by Callie Hart
Despite the bitter cold, the heat between us has doused us both in sweat. We lay panting, blissfully tangled up in each other’s limbs for a moment, while we both try to catch our breath.
“You’re dangerous to my health, Silver Georgina Parisi,” Alex whispers against my throat. “You’re enough to make a man laugh as he gladly dies of pneumonia.”
“Are you dying?” I smile into the lush thickness of his hair.
“Any second now,” he mumbles.
“We’d better get you inside, then.”
It’s him that carries me inside the cabin, though. He’s the one who gets a fire going while I shiver in the living room, bundled up in the thickest throw he could find. I call Dad from the cabin’s ancient Bakelite phone to let him know we’re going to be spending the weekend at the cabin. And once we’re warm, the frigid chill thawed from our bones, I snuggle into Alex’s side and I give him the news that I’ve been stewing on ever since this morning, when Dad placed my mail in front of me at the breakfast table.
“Alex?”
“Mmm?” He sounds half-drunk and half-asleep from the heat.
I try not to panic as I rush the words out. “I got a final acceptance letter. They’ve offered me a place at Dartmouth.”
19
ALEX
I never dared to have dreams when I lived with Gary. Life hadn’t been particularly generous with me and seemed content to continue kicking me in the balls every chance it got, so what was the point in cultivating hopes for the future? A career? A family? A life in which I didn’t wake up every day, waiting for the next big thing that was going to take my feet out from underneath me? Imagining these things felt like asking for trouble. Trouble already knew where I lived and came knocking on the regular, so why risk inviting it in with things like goals and ambition?
The only thing I ever wanted was Ben. Nothing was more important to me than making a home for him, where he walked through the door after being at school all day and his flesh and blood would be there, waiting for him. I wanted to show him how to grow into manhood. I wanted to be a good role model to him. I wanted us to stick together, for him to know that at least I loved him, even if our mother opted out on life and our father opted out on us. I dared to dream that kind of a life…and in a screeching of tires and a crunching of metal, that dream was stolen, snatched away forever.
I’d take back all of the shit I gave Jackie if it meant that my brother hadn’t died in that stupid fucking people carrier. I’d rescind any claim I had over Ben. Fuck, I’d agree to never even fucking speak to him again if it meant that he was alive, and safe, and well away from Raleigh. Away from me. Instead, my little brother’s lying in a grave, cold and alone, and I keep trying to conjure up a way to fix it, to bring him back from the dead, but all I seem to summon are ghosts.
I lost my mother.
I lost my brother.
And now I know how dangerous it is to dream.
Silver wriggles back in her sleep, snuggling into my body, the soft sounds of her slow, even breathing punctuating the deafening silence of the cabin, and I lie very still, trying to wrap my head around the future she proposed in front of the fire earlier this evening.
A life at college together. A small house with a white fence and a little yard for a Nipper. A room that gets the afternoon light, filled with stacks of sheet music, a worn old upright piano by the window, and photos of us on the walls. A small kitchen, where we learn how to feed ourselves without setting fire to the pots and pans. A bedroom that we share together, where we fall asleep tangled up in each other’s bodies every night, no matter what.
It sounds peaceful.
It sounds magical.
It sounds like a fucking dream...and that scares the living shit out of me.
None of the tragic events that I’ve endured since I was born came about because my existence is ill-fated. My mother was a troubled woman, plagued by depression and manic swings that made her life unbearable. Giacomo left because he was weak. Ben died…
…fuck…
I screw my eyes shut tight against the darkness, allowing the pain that comes crashing down on me a moment to settle. The teeth of Ben’s loss are still so sharp, they’re probably never going to dull. They’re impossible to avoid, though. They bite down hard and deep. All I can do is brace myself and wait for the breathlessness they cause to pass.
Ben died because a deer leapt out in front of the car when Jackie was driving, and there was no time for her to react.
