the whole situation is still sad. But if she didn’t feel like talking (even after she got the great news from her doctor), she could’ve at least sent a text telling me she’d hit me up tomorrow or something. But no. Nothing. And now instead of apologizing, she wants to treat me like shit? Naw, dawg. I’m not even going out like that.

  I sit up in the bed and look over at her, and she actually has the nerve to look up at me with an attitude. Like I’m the one in the wrong.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t be poppin’ up over your house again,” I say.

  “Good” is all she says and closes her eyes.

  A hurt deep inside me hurls its voice up through a dark sky. “Good? Really, Carli?”

  She ignores me.

  Another hurt, another hurl, but my throat closes over its voice. How could you do me like this? After everything we’ve shared. And now it’s like I’m nothing to you. Like I’m nobody, I scream inside myself.

  I swallow my hurt back down. “It’s getting late,” I say, and stand up.

  Cole walks in. “So, I was thinking,” he says before he sees me. And then after, “Rex!” and gives me a giant hug. I don’t think a hug has ever been more on time.

  “Not now, Cole,” Carli says, and sits up on the bed, face scrunched up.

  Cole turns to me. “Did Carli tell you that we may be going to your—”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Carli screams, and stands up. “Out! Get out! Now!”

  Hurt welling up in his eyes, he turns to walk out.

  “What’s going on in here?” their mom asks, appearing in the doorway behind him.

  No one speaks. Everyone’s looking at Carli. Her fists are balled up, her jaw is clenched, and her nostrils are flared like she wants to give us all a serious beatdown.

  Part of me wants to go to her, hug her, and make her relax. But the other part, the part that’s been working overtime my whole life to hold myself together, demands that I stay back.

  That’s All She Wrote

  CARLI

  Monday after school and I’m at basketball practice, where I’m supposed to be learning new defensive plays. But I can’t stop running the scene of Rex leaving my room through my head. How he looked at me like he didn’t know me. How I looked back at him, with all the anger I felt about my parents’ divorce, their custody battle, basketball, my life. How Mom put her hand on his back and said, “I’ll walk you out,” and I let her, without even telling him good-bye.

  “Jordan, if Shannon gets the ball at the top of the left key, go and help Carli trap her,” Coach says, and points to the left corner of the free-throw line. Jordan walks down to the corner from right outside the three-point line, smacking on gum.

  I haven’t told Jordan about the breakup. Rex and I haven’t officially said we were over, but what we had definitely feels broken. No more rise-and-shine texts from him every morning. No more staying up late talking to him on the phone every night. No contact at all since he left my house on Friday.

  “Carli, get your head out of the clouds and come up here to trap!” Coach yells. The whole team’s eyes widen in surprise. Jordan’s mouth is literally hanging open.

  Coach never yells at me. Everybody else, yes, but never me.

  “Shannon cost us the championship last year, and I’ll be damned if I let her take it away from us again this year,” Coach continues.

  Shannon is this sophomore from Langham High. Yeah, she can ball, but she ain’t all that. Plus, she’s always looking at me funny and trying to copy my style. Been on varsity since she was a freshman, like me. Tall, six-foot-one to be exact, like me. Okay, maybe she can’t help either of those two things, but she wears number twenty-two. Now, everybody and their mama know that’s my number. And one time she slipped me a note after a game that said, “Hey.” Hey? Like, she couldn’t have opened her mouth to say that? I swear I can’t figure out if the girl likes me or wants to be me. But
either way, I can’t stand her.

  “You good?” Jordan whispers after I get to the corner.

  “Rex and I broke up,” I whisper back.

  “Okay,” Coach says, “now if Shannon gets the ball on the right key, Carli, you drop back down to the block. Jordan, you slide over. And Meagan, you come up to help Jordan.”

  “Are you serious?” Jordan asks as we switch positions.

  After practice Jordan and I go to Baskin-Robbins in Rice Village. Once we get our ice cream, we sit outside at a hot pink bistro table, backs against the red brick building. It’s eighty degrees. Houston sure knows how to flip the switch on the weather, but nobody’s mad at it today. Everybody and their mama are out walking and shopping and eating in the sun.

