“Ah.” My mother smiled and touched my cheek. “So it seems Nate has a crush on you. Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. I wondered when one of the boys was going to realize what a beauty they had in their midst.”
“Mom!” I groaned, rolling my eyes. “Seriously. We’re friends. We’ve known each other literally forever. How could you say that?”
“What bothers you more, Quinn? The fact that Nate might have feelings for you, or the idea that Leo might not?”
To my utter mortification, tears filled my eyes. I dropped my head onto my folded arms.
“I love Nate, Mom. He’s like—I don’t know, kind of the brother I never had. And I always thought Leo was the same way. But then this year, when all these girls have been fussing over Leo, I felt—I guess I felt jealous. Jealous that he pays them so much attention and doesn’t really seem to care about me anymore.”
“I don’t blame you, sweetie. But let me ask you this. If it were Nate the girls were fawning over, would that bother you as much?”
“I don’t know. I guess so. I just can’t imagine it. Nate depends on me for everything. Maybe it might be a relief if he had someone else to count on.”
My mom nodded. “Interesting. Well, let me give you some advice. Just ride this out. Keep being Nate’s friend, but be Leo’s friend, too. Don’t let him see that you’re bothered by the girls. Pretty soon he’ll realize what—or who—he really wants.” She stood to give me a hug. “Have I told you lately that I wouldn’t be thirteen again for all the money in the world? But don’t let it make you sad, love. It’ll all come out right in the end.”
I tried to smile and believe that she was right. But I had a feeling that eighth grade was going to be a long year.
Preludes to Not Broken Anymore
Freshman Year of High School
Gia
“Hey. This is the newspaper office, right?”
On the far side of the classroom, a guy who’d been leaning back in an office chair, his legs propped on the desk, jerked his head in the direction of my voice. The action threw him off balance so that he nearly fell onto the floor and probably would have if he hadn’t slammed his feet down on the tile.
“Uh . . .” He paused, frowning a little as he scrutinized me. “Uh, yeah. Are you here to sign up?”
I smirked. “Well, actually, I was looking for cheerleading tryouts. Guess I took a wrong turn.”
For a half a second, his face went blank with surprise, which made me laugh. I knew what this dude saw when he looked at me: with my choppy dark hair, heavy eyeliner and black clothes head-to-foot, I wasn’t exactly the rah-rah type. I was slightly goth with a side of just don’t care.
“I’m just shitting you.” Stepping into the room, I snagged a chair and dropped into it. “Yeah, I’m here to sign up. What do I have to do? Is there, like, an audition process or something?”
He laughed. “Nah. It’s pretty much show up and write.” He rolled slowly to his feet, and I realized he was taller than I’d thought. His reddish-brown hair hung over his ears and drooped almost into his eyes, even when he raked it back with one hand.
“I’m Jake Donavan. Editor-in-chief.”
Pointing to myself, I responded, “I’m Gia Capri.” Quirking an eyebrow, I added. “And editor-in-chief? Seriously? No disrespect meant, but you don’t look like a senior.”
“I’m not. I’m a sophomore. But the girl who was editor for two years graduated last June, and there wasn’t anyone else who wanted the job, so here I am.” Jake spread his hands. “We’re a young staff. But Ms. Nelson—she’s our advisor—she’s pretty awesome. We do okay.”
“Uh huh.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “So, what’s open? What positions? I don’t want to get stuck writing class columns or some shit like that. I’m willing to work hard, and I’m here for the real deal. Journalism is what I plan to do for the rest of my life. I need to build a decent portfolio in high school.”
“Okay, I get that.” Jake nodded. “But you still need to prove yourself. I won’t make you do class columns, but you’ll probably be covering things like band concerts or student council meetings for a while. Once we know you’re serious, we can talk some more.”
“That’s fair. I don’t mind putting in my time on the scut work.” I toyed with the strap of my backpack. “I’m even open to covering sports if you need help there.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Interested in football players? Or one certain player?”
