All the Things We Never Knew

by Liara Tamani

Should I ask him why he had to cheat on Mom? While she was pregnant, at that.

  Why he had to hide his other child? Man up, for God’s sake!

  How could he live with himself?

  How could he sit in the stands and watch us slam into each other? Watch us use all the things he’s taught us against each other.

  Should I ask him who he was cheering for?

  Does he call Shannon Angel-face, too?

  Forget it, he can call her Angel-face all he wants. And she can call him Daddy. I don’t want him anymore.

  Make It Stop

  REX

  I can’t even be bothered with giving the play-by-play. We lose. Terribly. Russell Price scores thirty-seven. I score twelve. Couldn’t get anything to drop. Couldn’t get Carli out of my head. And now I want to erase her. Straight up. I want to find and destroy every little bit of her inside of me. Make it like I never caught her. Never kissed her. Never felt her. Never loved her. Like we were never anything.

  CARLI

  “Carli!” A locker bangs shut. “You need to bring your ass, Carli! I know you’re in here. I see all your stuff.” It’s Jordan. Sounds like she’s in the changing area. “Yo, we need to go! Everybody’s waiting on us.” And she’s getting closer.

  I squeeze my eyes shut like it’s going to magically make me disappear. Stupid, I know, but I can’t go out there.

  More banging as she kicks the bathroom doors open one by one. The screech of metal rings sliding on metal bars as she flings back the shower curtains.

  Now she’s standing over me. “Get up!” she says, hands on her hips like she’s somebody’s mama. “You’re not about to miss the award ceremony just because you didn’t play the last few minutes of the game.”

  Is that why she thinks I’m in here? But I can’t correct her. What am I going to say? Oh, Shannon is actually my sister. My dad fucked her mom and hid her from us all these years.

  “What kind of sick shit is this?” she says, stepping over the used tampon. She grabs my arm. “I’m not playing, Carli. You need to get up.”

  But there’s no way she can make me move. I’m way bigger than her.

  “Okay, fine, then,” she says, picks up the razor, throws it into the shower stall across the aisle, and sits down. “If you’re missing it, I’m missing it.”

  “Jordan, no. Go,” I say.

  “I’m not going anywhere until you get up.”

  “You’re being stupid. Go.” Basketball means everything to her. No way she’s going to miss the championship award ceremony because of me. And I know she’s going to get the MVP.

  “Me? I’m being stupid? I’m not the reason we’re in here.”

  “Just go, Jordan. Please. Leave me alone,” I say, feeling an onslaught of tears rush down my face. There’s no way to stop them. All I want to do is stay in here. I’m not ready to face the truth, the lies, that man I used to call Daddy.

  “It’s not that serious, Carli,” Jordan says, and puts her arm around me. She’s never this affectionate. But I guess I’ve never been sitting in a nasty shower stall crying, either. “We won,” she continues. “So what if that weird Single Black Female girl got the best of you for a few plays. Nobody’s game is perfect.”

  I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about Jordan talking about Shannon like that. Am I supposed to defend her like a good big sister? Am I supposed to join in trashing her because I can’t stand her, because she just tore my world apart? Trying to decide how to feel is making my head hurt, my heart hurt, my everything hurt. I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Come on, Carli,” she says, and puts her head on my shoulder. “I really don’t want to miss this.”

  “I really don’t want you to miss it, either,” I say, sounding like some kind of whimpering dog.

  She stands up, pulling me along with her, and I let her, thinking of the ways my body can be out there while my mind stays in here. On pause.

  REX

  About damn time. Carli is walking across the gym with Jordan. The captains of the other three teams have been standing in the center of the court for over ten minutes waiting on them. Russell Price and his point guard up on a winning platform posing for pics and shit, and me down here with the losers.

  It’s bad enough Carli made everybody wait on her, but this girl has the nerve to still be pouting. Her head is down so far I can’t even see her face. Only hair.