  Cold sweetness dissolving on my tongue, I explain, “It would be everything spending senior year with Rex, but leave my mom? I can’t do that.” Oh, I had to tell Jordan about the whole thing with my parents because the whole thing with Rex wouldn’t make any sense otherwise. Plus, I’m tired of keeping so many secrets.

  “Not only that, you can’t leave the team your senior year! It’s crazy your dad is even asking you to. What is he thinking?” Jordan asks, and tucks in her outstretched legs to make room for a woman walking by on the sidewalk with a stroller.

  I’m leaving the team either way, I think but don’t dare say. Jordan will never forgive me. Like, our friendship will be over. I stay silent and scoop out another spoonful of my Cannoli Be With You ice cream—mascarpone, pistachios, crunchy cannoli shell pieces, and chocolate chips. Some goodness I need right about now.

  “So, you think you’ll be ready for Shannon?” Jordan asks, and eats a scoop of her Pink Bubblegum ice cream with sprinkles, chocolate chips, Butterfinger pieces, and cherries. Leave it up to Jordan to mess up ice cream.

  “I guess,” is all I say, hoping she’ll drop the basketball talk.

  “She gave us some serious problems last year, and that’s when she was a freshman. No telling what she’s gonna be coming with this year.”

  When Jordan says us, she means me. Shannon plays my position. I’m the one who has to guard her. And I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that when I don’t even want to play.

  “I need to say something to Rex,” I say, trying to change the subject. “But I don’t know what.”

  “I’m sorry sounds like it will do just fine.”

  “But what about the fact that all he wanted to do was talk about basketball even after I told him about my parents?” I don’t know why I just bothered to ask Jordan that. It’s all she ever wants to talk about, too.

  “Well, you didn’t even tell him the real deal. It’s not like he knows you and Cole have to decide which parent to live with. He’s not a mind reader, Carli. Plus, it is a big deal that you’ll be back for the playoffs. No way we could handle Shannon without you.”

  “Couldn’t handle her with me. So, what’s the difference?”

  “Girl, stop. You are Carli Alexander and you are about to shut Shannon down,” she says, and reaches her spoon for my bowl. I swear Jordan’s always trying to steal somebody’s food.

  I move my bowl over and shield it with my hand. “Eww, I don’t want all that nastiness mixed up with all this goodness.”

  She sucks her spoon clean and tries again.

  Disgusting, but I let her. Hoping that she’ll remember this. Hoping that this will somehow count when I have to tell her the truth about basketball.

  REX

  I’m running down the court, trying to get back on D, when I spot them. Light-blue scrubs walking up the stands. A tall, slim man with dark skin and a low-cut fade. Halfway up, the man in scrubs sits down, and I see his face. My father. For the first time ever, my father is at my game.

  The dude I’m supposed to be guarding shoots a three. Swish.

  Shit.

  “Take that, Mr. Rex Carrington,” dude says, shooting hand still hanging in the air. He’s wearing yellow wristbands on both wrists to match his uniform.

  “Man, get on somewhere. That’s your first three the whole game,” I reply, and give him a light bump while running back up the court.

  The ref blows her whistle and a jolt of fear rushes through my body. Not another technical! But she holds up her hand to signal a time-out.

  “Hustle up! Hustle up!” Coach Bell shouts, waving his right arm in a big circle. As I approach the huddle, he gives me a water bottle and asks, “You all right? You didn’t even have a hand in his face.”

  “I’m good. I’m good.” I take the water bottle, hold it up, and squeeze, giving myself the cold smack in the face I need. When I look back at my father, he’s staring straight at me.

  “Listen!” Coach Bell says, crouched down in the middle of the huddle. “We only have three minutes left and we’re down six. We need everybody’s head in the game right now.” He looks up at me. “If we lose tonight, it’s over. No going to San Antonio to play for the championship. And we’ve worked too hard and come too far for that. We can do this. We have to do this!” He stands up and puts his hand out. The whole team piles their hands on. “‘Hustle hard’ on three. One. Two. Three.”

  “Hustle hard!” And we lift our hands and run back to our positions.

  Danny brings the ball up the court and passes to me just outside the three-point line on the left.

  Dude guarding me is moving back and forth with his hands outstretched and his sweaty brown hair stuck to his forehead, saying, “Whatchu got? Whatchu got?”