“God, no.” I shuddered. “I can’t stand those cretins. And we’ve already established that I don’t look like one of the chicks who fawns over them, right? But I do know the game. I can report on it without having the hots for the dudes on the field. I also know baseball, soccer, field hockey and lacrosse, so use me where you need me.”
“Good to know.” Jake studied me. “I just had another freshman in here to sign up. She wants to work on op/ed and letters to the editor, but she also said she could handle football coverage. Maybe you two could work together sometimes.” He reached back to a pile of paper on the corner of the desk. “Her name’s . . . Quinn. Quinn Russell.”
“Don’t know her,” I shrugged. “But I’m a team player. I’ll work with whoever you tell me.”
“I’ll remember that.” Jake gazed at me for a moment as though he was trying to place me somewhere, and I knew what was coming next. “Do you have any older sisters or brothers? You look a little familiar. And I think I’ve heard of the Capri family.”
“I’m sure you have.” I sighed. “I have five older sisters. I’m the only one left in high school, but you might have known Chastity, the one who graduated last June.”
“I knew of her.” Jake spoke cautiously. “Never would’ve pegged you as related to her.”
“Nope. All them—all my sisters—were cheerleaders. The three oldest are already married, and they all snagged college football players. It’s positively sickening.”
“I take it you’re not close?”
“To my sisters? Not really. To my entire family? Not if I can avoid them.” But this was not a topic I cared to discuss with someone I’d just met. Standing, I hitched my backpack onto my shoulder. “So . . . do I need to sign up? Fill out a form or anything?”
“Nope.” Jake shook his head. “Just show up to the meeting on Monday afternoon. Right here, just after school ends.”
“I’ll be there.” I hesitated in the doorway. “Nice to meet you, Jake. Looking forward to working together.”
“Same here.” As I stepped into the hallway, I heard him call after me.
“Welcome to the Eatonboro High Chronicle.”
Matt
Freshman Year of High School
“That was a fucking amazing pass!”
My buddy Leo jogged toward me, cradling the football in the crook of one arm. “Dude, it just went sailing . . . and then fell into my hands, like in a movie or something.” He held up one hand for a high five, and I smacked his palm as he slowed next to me.
“We’re the perfect duo,” I reminded him. “I launch the passes, you catch ‘em. Together we’re going to be unstoppable.”
“Yeah.” Leo nodded. “We just have to keep practicing hard and keep playing hard until the coach notices us. If we make varsity by junior year—”
“Fuck that.” I scowled. “Varsity next year. We should both be JV by the middle of this season. The other freshman players suck.”
Leo’s mouth tightened. I recognized that expression; it meant he wished I wasn’t so arrogant and assertive. But hey, no one ever got anywhere by playing it safe, and damn if I was going to let my chance pass me by, or sit by silently while other guys leap-frogged over me on the team.
“Hey, Leo!” A familiar voice called out as the gate to the Taylors’ backyard opened. I stifled a groan when I saw Quinn Russell appear, holding the gate for the tall, scrawny kid who stepped in behind her.
Great. It was Leo’s little fan club, the kids he’d grown up with—the ones w
ho’d been his besties since birth. I’d known Nate Wellman and Quinn Russell as long as I’d known Leo, since we’d all been in elementary school together, but the truth was that Leo was the only cool one of the three. I’d realized early on that he had talent almost as great as my own—plus he was always up for a good time, too. There were only two drawbacks to being friends with Leo, and they were both coming toward us now.
“You know, I’m kind of thirsty. Can I go inside and get us something to drink before we practice some more?” I angled my body so that I was facing Leo, my back to his friends.
He frowned. Leo was fully aware that I couldn’t stand Quinn and Nate; I’d spent a good part of our younger years giving Nate in particular a hard time. But for some reason I couldn’t understand, Leo wasn’t willing to shake off the dead weight. Not yet, anyway.
“Sure,” he answered me finally. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. I’ll wait here.” He raised his voice to call out to Quinn and Nate. “Hey, do you guys want anything to drink?”
