As soon as we say “three,” we let the rope pull us out and over the water, our bodies hanging together, practically one. Lauren screams the entire way. Despite the possibility of damaging my eardrums, I love every second of being so close to her.
We let go at the exact same time, at the perfect moment. When we come up for air, I swim over to her.
“That was fun,” she says, her face inches from mine, water streaming down as she wipes the hair out of her eyes. I have a tiny urge to kiss her right then, but I remain the perfect gentleman.
We swim a few feet to get to a spot where we can touch the bottom.
“I knew you could do it,” I tell her.
“It was that pep talk you gave me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It worked. You guys will be champions for sure.”
“You gonna come to the games?” I ask as we walk ashore.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Football isn’t really my thing.”
Why is a girl who plays hard to get so damn attractive?
“Do you play offense or defense?” she asks.
“Sometimes both. But primarily offense, catching passes.”
“Okay, how about this?” she says. “Promise to score a touchdown for me, and I’ll come.”
I turn to her and hold my hand out. “Deal.”
She shakes it. “To one game. And to keep you guessing, you won’t know which one I’m coming to. And I expect to see my touchdown in person. Because what fun is it otherwise?”
“Wait. So that means I have to score at every game?”
She smiles. “You said it, not me.”
WHEN ONE of Colby’s teammates
pulls him into the water,
leaving Stasia and me alone,
she says, “I think he likes you.”
“I think he’s just a nice guy.”
“That too.
There should be more like him.”
She then goes on
to tell me about
her last boyfriend,
who didn’t know how
to keep his eyes
from wandering.
I tell her about
this guy I went out with
who didn’t know how
to talk about anyone
but himself.
“You know it’s bad,”
I tell her, “when he asks
where you want to eat
before the movie, and you
suggest TacoTime’s drive-thru.”
“To avoid face-to-face conversation?”
“Exactly.”
We both laugh.
A friendship is born.
WE’RE ALMOST to her house.
I’m trying to figure out how I let her know I’d love to see her again. Like, go out for real or whatever. Because this was basically just a ride.
Wasn’t it?
When I pull into the driveway, she turns to me and says, “Thanks. That was a lot of fun. Stasia said to give her a call and we’d get together, so I’m definitely going to do that. I’m so glad I got to meet some people before school starts.”
I nod. “Good. I’m glad.”
She waits, like she’s expecting me to say something else. God, I hate this. My palms are sweaty. My legs are shaking. And my heart is beating like a freaking galloping horse. Asking a girl out for the first time is worse than being down six points with only fifteen seconds on the clock.
Because here’s the thing every guy hates about this moment.
What if she says no?
THE FEELING
in my stomach
as I jumped
from that rope
is nothing
like the feeling
in my stomach
as I sit in his truck
and wait to see
if he’s going to
ask me out.
After a few
awkward seconds,
I can’t stand it anymore
and say,
“Guess I’ll see you around,”
as I open my door.
“You bet.
Maybe I’ll see you at the Jiffy Mart.”
As I walk toward
the front door, it feels
like someone has tied
a rock to my heart
and dropped it into
that creek.
Disappointment
bubbles up
to the surface
and I realize I
should have asked
him to call me.
I turn around,
hoping to correct my mistake.
But he’s already gone.
DID I really just say that? “Maybe I’ll see you at the Jiffy Mart”?
What the hell, Pynes? She was right there. Right there, waiting for you to say something, anything, about the fun afternoon or how you loved hanging out with her or maybe you could get together again sometime. And you failed. Miserably.
Third down with two yards to go, and you blew it. Couldn’t get it over the line and had to punt it away.
I’m a disgrace. A disgrace to senior guys all across the country.
I think it was Benny’s fault. All of his talk about how I have to forget about girls and stay focused on football right now messed with me. I bet I internalized that, and even though I wanted to ask her out, I couldn’t because deep down somewhere, I feared he was right.
As I think about Benny, I realize I never saw him at the creek party. He said he’d be there. I went home last night after a couple of hours at Murphy’s Hill, as lots of people were arriving. I was dead tired and just wanted to go home to sleep, but Benny didn’t want to leave yet. He was wide-awake and having fun.
I pull out my phone as I walk in the front door.
“Hi, Colby,” Gram calls out. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. I’m gonna take a quick shower.” Maybe I can wash the embarrassment away.
First I dial Benny’s number. But it goes straight to voice mail.
If he’s out with some cute girl, I will be so pissed.
I HAVE three choices:
Wait to see if he calls me.
Call him.
Move into the Jiffy Mart.
GRAM KNOCKS on the bathroom door just as I’m getting out of the shower. “Colby? You need to come out here. Hurry.”