  Does this cornball really think he can hold me? He probably does because my shot has been off all night. But that has nothing to do with him. I’ve been thinking about Carli. I swear that girl is always throwing me off my game some kind of way. I pass it back to Danny, and he swings it around to our shooting guard, Tommy.

  Tommy gives his defender a little head fake, dribbles past him, and passes the ball to Josh at the top of the key. Coach has been playing us both lately when he wants to go with more of a small-ball lineup.

  Next thing you know, Josh is passing the ball to me. Wasn’t expecting that! And neither was dude guarding me. I gather my legs underneath me and release, feeling my father watching me.

  Swish!

  The crowd erupts in cheers, and my father is on his feet, clapping. And I swear each time his hands come together, I hear a thousand claps. All the claps from all the games he’s ever missed. Every Good job, son or I’m so proud of you that I’ve always wanted to hear. And I’m taking all of it in.

  “Let’s go!” I yell, slap the court with both hands, and sprint to get back on defense.

  Danny swipes the ball off the other team’s point guard. And I’m running full speed back toward our basket. Corny dude is running alongside me, but he can’t stop what’s about to go down. As I approach the basket, I leap, catch Danny’s perfectly thrown alley-oop, and do a 360 midair before boom—that’s all she wrote!

  The whole gym goes crazy, and the other team calls a time-out. We’re still one point down, but the momentum has already shifted in our direction. Ain’t no way we’re about to let these fools beat us now.

  CARLI

  Clearly Rex isn’t feeling my I’m sorry. Texted him over three hours ago and still haven’t heard back. Now I’m in my room, sitting at my desk, making him a card. The first card I’ve ever made for anybody. Hopefully something he can feel.

  The front has no words. Only our bodies from that picture Cole took of us sitting on Daddy’s swallow-you-whole sofa. It’s not a great picture of me—mostly hair with a little bit of profile looking at Rex.

  But Rex’s face is everything. In it, I can feel what he sees in me. I swear it’s like walking to the center of his heart and seeing my own reflection. A bright, glorious, confident girl. Nothing like how I see myself.

  I cut us away from the background and paste us on gold linen card stock. Then I break out all the LePens I own and draw a big, swirly sun behind us. Arrange a coral peony cut from a magazine to look like I’m handing it to him
. And paste four tissue-papered lavender rays straight from my heart to his. Hoping he’ll feel how sorry I am. Hoping he’ll feel what I see in him. A fiercely tender boy. A million streaks of softness, cutting through all the dark clouds.

  I push down the peony, smoothing the thin, glossy paper over the glue. The card actually looks pretty cool. Better than most of the cards in Mom’s shop, I’ll tell you that.

  “I’ve decided,” Cole says, walking into my room. Didn’t need to break out an I’m sorry for Cole. Friday night seemed to slip right off him.

  “Please tell me the blue one,” I say, turning around in my chair. He was in here five minutes ago holding up a basic blue T-shirt and a red silky shirt that looked like it came straight out of a nineties R&B video, asking which one he should wear on his date. After school tomorrow he’s taking this senior from his photography class to the Cockrell Butterfly Center. Or I should say, she’s taking him. She’s the one with a license, so she’ll be picking him up.

  “No, I mean I’m going to live with Dad next year.”

  “What!” I stand up from my chair so fast that it nearly falls over. “I thought we said we’d decide together?”

  “Shh. Can you be any louder? Mom is home.” He extends his long arm and pushes the door to my bedroom closed.

  “Yeah, and you want to leave her, your own mom, just so you can go to school with Rex,” I whisper hard, and walk away from him to my bed.

  After I sit down, I glimpse Cole’s pink ice cream cone–patterned socks, and an image of the light pink house shoe in the middle of the road on the way to school this morning pops in my head. It was on the white separating line, still fresh and fluffy, like it hadn’t been run over yet. At the time I took it as a sign that me and Rex still had a chance.

  But now I’m thinking the abandoned house shoe was trying to tell me not to leave Mom. Even in its fresh fluffiness, it still looked forgotten and sad. How could I even think about leaving Mom alone like that? Not that I planned to. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t imagined spending my last year with Rex—kissing between classes, walking down the hall holding hands, throwing our caps in the air together on the day the rest of our lives begin.