Before they could answer him, I’d leaped onto the small porch and yanked open the back door, closing it behind me to avoid hearing their responses. No way was I playing servant boy for those two.
The Taylors’ kitchen was like something out of a sitcom. Actually, their whole house reminded of the TV shows I’d watched when I was kid—the kind about a family, where the mom and dad had not only stuck around for their kids, but they were still married to each other. It was something I’d never experienced and couldn’t quite understand.
The counter was comfortably cluttered with bags and papers dropped there by Leo and his older brothers, Simon and Danny. A bowl near the sink held apples and grapes, washed and ready for anyone to snag for a snack. On the walls were pictures of the boys as they’d grown up, along with more than a few family photos.
Looking at the pictures gave me a weird kind of pain in my chest, like I was gazing at something that I both wished for and hated. In my house—well, the house where I lived with my grandparents—there weren’t photos like that. The only pictures were in the formal living room, and those were all of my grandparents with politicians and artists, famous people whom they could show off to their equally shallow friends.
I couldn’t remember my grandmother ever taking a picture of me. I knew they always bought the packages back when we had school pics taken, but I had no idea what they did with them.
“Hi there, Matt.” Leo’s mom wandered into the kitchen, smiling. “You okay, hon? You need something?”
A flood of painful yearning filled me. Mrs. Taylor called herself a typical boys’ mom—she dressed in yoga pants and oversized hoodies or T-shirts, and her brown hair was pulled up in a pony tail. She was laid-back and friendly, and she always treated me with affection. I struggled between wanting to sit down with her and pour out my heart and needing to keep my distance to protect myself from letting her see too much.
“Uh, I just came in to get drinks for Leo and me.” I didn’t mention the other two, and that wasn’t an accident.
“Okay. What do you want? I’ve got water bottles or sports drinks or ice tea. Name your poison.” She winked at me.
“I guess sports drinks.” I leaned against the counter. “Please, I mean.” I never bothered using please or thank you at home, but I knew it was important to the Taylors, and I did try to remember my manners here.
“Coming right up.” Mrs. Taylor swung open the door to the fridge, glancing at me. “So how’s high school so far? You survived the first couple of weeks?”
“Yeah.” I wiped my sweaty palm on my T-shirt. “It’s fine. You know . . . school is just—whatever.”
“Hmmmm.” She pulled out a couple of bottles. “You sound like Leo. I’m pretty sure he tolerates classes just so he can play football.”
“Yeah, most of the time it’s kind of lame.” I took the drink she handed me.
“How are your grandparents doing?” Mrs. Taylor nudged a chair from under the table and sat down. “I used to see them at games now and then, but it seems like it’s been a long time. Are they well?”
“Yeah.” I chugged the bottle and dragged my wrist over my damp mouth. “I guess so. They’ve been traveling a lot. I haven’t seen them since . . .” I squinted, pretending to think, when in reality I knew just how long it had been. “I guess back in the spring.”
Leo’s mother frowned, her fair eyebrows drawing together. “Spring? Are you serious, Matt? It’s September. That’s a long time.”
I felt the faint stirrings of a need to defend my grandparents. “They’ve been in Europe. My grandmother does work for her charity. And—and it’s not like I’ve been alone. The housekeeper lives there with me.”
“Still . . .” She tilted her head. “Matt, listen. I try not to judge anyone, and I know that your grandparents are good people. But if you ever need anything—if you want to come stay with us for a while, or even eat dinner at our house now and then, let me know. You can just show up. You don’t need to call or ask—just come, and we’ll be happy to have you.”
The temptation was great. The idea that I could slide into the kind of charmed life my friend Leo led was so alluring that it was on the tip of my tongue to tell Mrs. Taylor I’d move in that day. My grandparents certainly wouldn’t care as long as I didn’t make a big deal about it—appearances were everything to them. I thought they’d be relieved to have me off their hands.