My first thought is Grandpa. Something’s happened to Grandpa. I don’t even dry off; I just grab a towel, wrap it around my waist, and pull the door open.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
She motions me to the family room, where Grandpa is sitting, watching the news. I rush over to him. “Are you all right?”
He points to the television, and I turn to see a picture of Benny on the screen. His football picture from last year. My heart stops.
“… in critical condition at Willow General Hospital.”
The camera switches to the reporter, standing in front of the hospital. “The accident happened at around one thirty a.m. Saturday morning on West Valley Road. Police say Lewis was on a motorcycle, and failed to negotiate a curve. The motorcycle crossed the center lane and slid over fifty feet, causing Lewis to lose control. Investigators say Lewis was wearing a helmet, though it may not have been fastened securely as it was found nearby at the scene. Doctors say Lewis has suffered severe head trauma, and his injuries are life threatening.”
She keeps talking, but I don’t hear what she says. Because I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is happening.
“I have to try calling him again,” I say. “Someone’s made a mistake. Someone needs to tell him what’s going on so he can clear this mess up.”
“Oh, Colby,” Gram says, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. It wouldn’t be on the news if they weren’t a hundred percent sure it’s him.”
Grandpa stands up. “Go get dressed. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
“But, Grandpa —”
“I know. Damn it, I know. Just go get dressed.”
I can’t move.
I can’t breathe.
Finally, Gram comes over, puts her arm around me, and leads me to my room.
“I’m going to call the church,” she tells me. “They’ll start a prayer chain for him.”
She closes the door.
I grab my phone and dial his number.
“You have reached the Life-Model Decoy of Tony Stark. Please leave a message.”
“Benny. Call me. Please? Please. You need to call me.”
TUESDAY
“Lauren, what’s new?” Dr. Springer asks. “How’s school going?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s all right.”
“What’s the latest on the boy in the hospital?”
“I heard some kids talking today, and they said Benny came out of his coma. I hope it’s true.”
“Last time, you spoke of a boy you met. What was his name?”
“Colby. Turns out he’s Benny’s best friend.”
“Any luck talking to him? How’s he doing?”
I look out the window. It’s a pretty September day. Nice and warm. I wish I were outside, sitting in the sun, instead of in here. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.”
“Well, you may want to reach out to him. People hurting need to know they have friends who care about them.”
Surprisingly, I think she’s right about that.
“Have you been writing in your journal?”
I sink down into my chair, as deep as I can go. “Not lately.”
“Do you still have the nightmare?”
“Yes.”
“Are you ready to talk about what happened?”
I don’t know why, but this question pisses me off. I scowl at her. “I don’t get why I have to talk about it. I just want to try and forget about it.”
She leans in, her voice soft but firm. “Lauren, traumatic events aren’t just forgotten. It doesn’t work that way. That’s why you’re here, so I can help you. I want you to be able to live a full and happy life, but before that can happen, we have to work through your feelings about what happened. You need to find some closure.”
I reach up and rub my temples. “I hate this.” I feel tears welling up. “You know, it’s all her fault.”
“Whose fault?”
I glare at her. “You know who. My mother.”
“Okay. Let’s start there. Tell me about her.”
I sigh and tick things off on my fingers. “She has really thin hair, nothing like mine. She loves pizza. But no olives. She can’t stand olives. Oh, and she loves watching that hoarding show.” I shudder. “I have no idea why.”
Dr. Springer smiles. “Do you think she’s a good mother?”
I smirk. “There’s definitely room for improvement.”
“Even so, she’s your mother, right? And I’m guessing there are some things you like about her?”
She won’t make me cry.
She won’t make me cry.
She won’t make me cry.
“Yes. And sometimes I miss her so much I can hardly stand it. Then other times I find myself hoping that I never have to see her again. I just don’t understand …”
I look out the window, willing the tears back.
“What, Lauren? You don’t understand what?”
I say it so softly, I’m not sure she can even hear me. “How she could have done that to me.”
AFTER OUR second grueling practice of the week, Coach gathers us around before releasing us for the day. He’s got his clipboard in one hand; his other hand sits in the pocket of his khaki shorts. It’s like he’s trying to look relaxed, but I can tell he’s really not. It’s been a difficult few weeks. For all of us.
“Last Friday night, we got lucky,” he says. “We should not have won that game. You know it and I know it. That’s why I’m working you so hard this week. Look, I know it’s difficult, not having Lewis here, playing with y’all. But if anything, that’s more of a reason to want to win. Don’t let yourself down. And for God’s sake, don’t let him down. Get mad! And then go out on the field and put that anger to good use. You know Lewis wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Before the game on Friday, we’ll have stickers for your helmets with Lewis’s number, sixty-two, on them. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for them to get here. I know he’s on your minds, but the game must go on. And this time, it won’t be enough to simply show up. You’ve gotta want it, and play like you want it.” He looks at me. “You can do this. I believe!”