There were reasons for these tragedies. I’m the common factor in all of these events, though, which makes it difficult to convince myself that I’m not the reason why everything keeps falling apart, over and over again. And when those thoughts creep in, poisoning my mind like they are tonight, refusing to let me sleep, fear gets the better of me.
If I dream of a beautiful life with Silver, I’m gonna fucking jinx it. There won’t be a little house with a music room for us. There won’t be little yard for Nipper. Silver will go away, just like everyone else has gone away…and I’ll be left all alone.
She loves you, Alex. She isn’t going anywhere. She’s here, you fucking moron. She’s here.
The words I repeat in my head like a prayer should reassure me, but they don’t. Because there’s another voice, not quite as loud but far more insidious, whispering inside my ear at the same time.
Yeah. Yeah, she is. But for how fucking long?
“Whoa, man. What the fuck is that? Didn’t know they made jock straps in extra small.”
Monday morning brings with it a hail of fresh snow and yet another indoor practice session for the newly named Raleigh Rebels. I’m half-dressed and glowering at the inside of my locker, wondering why the fuck I’m still doing this to myself, when Zander appears out of the showers, towel wrapped around his waist, scrubbing a smaller towel through his wet hair. He lunges forward, grinning like a moron, attempting to flick my boxed-up junk, but I give him a look so evil that even he can’t mistake the warning: Do it. Go on try. I will fucking kill you.
“Whoa now, Susan!” He dances back a couple of steps, putting himself out of reach. “No need for any of that. Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“Fuck off, Hawk. I’m not in the mood.”
“Yeah.” He props himself up against the lockers, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Yeah, I can see that,” he muses. “Your pretty girlfriend not putting out or something?”
I slam my locker door, growling low in my throat. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Okay, okay, man. Fuck. Calm yourself.”
“Calm isn’t on the agenda today.” Grabbing my gear, I turn away, showing Zander my back—something he explicitly taught me not to do in juvie. Showing someone your back in an environment like that is way worse than shoving your middle finger in their face. It means you don’t respect them, don’t consider them a threat. And while Zander is most definitely a threat, what with his close ties to Giacomo, I sure as fuck don’t respect the bastard. I set my shoulder pads down on the bench, flaring my nostrils as I wrestle the brand-new jersey Coach Foley tossed at me when I entered the change rooms over the hard plast—
Hold up.
What the fuck is that?
“You’re still pissed about your dad. And I get it, Alex. I should have fucking told you that I knew him—”
I bend at the waist, squinting at the jersey material that’s half stretched over my pads, as if narrowing my eyes at it is somehow going to make the small embroidered patch on the right-hand shoulder disappear.
“You need to stop being such an asshole, Alex. When are you gonna let bygones be bygones?”
“You still working at for Monty?” I ask distractedly.
“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” he replies.
“You still mixed up with the Dreadnaughts?”
“What do you think?"
“Then you’re still mixed up with Giacomo. I’m not inte
rested being friends with my father’s fucking spy.” I yank the football jersey off of my shoulder pads and shove past Zander, forcing a path through the other guys who are getting ready for practice, heading for Coach Foley’s office.
“You don’t just walk away from the Dreadnaughts, asshole!” Zander calls after me. “Don’t be such a shit, Alex!”
I knock on Coach Foley’s door, waiting a second before pushing it open. Inside the small office, still crowded with Coach Quentin’s trophies, framed awards and weird bobblehead knick knacks, Coach Foley sits behind the desk, scribbling furiously onto a game-play whiteboard. She looks up at me and rolls her eyes dramatically. “Lord. Don’t start. Just say thank you and move on.”
“Thank you? Thank you?” I wave the jersey in the air, scowling at the ‘captain’ patch that’s stitched onto the fucking sleeve. “I’m not team captain. I’m barely on the damn team.”
Coach Foley groans, slowly capping her whiteboard marker and setting it down the desk. She leans back in her chair, her expression displeased. “You are captain, Moretti. I made you captain.”