  She’s coming up beside me, walking so close behind Jordan, I keep thinking she’s going to step on a heel and pull off one of her sneakers. I swear to God, she better not say anything to me because I’m not hearing it. Nah, baby girl. Not this time. No more letting you do me wrong while I’m over here giving 110 percent. You got me messed up.

  Now she’s in front of me. So close that strands of her hair practically tickle my nose. A part of me wants to lean into it, put my face in it. Nah, fuck her good-smelling hair. I hold my breath, stop taking her in, and she passes me without even looking in my direction.

  “Let’s all give a big round of applause for all the championship teams,” Jim Morrison, chairman of the Texas High School Basketball Association since forever, says as Carli and Jordan walk up the platform stairs. White dude has to be pushing ninety.

  Most of the arena has emptied out. But the people left, mostly friends and family of the teams, give us their best—clapping, yelling, and stomping on the bleachers. My father and Angie are both clapping with their hands above their heads.

  It almost makes me smile before I remember how terrible I played. How bad we lost. How much I embarrassed myself in front of everybody, including the college scouts. The look on Coach Bell’s face. I’ve never seen a coach so disappointed in me.

  Jim recognizes the sponsors and moves on to the trophies. He starts with the small ones, for the losers. “Langham High,” he says, and picks up a small gold basketball with a wooden base off the folding table behind him.

  The Langham team stands up off the visiting bench to the left. And the red-headed Langham girl, to my right, walks up on the platform to accept to the trophy.

  “You all played a great game,” Jim says to the whole team. Then he hands the trophy to the girl and says, “I’m looking forward to seeing big things from you in the years to come, young lady.”

  Meanwhile, Carli’s head is all the way down. She could at least look up and be a good sport. Shake the girl’s hand like Jordan and say something generic like Good game. Doesn’t matter if she means it or not. That’s what good athletes are supposed to do. But she’s standing there playing with the zipper on her warm-ups. So damn self-centered.

  “And Woodside High,” Jim says.

  I guess it’s my turn. I wait for the Langham girl to come down.

  “Being runner-up at this level is no small feat. It takes a fierce dedication to your sport and a strong commitment to excellence,” Jim continues as I walk up the steps.

  As I’m accepting the small-ass, loser-ass trophy, Carli, who’s standing to the left of Jim, looks up at me. I look back at her, wanting something from her I wish I didn’t want. I don’t even know what. Maybe a look that says, I’m sorry you lost . . . or I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you . . . or Are you okay?

  But it’s like she’s looking right through me. Like I’m not even here. Like I don’t even matter. Man, I’m so fucking stupid. I don’t know when I’m going to get it through my thick head that this girl could care less about me. I look away and try to brush it off. But the hurt isn’t going anywhere.

  Russell Price, standing to Jim’s right, reaches out to shake my hand and says, “It was close.”

  I swear to God I want to pop this dude in the mouth, but I shake his hand and say, “It won’t be, next year.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Russell says, and takes a step toward me.

  Is this dude serious? He wins and all of a sudden he thinks he can step to me? “We sure will,” I say, and stand an inch away from his face.

  “And here we have the winning champion and MVP
of the Texas Boys State Championship,” Jim says, overly cheery. He grabs Russell’s arm and raises it toward the bright lights overhead. Yeah, Jim knows what’s up. Knows he needs to save Russell from getting beat down.

  But I still have to walk off the stage with the little-ass trophy.

  CARLI

  The winning trophy, a big gold basketball going through a gold hoop, is lighter than the one from freshman year. Looks the same, but they must’ve ordered it from a different company. Somewhere cheaper. And there’s a huge scratch running along the top of it.

  “Let me see it,” Jordan says.

  I reluctantly hand it to her. That’s what I get for criticizing it, but I needed something to occupy my eyes. I can’t look up. I can’t risk seeing Shannon or her daddy and losing it up here in front of everyone.

  Jordan lifts the trophy above her head, the crowd erupts in cheers, and our whole team rushes the stage.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Get up here and get your hands on this trophy!” Jim shouts over all the commotion. “You’ve earned it.”