Just then, I heard Quinn’s laughter outside, and I spotted the quick brightening of Mrs. Taylor’s eyes. It hit me all at once: when Leo’s parents saw me, there was concern on their faces, worry for my welfare and probably for how I influenced their son. But Quinn and Nate didn’t elicit that response. It would always be this way; I was always going to be the object of pity, the one who didn’t fit, while Quinn and Nate and Leo would be what they’d been as long as I’d known them—the trio.
That was why, as much as I longed to be part of a family like Leo’s, I could never allow myself to accept one of the Taylors’ many invitations. I’d never put myself into the position of being the one who didn’t belong. I’d rather stay lonely and alone at my grandparents’ massive echoing house.
Draining the bottle, I twisted the cap back on and tossed it into the recycling bin against the wall. “I’m okay, Mrs. T. I like the way I live. I don’t need anything else—or anyone else.”
Without giving her a chance to say anything else, I wrenched open the door and stalked back outside.
“Yo, Taylor. You going to hang with these losers all day, or are we going to play ball?”
Tate
Senior Year of High School
“Durham? Is that you?”
I glanced over my shoulder, keeping my hand firmly on the gas pump as I fueled my car. On the other side of the pump island, a guy wearing a ball cap and dark sunglasses was staring at me.
“Yeah, I’m . . .” I squinted, trying to make out who was talking to me. “Matt? Hey, man, long time.”
“Sure has been.” He stepped closer and offered me his hand. “How’re you doing? Getting ready to finish up school?”
“Graduation.” I nodded. “Crazy, isn’t it? When we hung out last summer at that training camp, finishing high school felt like a million years away. Now it’s happening tomorrow.”
“Day after tomorrow for us, but yeah.” Matt slid off his glasses. “I hear through the grapevine you’re going to Carolina to play ball. My buddy Leo Taylor and I are going there, too.”
“Hey, I heard that, too.” I offered him my fist to bump. “Great school, strong team. I’ve heard the coach is tough but fair. Pretty cool three of us from this area are going to be playing for him.”
“What’re the odds?” The pump on his side clicked off, and he pulled the handle from his car’s gas tank. “So listen. A friend of mine has a place down the shore, and he’s invited all of us to come spend the week there, after graduation. Nothing big, just chilling and having some fun. He told me to invite friends. Why don’t
you come on down and hang for a couple of days? I can introduce you to Taylor.”
I hesitated. I wasn’t exactly a party dude; big blow outs weren’t my style. If Matt was the same way I remembered him being last summer, this week of chilling at the shore promised to be a bonanza of beer, drunk girls, and probably drugs.
On the other hand, I was graduating high school. I was going to work all summer before it was time to report to practice camp at college. This was my last chance for fun for a while, and maybe it was time I discovered what all the fuss was about. Maybe I’d meet someone. At the very least, I’d get to know another of my college classmates before we moved down south.
“Uh, sure.” I finished fueling my car and screwed the cap back on the gas tank. “That sounds like fun.”
“Cool. I’ll text you the address. Then I’ll see you this weekend.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Leaning against my car, I watched Matt Lampert jump into his slick red sports car and peel out of the gas station. Even though the two of us had shared a dorm last year at football camp, we hadn’t exactly become best friends or shared much about ourselves. But I’d gotten a pretty clear impression that he came from money and quite possibly possessed a streak of self-destruction.
With a shrug and a sigh, I climbed into my own ancient second-hand car, wondering if I’d actually end up going this weekend . . . and if I did, what it was going to be like. Maybe I should just stay home as I’d planned and hang out with my grandfather. We could work on his garden and watch some baseball.
“You are such a loser.” I spoke the words out loud, glaring at myself in the rearview mirror. “You want to know why you’ve never had a girlfriend? It’s because when you have the chance to go party with cool people, you think about how much more fun it would be to spend the weekend with an old man, planting flowers. That’s fucking pathetic.”
The Keeping Score Box Set Page 5