“You can’t do that. I didn’t apply for it. None of the other guys voted me in—”
“Ha! Hah hah hah!” Coach Foley’s fake laughter is loaded with sarcasm. “Oh, poor kid. You seem to be under the illusion that we have some sort of high school football democracy going on here. There is no application process. The shit-for-brains douche bags out there in that locker room don’t get a goddamn vote. I decide what the team’s called. I decide who captains the team. I decide when you morons eat, shit, sleep and fart. Now go finish getting ready. If you boys aren’t in the gym in the next five minutes, I’m going to adjust the thermostat and make you all shower in cold water.” She picks her marker back up and returns to her game plays.
I don’t budge. Coach Foley sighs loudly when I take a step toward her desk, dropping the shirt in front of her. “You can’t just force this on me. I don’t have the time. Plus, in case you missed it, I really don’t give a shit about this team. You’re better off picking someone else.”
“You will give a shit about the team,” Foley fires back. “You’ll care very much when we start winning games and people notice you. You’re late to the game, Alex. Literally. Any player here worth their salt has been made a scholarship offer. It’s February. Your high school career ends in approximately five months. A good football player is gonna have a hard time finding a place at a college at this late stage. You’re gonna have to be excellent if you want a scout to notice you now.”
“What? What makes you think I want a football scholarship?”
Coach Foley spreads her fingers, showing me her palms. She’s acting as if she’s exasperated, but shit. She doesn’t get to be annoyed. I’m the one who’s annoyed. “Your grades are amazing, kid. Don’t get me wrong. Somehow, amidst the knee-deep horse shit you’ve been wading through since you enrolled at this school, you’ve come out of the other side academically smelling of roses. But your criminal record? That stinks like dog shit. Honestly, I couldn’t quite believe half the crap in your file when I flicked through it the other day. Your grades alone aren’t gonna be enough to secure you a place at college, and I think it’d be a shame to waste—”
I shake my head, trying in vain to understand what the hell is going on here. “Aren’t you, like, a substitute?”
Coach Foley smiles. “I sure am. See. Proof! You are one of the bright ones.”
“You don’t need to waste your energy on me, okay. I’m sure you have other things to worry about. I’ve got my shit handled.”
“That why you were fighting with the other new kid last practice?” she asks. “Because you’ve got your shit handled?”
“I was fighting with him because he’s annoying.” Goddamnit. I shouldn’t have to tell her this. If she’s so fucking observant, then she must have noticed that all by herself.
The woman behind the desk laughs softly under her breath. “I’m not trying to interfere in your life, Alex. But it’s my job to help you kids out when I can, right?”
“No. It’s your job to teach us how to play football.”
Coach Foley beams at me, rocking back in her chair. “Excellent. That’s exactly what I’m doing. You’re team captain until I say otherwise. Now, if you don’t mind, I have some things to take care before we kick things off, and we’re both running out of time.”
“I don’t think you’re hearing me—”
“I don’t think you’re hearing me, Mr. Moretti. This is non-negotiable. Principal Darhower wants you booted from Raleigh. You’re an annoying reminder that Jim’s star pupil turned out to be an ugly shit stain on the school’s shining reputation. If he could get rid of Silver, don’t think for a second he wouldn’t. But she’s a model student. Now people know what she’s been through, folk in this town would revolt if she was suddenly no longer welcome here. Darhower’s hands are tied. You, however…you’re an unknown entity, covered in tattoos, and you shot someone for Christ’s sake.”
“Jake! I shot Jake because he was about to hang—”
“You think any of that shit matters? Really? You could have shot Pol fucking Pot and it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. One foot wrong and your days at Raleigh High come to an abrupt end. That’s just how it is. So, you get to be captain of the Rebels, and you get to shine on the field and in the classroom, and you get to make me look good by doing it, with a smile on that handsome face of yours. Whether you meant to or not, you ousted the last king of Raleigh High. Now you’ve gotta fill his shoes, or you’ve got to start thinking about all of the amazing jobs you’ll be eligible for once you’ve dropped out and gotten a fucking GED instead of graduating. Now go and put that uniform on.”