  I take a step back. And back and back and back, letting my team pile in front of me, grateful for the opportunity to fade away.

  “Carli Alexander,” Jim says loudly into the microphone. I can’t even see him with everybody on stage. “Get back up here, Carli.”

  Why? I think and hide myself behind Vanessa.

  “Now, here we have a young girl,” Jim says, and all of a sudden, his cold, bony arm is around my arm, leading me back to the front. “A young girl who’s led her team to not one but two championships. A girl who’s averaged a double-double her whole high school career, and in this game alone scored thirty-three points.”

  Did I? I think, looking high up in the arena where no one’s sitting. Better than staring at the zipper, especially with all eyes on me.

  “And she’s only a junior. So I’m sure we’ll see her back here next year, trying to lead her team to victory again. And that’s why I’m so proud to award Carli Alexander with the MVP of the Texas Girls’ Basketball Championship.”

  What? Jordan was supposed to get MVP. She hit the winning shot. She’s the reason we even made it to the championship. She led the team when I was out with my gallbladder surgery. I didn’t even play the last few minutes of the game.

  Jim places a gold statue of a girl shooting in my hands. This isn’t mine, I think before I turn and start looking around for Jordan. But I can’t find her and accidentally glimpse Shannon instead. I can’t. I just can’t, and I turn my eyes back up toward the empty stands.

  REX

  Look at you. Center stage. Holding your big, golden trophy. Just like you’ve never dreamed. Oh, but you like it, I see! Your nose way up in the air. I swear I hate you. You don’t give a shit about my dreams. You don’t care that I took a beating in the championship game because I was worried about you. You don’t care that I probably lost my chance to go to a top school because of you. You haven’t even looked in my direction. I mean, it’s bad enough that you weren’t there for me. But no words for me, either? Not even the silent, private kind? I swear you’re worse than my father ever was. Maybe he never loved me all these years, but at least he had the decency to not pretend. Why pretend? Why tell me you loved me? So I could give myself away? So you could take and take and take? Well, I’m gone.

  CARLI

  “Your ass doesn’t even like basketball!” Rex yells. I hear him before anyone else does. He’s standing down below, to the left of the stage, staring at me with a hate so fierce it shoots straight through me.

  I want to scream, What are you doing? Shut up! but shock has severed the connection between my brain and mouth.

  Palming the small, gold basketball with his right hand, Rex sharply points the base of his trophy up at me. “You’re such a fucking fraud!”

  His words suck every sound out of the gym, and now all eyes are on him.

  “Standing up there with that trophy when you know you hate basketball!”

  Collective whispers and gasps from the crowd.

  “Okay, I think that’s enough,” Jim says into the microphone, standing to my right.

  But that doesn’t stop Rex. “How you gon’ be somebody’s MVP when you’re about to quit the team?”

  Stop! Please stop! I plead with my eyes.

  “Your ass ain’t even playing next year. You don’t deserve—” Rex’s coach yanks him by the elbow and starts to march him toward the locker rooms.

  A loud buzz from the crowd. Phones out recording.

  My forehead feels clammy and I want to throw up.

  “Well, folks . . .” Jim pauses, like he’s trying to find the right words. “Emotions can run high at times like these. Why don’t we give all the athletes another round of applause.”

  A few claps, but the buzzing drowns them out.

  “I think we’ve all had a heck of a night,” Jim says over the noise. “Let’s be safe getting home.”

  I look back over my shoulder and see Rex and his coach disappearing into the tunnel leading to the locker rooms, the sting of his betrayal still piercing every inch of my skin. Those were my secrets to tell. Not his. Why would he do this? And in front of everyone?

  I close my eyes, head reeling with confusion, and imagine the last time I saw him, cheering wildly for me in the stands. What the hell happ— Damn, I missed his game. With everything going on, I wasn’t even thinking about him. And he lost. In front of all the scouts.

