Throw Like a Girl

by Sarah Henning

  And Jake joins me.

  His swollen eye looks only marginally better than the night before, but the bruising is now so deep it’s as if he painted Windsor Prep purple over the entire socket. The gash above it is covered with a bandage, a slice of white drawn sharply over his brow, the only visible signs of his mild concussion.

  Still, even with the mess of his face, he looks… reserved? Nervous? I’m not sure what to call it, because I’ve never seen such a look on his face. Jake chews his bottom lip and takes a deep breath, which weirds me out even more. How hard did that Tetherman kid clock him?

  Then he speaks.

  “I know you don’t want to talk to me, or anyone. And I don’t blame you, but I have something I need you to hear.” I slam the weights onto the rack. He’s standing on the other side of the bench from me; less than a foot separates us. His back is to Grey, who is side-eyeing us as he runs through some dynamic warm-ups none of us ever take the time to do. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  He looks relieved when I manage a smile back. “Thanks. Spot me?”

  Then I lie down and flip my ponytail over the end of the bench so it won’t jam me in the skull as I complete my set. Jake takes his place behind the bar.

  And I lift.

  “Can I come in?”

  I knew this would happen.

  Danielle has been keeping a close eye on me ever since I came home crying Friday night. Now it’s Sunday after dinner and she’s finally taking her chance.

  Danielle never passes up an opportunity to dig in. Make progress. Needle at a sore spot until it goes butter-smooth.

  I punch out a breath. “Yeah.”

  The door taps against the frame and Danielle crosses to my bed, stacking three notebooks and a giant copy of Modern Physics to make room before squeezing in next to me on the comforter.

  “What’s going on?”

  My cheeks immediately pinking—traitors—I blink at her. The silence begins to stretch into the nether reaches of awkward, and I know she’s not planning to save me from myself. Where in the hell do I even begin? I take a deep breath. “I—”

  “She found out her boyfriend-slash-fellow-quarterback was using her to get back at his ex-girlfriend.” Ryan fills the doorway, arms crossed, game-day glare pulled protectively across his brows.

  “Ryan,” I whine before flinging all six hundred pages of Modern Physics at him—going for the gut instead of his head, because I’d rather not know another teenage boy with a concussion.

  Ever the soccer player, he deflects the book with his hip and it flops on the hardwood with a massive thud. “What? It’s been all over school.” Ryan holds up his phone, lit up with unread texts and Instagram notifications—all probably warning him of (or maybe just recounting) my parking lot meltdown. “It’s not like everyone doesn’t know already.”

  Danielle groans. “Well, I didn’t know.”

  My gut twists and I so wish I had told her everything from day one. It all pours out as I recap everything except for Grey’s concussion, and with each word, I realize more and more what Monday is going to look like for me. I felt like a badass staring down those boys in the locker room on Saturday, but tomorrow? At school? It’s going to be brutal. Half the student body saw our fight—my heart and Grey’s betrayal out there in the open in the fading Friday night lights.

  Tears are welling in my eyes by the time I finish, the weight of it all slamming down.

  It doesn’t even matter that I showed up on Saturday. School is still going to be hell. And softball won’t happen—not if a pissed-off Grey gets in Coach Kitt’s ear.

  For a split second, the worst part of me comes up for air. Because I know something about Grey that his mother doesn’t.

  It would be so easy to tell her about his concussion. To tell Coach Lee. Coach Shanks. The doc might clear him, but they’d still have to run tests. Hold him out of practice and games. At least until he’s cleared—long enough to make it that much harder for him to get the full ride he wants.

  It’s all plausible. With just a few simple words, I could do that to him. And with a few simple words, he could steer Coach Kitt back into my corner.

  But I can’t.

  I blink away the temptation and come back into myself, this room, this conversation.

  Danielle’s eyes are pure fury. “Is this why you were so upset Friday night? Grey? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Danielle wraps me into a hug and the tears drop. “Of course it does. This is some major shit, Liv. Major. You shouldn’t have to go through this by yourself.”