It feels like I’m walking to the gallows when I enter the gym. Twenty-eight pairs of eyes bore into me, some of them resentful, some of them confused, some of them outright incredulous. I wanted to keep myself occupied when I decided to rejoin the team. Keeping my mind busy meant less time for me to brood and stew over Ben. I wasn’t looking for this kind of responsibility, though. Most of the team worshipped Jake like he was a god amongst men. They rallied around him, spending the night outside the hospital, boycotting his arrest after he tried to kill Silver. I put a bullet in their glorious leader, and not a single one of them looks impressed by the fact that I’ve now stolen his role as team captain.
Well, actually that’s not true. One player seems amused by this bizarre turn of events.
“Hope you’ve got health insurance, bro,” Zander says, slapping me roughly on the back. “I’m gonna say the odds of you making it out of this practice session alive are pretty low.”
Zander’s been really, really fucking wrong in the past. He was just about as wrong as he could be when he made the call not to tell me about his connection to my father. This time, though, it kinda looks like he might be right.
He grins his frustrating grin at me through the grill of his helmet. “After you’ve been such an outrageous prick, I should let the wolves have at you, Moretti. Don’t sweat it. though. I got your back.”
20
SILVER
“Oh my god! What happened to your face?”
The library’s closed at lunch for some kind of faculty meeting, so I’ve reluctantly had to settle on eating in the cafeteria. I nearly topple off my chair when I spot Alex walking across the loud cafeteria with a loaded tray in his hand and a vivid, massive purple bruise developing on his jaw.
He grimaces as he sets down his tray on the table, seating himself opposite me. Before he can explain how he ended up with such a huge welt on the side of his face, Zander arrives dressed in a ridiculous preppy sweater and chinos, brandishing a tray of his own. He sets it down next to Alex’s, and my jaw drops even lower when I see the black eye and the split lip he’s sporting. “The football team tried to dethrone their new ruler,” he says, his tone way too chipper given that his lower lip is still oozing blood. “They don’t seem to like him for some reas
on,” he adds. “God knows why.”
I drop my plastic fork, slumping back into my chair. Alex’s expression confirms Zander’s outlandish comment—yes, he really has been made captain of the football team. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Coach Foley is insane.” Alex glares down at the enormous mountain of food in front of him. “She said it was the only way I was getting accepted into college. Clearly, she wants me dead, though.”
Wow.
Just…wow.
“Hey, Silver. Alex. New guy, whoever you are. Mind if I sit with you?” Suddenly Halliday’s standing next to me, clasping a brown paper bag in her hands, looking a little anxious as she eyes the open space on the bench next to me. A moment of uncomfortable silence hangs in the air where I just stare up at her, so stunned that my brain ceases to function. When that moment because too uncomfortable to bear, I snap out of my daze and shunt over on the bench, making room for her. “Oh. Uhhh. Sure. Yeah. Why not.”
She exhales, her shoulders relaxing, and I realize that she was nervous. She thought I was going to say no. “Cool. Thanks.” She sits, unwrapping her lunch, and Alex’s dark gaze punches holes in the side of her face the entire time.
I kick him under the table. When he looks at me, my meaningful stare passes along a stern message: Hey. Be nice.
“It’s okay. You don’t need to rein him in,” Halliday says quietly.
Damn it. I didn’t think I was being that obvious.
“I was…fucking horrible to you, Silver.” Halliday struggles with the words. Her guilt feels like a fifth member of the group, looming over our table, demanding all of the space and leaving none for the rest of us. “I was a bad person. I know that. Things should never have gone the way they did. Kacey was…well, she was Kacey. And I was so selfish. I let myself fear her more than I loved you, and that was…that was…” Her eyes are shining, and the end of her nose has gone pink. I know from experience that it only ever does that when she’s about to cry.