  Jordan grabs my shoulder and I turn around. “Is it true?” she asks, face screwed up with confusion.

  “I was going to tell you—”

  “Wait, are you serious? You’re really quitting the team?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I can’t believe this shit! How could you keep this from me?”

  “I wanted to tell you. I just—”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Jordan says, and walks off the stage. The rest of the team follows.

  I forget to be careful and catch Shannon’s daddy looking at me from the stands like I’m the biggest disappointment ever.

  Even coming from him, I can’t help feeling like I am.

  REX

  Nothing hurt. In the gym, in my haze of anger, I felt numb. Free. But heading back to Houston in the backseat of my father’s Tesla, it feels like I just had a bad dream.

  If only I had.

  If only my mind—suspicious of itself, unwilling to believe I did what I did—was right.

  Why did I have to do Carli so wrong?

  Well, she did me wrong first. I didn’t hurt her more any more than she hurt me.

  I can’t believe I’m sittin’ up here defending myself. Another warm tear slides down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it with my funky warm-up sleeve.

  Angie slides hand over hand over hand, like she’s washing them. And I wish I could wash myself of myself—scrub my conscience clean.

  Then she turns back to look at me over her left shoulder, her black wavy hair framing her face, and says, “People make mistakes, Rex. You were upset. You can’t beat yourself up about it.”

  But that’s exactly what you should do. My ass could use a good beatdown right about now.

  My father looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Yeah,” he says, “give it some time. Things will blow over.”

  Blow over? This shame I feel isn’t blowing anywhere. It’s clinging to every thought and feeling inside of me. I can’t feel hurt without the shame. I can’t feel sorry without the shame. I can’t feel weak or stupid or sad or mad or disgusted or embarrassed without the shame.

  I almost wish I hadn’t run out of the locker room before the team came in and was riding back on the bus with them. Maybe they could curse and stare the shame out of me. Maybe Coach could continue yelling and finger-wagging the shame out of me. With the big bus engine rumbling beneath me and all the rage and disappointment piercing me, maybe the shame would seep out, little by little.

  But there’s no one sticking it to me in my father’s car. No engine ru
mbling, either. The ride is smooth and silent. I try to hold on to the sound of the tires’ revolutions, but it’s too faint and I keep losing it to the shame.

  I grab my headphones out of my backpack, blast J. Cole, and lean my head against the window, wishing I could run out into the darkness. Wishing I could run and run and run and never come back.

  CARLI

  No way I was riding home with the team. No way I was riding home with that man, either, even though it’s his weekend to have Cole and me. After the award ceremony, I didn’t even go near him. I rushed up to Mom, told her I knew about Shannon, and begged her to get me out of there.

  Riding home in her Discovery, I have to ask, “All those years and you never knew?” I’ve never imagined Mom as the kind of woman who could pretend to be blind, but maybe I don’t know her like I think I do. Wouldn’t be the first time I got a parent all wrong.

  “No,” she says, briefly taking her eyes off the dark road to look at me.

  I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “You never even suspected?”

  “No. I mean, I always knew your dad was dealing with things he didn’t want to share with me. But I always thought it was related to the pain around his parents’ death, you know. And I thought I could help him, love him through it, you know.”

  I do know, because I thought I could do the same for Rex.

  “I tried for years to get close to his pain, to try to help him heal it, but he always stayed guarded and we’d end up fighting. I even suggested he see a therapist, but he refused. So I left it alone, you know, left him to deal with it himself. But I had it all wrong. I never . . . ever ever ever would’ve guessed that he had a”—her voice breaks up—“a child he was seeing every week for the last fifteen years . . . a child born during our marriage.”

  Mom’s pain envelops me like a thick fog. I can’t imagine being married to a man for twenty years and finding out he had a secret child for most of them. I can’t imagine getting that call from the other woman. And who is this other woman? How long was the affair? A night? Five years? I have questions, but there’s no way I’m hitting Mom with them right now.