  I shove away from her. “Are you kidding? I’ve been suffering alone since May! All of you just stood by and nodded along with Dad as he pulled me from Windsor Prep and lectured me about learning my lesson. And now you want me to spill my guts and hope you’ll want to listen? Why is this situation any more major than last summer?”

  The words fall out of my mouth and I immediately know I’ve made it even worse. If only self-sabotage were an Olympic sport. I’d have a gold medal.

  Danielle’s mouth drops open. “That’s not true! I’ve been here for you, I’ve—”

  “Bullshit!” I say. Temper unsatisfied and stoked by sudden regret, I stalk across the room, scoop up the physics book, and chuck it again. It whacks off the wall and onto my bed with a thud.

  “Liv!” Danielle grips anew, clutching my shoulders, dark eyes on fire. “Calm down! This is ridiculous! I’ve always supported you—I offered to pay your tuition, and Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me. You think I didn’t want you on my team? You’re my baby sister—I will always want you with me!”

  I’m too stunned to speak—Danielle offered to pay my tuition to Windsor Prep? And I didn’t know?

  “What’s going on?” Dad and Mom appear in the hallway, concerned looks on their faces.

  Ryan and Danielle both look to me. My spine stiffens and the tip of my chin tilts up, pointing straight at my parents. I take in Dad’s planted feet and crossed arms; Mom’s woozy stance, exhaustion trying to override her attention. I wouldn’t blame Heather if she’s hiding in the kitchen.

  “Dad, you were right.” I take a breath. “I was used. Used big-time. All of it came out Friday.”

  Mom immediately goes in to rub my arm while Dad asks, “Do I need to talk to Coach Lee?”

  I shake my head, but a tear rolls down my cheek.

  Dad licks his lips, the rest of him still and stunned. He’s never seen me like this. “We need to talk about what happened—why didn’t you say anything?”

  Ryan scoffs. Like, literally scoffs. “After state you guys treated her like absolute shit—sorry, Mom—and then like a baby when she tried to make a rational decision. Finally, you’re happy and proud? Come on, guys. That’s total bullshit.”

  Ryan takes a swift step toward me, all anger swept away as he pulls me into his chest and needles that pointy chin into my shoulder. I just yelled at him and this is what he does. I don’t deserve him or Danielle. At all.

  Through blurred eyes, I watch as Dad sighs. “Liv, do you want to leave the team?”

  The question rolls into the air so easily that it’s almost difficult to recall how impossible it was to convince him that I could make my own decisions—that I wasn’t a child. That it didn’t take nearly my whole family ganging up on him to let me stand by my choice. I don’t feel like I’ve won anything other than another scar.

  I shake my head. No. I want to finish this out. The end justifies the means.

  Dad does his stoic cop nod. “Then that is the right decision.”

  Then he comes in and pulls Ryan and me into his chest. Danielle and Mom pile on for a hug, too. And, finally, I let myself breathe.

  I need some air after all that. So while everyone disappears to watch the Chiefs’ Sunday night game, I slip out the front door. The night is warm but crisp, a breeze bringing up goose bumps, even though I don’t feel cold. I deliberately point myself away from the turn for Grey’s
house, instead walking in the direction of Northland.

  “Liv, wait!” Half a block away, I turn around and see Danielle shuffle-sprinting my way in her adidas slides. I pause for her, though she’s still so fast, even in those shoes, that she hardly needs it. She’s next to me in a flash, the smell of jasmine perfume and fabric softener filling my nose.

  “I’d hate to be sixteen again,” she says without preamble.

  A lump automatically forms in my throat, the hot threat of tears in my eyes—again. I swallow it all down to answer her, voice thick. “Why? You were a goddess at sixteen.” I know her accomplishments as well as my own. “Softball captain, MVP of a state champion squad, junior prom queen.”

  A wry smile crosses her lips. “I was also a closeted lesbian at an all-girls school. Trust me, that was seven layers of hell.”

  Oh, yes, there was that. Pain and suffering that we didn’t know existed until Danielle’s senior year of college. That shit I heard from Stacey? Danielle has weathered that crap her whole life. And when she came out, being a softball player didn’t help—stereotype city. Thankfully she’d found Heather by then to help her through when our family couldn’t.