“I believe!” we reply with as much enthusiasm as we can find, which isn’t much.
“Nice work today. See y’all tomorrow.”
The other guys scramble to their feet and hustle off to the locker room, anxious to get home. Eat. Do homework. See their girlfriends.
They are so different from me. All I want to do is find a hole, crawl into it, and sleep for a hundred years. God, I’m tired.
Since the accident, when I’m not at work or on the football field, I’m at the hospital. Of course, now school has started, so I have that to deal with too. I haven’t been allowed to see Benny, since I’m not family, but I wanted to be there, anyway, as much as possible.
Other friends came by to show their support for Benny. Coach came by a few times too. We’d talk a little, and when we ran out of things to say, we watched cartoons in the waiting room, or we’d go and get some bad food in the cafeteria. A lot of times, though, it was just me, sitting there, wishing things were different.
I can’t stop feeling like it’s partly my fault. Why didn’t I pick him up and take him up to the Hill? I should have known that the old country road with its twists and turns is not something he should have been navigating on a bike at night. Usually when we go up there, we ride together, in my truck. Why did we do things differently? Why wasn’t he with me, like he should have been?
There’s been all kinds of speculation about what happened. Everyone I know says they’d left Murphy’s Hill already. I don’t understand why he was there so late, and maybe even the last one to have left. As for the accident, a lot of people wonder if he swerved to avoid hitting something coming at him, like a deer. Or maybe even another car, although no one has come forward with any information. The thing is, Benny loved that bike, and he was never careless. Ever. That’s why it’s hard to understand. It’s as if trying to figure out why it happened will help them deal with it better. I get it.
When my mind won’t let me sleep, thinking about Benny, I search for similar stories on the Internet. I want to know that he can recover from this. That he’ll be okay. Sometimes, I find the kind of stories I’m looking for, where people come back after a traumatic brain injury. And sometimes, I find the kind of stories that remind me how fragile life is. How lucky Benny is to even be alive. It’s shocking how many people die from motorcycle accidents. I had no idea.
I wonder if Benny knew. If he cared.
It’s a vicious cycle of madness. We should have, he shouldn’t have, why didn’t he, why didn’t I …
The fact is, it happened. And there’s no going back.
Now, I get to my feet and drag myself to the locker room. I think about last night, when Benny finally came out of the coma. The doctor talked to his immediate family, and then Mrs. Lewis came to talk to me. I was so relieved that he’d finally woken up. When days turned into weeks, it was hard not to imagine the worst, though I tried not to let my mind go there very often.
The two times he had surgery to relieve the pressure in his brain, I sat in the chapel and prayed. What else could I do?
“Is he going to be all right?” I asked Mrs. Lewis when she sat down next to me and told me the news. That he’d finally woken up.
“There’s still a lot we don’t know,” she said. “We have to wait and see. It could be a long, hard recovery.” She tilted her head. Looked at me with nothing but love in her eyes. “Colby, I know this whole thing is eating you up. I can see it all o
ver your face. But you listen to me. You have been a fine and faithful friend. You have nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing to feel bad about. Whatever happens now is out of our hands. He’s a strong kid. A fighter. Hold on to that, have faith, and then, let the worry go.”
I got that funny feeling in my throat, and I choked the tears back. I didn’t want to cry. Not when I needed to be strong. Strong for her.
“I don’t know how to do that,” I whispered.
She pulled me into her arms. “Oh, honey. You have a life you need to live. It’s time to learn.”
COLBY NEVER called me,
like I hoped he would.
Once I learned it was his
best friend who was
the one in the coma,
it made sense.
I ran into Colby in the hallway
on the first day of school.
I stopped. Smiled.
Said, “Hey, good to see you.”
“You too,” he replied,
hardly looking at me
as he kept on walking.
Stasia said it’s just how
guys are. They get stressed
out easier than girls.
They do what they have to do
to keep it together.
I keep trying to think of
something I can do to
cheer him up.
My mom used to call me
Sunny Bunny,
because I was always trying
to cheer her up.
I can’t help it.
I hate seeing people
I care about sad.
And every time
I see Colby, it looks like
someone’s told him
all the bridges
in the world have burned
to the ground.
I HEAD home after practice because I have homework I’ve been neglecting. I tell myself that if there was news, good or bad, Benny’s mom would have gotten in touch with me. It’s probably still too soon to know what lies ahead.