  “Life gets better when you care a whole lot less about what other people think.” She leans in, though we’re alone on the sidewalk, the Chiefs game mumbling out of open windows and onto the street. “And judging by what went down Friday, you’re probably pretty concerned with what kids are thinking right now, huh?”

  I nod, a sob rising hot and fast in my throat. We halt on the sidewalk and Danielle hauls me in, her biceps and forearm curling against my back, pressing me into the hug I need more than anything—air, water, softball. Danielle holds me tight, fingers weaving together to keep me in, sister-durable chain link.

  “Remember, high school doesn’t last forever.”

  Too bad it lasts long enough.

  When our hug ebbs, I pull away but keep both hands gripping her forearms. “Is it true? Did you really offer to pay my tuition?”

  “I did. Got the paperwork ready and everything—10 percent employee discount! But without guardianship, Mom and Dad had to sign.” She smiles sadly. “They were just doing what they thought was best, but damn if it wasn’t the worst.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  Danielle flips the grip on our embrace, taking my hands into hers. “Liv, why’d you punch Stacey?”

  My breath catches. I don’t want to tell her. It’s not her fault that Stacey said those things or that I reacted the way I did. I never want her to think it could be. But I can’t lie to her. Not again.

  “She was trying to get under my skin the whole game. Talking about Jake…” I swallow, tears pressing hard against my lash line. “But what really did it was that she said something shitty about you.”

  Her brows draw together. “Me?” Danielle squeezes my fingers.

  I force myself to meet her eyes. I know she’s heard it all before, but I don’t want her to hear anything else. I force the words out anyway. “She—she said something really homophobic and I couldn’t let it go.”

  My sister draws in a deep breath. The reality of what happened and what I’m not saying flits across her face in the dying light in some sort of mixture of horror, frustration, and maybe a little pride, until her jaw is set and her eyes shine. The strength of her grip never lessens. My sister is a rock, brave and strong, and I love her more than anything.

  “Liv, while I’m proud of you for standing up for me, and I realize you were trying to protect my feelings by not telling me about this, that wasn’t the way to handle it.” I nod, a tear finally rolling down my face. Because I know. Oh, I know. Danielle’s thumb swipes at the tear. “Baby girl, you can’t smack sense into a person like that. You need to use your words to tell them they’re wrong, hope those words sink in, and if they don’t, let karma do the rest.”

  I try and fail to smile at her, another tear snaking down, running into my mouth. “Am I an asshole if I hope karma’s a total bitch to her?”

  Danielle pulls me in close again. “No.”

  33

  WALKING INTO SCHOOL MONDAY FEELS ALL WRONG. Heavy. Exposed.

  It is not an act I do alone.

  Oh, I’m physically by myself. Ryan and Jesse took off like they always do—the girls they once chased now waiting for them next to the flagpole, books tucked coyly against their chests.

  And so, I face down every set of eyes.

  They watch me like I can’t watch back. Like a tiger in a cage—unable to strike, no matter who’s pressed against the glass with a steak in hand.

  It’s exactly what I pictured last night. I’m the villain. I’m the new girl who got in a public shouting match with a popular senior in front of half the school.

  I’m the best gossip in town.

  Head up, armor on, I push through. Through the junior-senior parking lot and over the orange paw prints. Through the stutter in my heart as I skip past the spot where Grey always waited—half smile at the ready, khakis pressed and perfect.

  He’s not there now, and both disappointment and relief catch at the base of my throat.

  The hallway is full of more eyes. Faces I don’t recognize but ones that know every inch of me. Staring without filter. Pity seeping into whispers.

  I want to punch their pity in the face.

  I enter Spanish and here, too, my presence is dissected by every student in the room—any remaining conversation becoming a distant remnant, lost to a new, shiny, O-Rod-shaped object.

  I keep it neutral, keep it cool—no game-day scowling here. I blink and another set of eyes has joined the crowd: the pair belonging to Coach Kitt.

  I expect her loyalty to her son to lay bare in her tawny features. Instead, there’s the hint of a smile.

  “Miss Rodinsky,” she says. “Please stop by my office after the last bell.”

  There’s no malice to the request. Nothing to indicate that I’m in trouble—her lips remain upturned, eyes clear. If anything, it’s the warmest total expression she’s ever aimed in my general vicinity. Still, my heart sinks and my blood pressure rises, my lungs suddenly sapped of air.

  She must know what happened. That I accused her son of using me. And then softball will be over—no junior year for the scouts to see. Nothing. Nada.

  Still, because my sister taught me well, I nod like I do any time I’m asked to do the impossible.

  In a way, this day has been exactly like I expected my first day at Northland to be.

  Quiet, awkward, cold.

  Jake came late with a doctor’s note and downturned posture, saying nothing to me—or anyone—during Spanish. Rather, he spent the entire class running a hand through his fresh buzz, head still ringing from that hit, his eye looking even worse than Saturday.

  If Coach Kitt knew about the parking lot, she didn’t show it. She just taught, like she wasn’t Grey’s mother. Like she wasn’t the softball coach. Like she didn’t call my butt to her office. Like she wasn’t anything to me at all other than a vessel for the preterit of ser.

  Lunch happened not in the bathroom of my summer daydreams but with my back pressed to a locker outside of Coach Lee’s classroom. Not a single teacher who passed me said a word as I plowed through my turkey sandwich and mealy Red Delicious, though I’m sure eating in the hallway isn’t technically allowed.

  When the bell rings, I head to my seat for calc and wait.

  Topps and Lily Jane appear first. As they approach, Topps looks away, cheeks blazing atop his man-beard. Coward. Lily Jane has far more balls than that. She doesn’t just make eye contact, she smiles at me.

  And when Topps drops into his chair, Lily Jane not only keeps upright but takes a few more steps until she’s standing right in front of my desk, her impish face still split in two by a grin so fierce I can smell the strawberry soda she shared with Topps.

  Five little fingers pat the meat of my forearm and squeeze as she leans down, gold tiger paw pendant swinging in front of my nose. Her voice i
s low and fast like she’s about to be caught. And maybe she is.

  “You’re my hero, Liv. A goddamn hero. You were right to call those boys on their shit. All of them owe you an apology, even my Tobias.”

  “Um, thank you?” I say, blinking.

  “Just wanted to make sure you knew that.” She winks, but somehow it looks different from the one in Grey’s arsenal. “And I would’ve given you a heads-up about Grey and Stacey that first day at lunch, but I thought you knew—I really did.” With a hummingbird wave, she switches topics, clearly flustered at unintentionally keeping me in the dark. “Anyway. You’re a badass. A hero-badass warrior princess.”

  One more squeeze of my forearm and she’s gone.

  And suddenly Grey is in her place.

  There’s not time to arrange my face or to analyze Lily Jane’s suggestion that maybe not everyone—or just her, I suppose—thinks I’m a total loser.

  Dark circles hug Grey’s lower lashes and he looks exhausted for the first time since I met him. His eyes meet mine, their usual light snuffed out.

  Still, he nods at me and settles into his desk, broad shoulders hunching in his polo, boat shoes crossed at the ankles. But there’s a swooshy curve to his spine—as if every muscle in his body is fighting not to turn and sit sideways toward me the way he has every other day so that he can see both me and Coach Lee in the same sweep.

  I realize that all the eyes are back on us, only Topps and Jake making an effort not to watch us fail to interact. Kelly, Lily Jane, and the others either blatantly stare or steal glances at us out of the sides of their eyes.

  I wonder if it’s been this way all day for Grey, too. Like you’re literally the only thing on TV and there’s nothing else for anyone to do but watch.

  “I know we all love a good Shakespearean drama,” Coach Lee’s voice drawls out, and it’s clearer than it was Saturday morning that he knows exactly what happened Friday night. “But I’d appreciate it if you folks would at least act like you’re paying attention to me right now.”