by M. F. Lorson
“I wanted a version of you that respected me,” I answered. The confidence was returning to my voice. “A version of you who valued my opinion without using me. What I wanted doesn’t exist.”
Elliot took a step back and shrugged. “If that’s how you feel.”
“That’s how I feel,” I declared, spinning on my heels and heading straight for the front door.
It felt surprisingly good turning my back on Elliot. I pulled out my phone to text Mom that I was in desperate need of sesame chicken when I spotted what looked like the back of Mackey’s head moving through the crowd. He was the last person I expected to see here. It was one thing for a bunch of freeloaders to glob on to the idea of a party at Veronica’s, but yearbook staff? That was crossing into enemy territory. He had to have a dang good reason for being here. I knew it was foolish, but I hoped that reason was me.
I cupped my hands over my mouth calling out to him through the crowd, “Mackey!” Partygoers turned their heads to the sound of my voice but not Mackey. He kept moving forward. Maybe he hadn’t heard me. The music was louder toward the door than it had been at the back of the room near Elliot. I hustled across the living room carpet, calling his name a second time. Still, he didn’t respond. Thanks to the stack of shoes he had to sort through before leaving, I caught Mackey at the front door.
“Hey,” I said. Feeling emboldened by what had just transpired with Elliot, I attempted to begin the conversation I should have started a week ago. “About what happened after the tournament.”
Mackey, pulled his sneakers out from under a pair of stilettos destined to break someone's ankle. He yanked on the tongue, shoving his foot in without bothering to tie the laces. “It’s cool Lane. I get the picture.”
Get the picture? What picture. I’d been trying to get a hold him for a week solid.
“I don’t think you do,” I said, the words coming out too slow for his quick advance toward the door. Of course now would be the time my mouth and brain decide to have a fight. “If you’ll give me a chance to explain.”
Mackey shook his head, “You don’t have to explain. I get it. Nothing has changed. You should go back inside now.” he said, looking everywhere but at me. “You wouldn’t want to leave your boy waiting.”
My chest tightened. So that’s what this was about. He had seen me talking to Elliot and assumed my sixth-grade wishes were finally coming true.
Before I could defend myself, Mackey was out the door, jogging to his car as if getting away from me right that second was essential to his survival.
I threw my hands in the air. “I give up!” I cried, slamming Veronica’s front door shut so that I could put my jacket on without freezing to death.
“Lane?” came Andie’s voice from behind me. I thought about pulling a Mackey and pretending I hadn’t heard her but my coat was riddled with tiny buttons in need of closure and both Andie and I knew I’d heard Mackey just fine thirty seconds ago.
I drew in a deep breath before releasing it and turned to face her. “What can I do for you, Andie?”
“I um..wanted to apologize?” she said, her voice turning up at the end like it were a question and not a statement.
“Apologies work better when you’re sure you mean them,” I said through gritted teeth. If this was her way of saying she was sorry she was confused about how apologies work.
“I’m not apologizing for the article,” she said, looking me square in the eye. “I mean I’m sorry that it hurt you. And if I had to do it all over again, I would have talked to you before I talked to Jillie’s Mom or agreed to write it with Elliot. But I’m not sorry that I wrote it. It was a good story. About a good person. I’m mostly just sorry you weren’t a part of it.”
I shook my head disgusted with this entire evening. “You don’t know that she was a good person. You know what a handful of people from school told you about her. Half those people barely knew her. Did you know that she cheated on her boyfriend freshman year? Because she did and everyone was mean about it. But they didn’t mention that when you interviewed them did they?”
I began to feel a familiar sting behind my eyes. I’d gone three months without crying over Jillie, and here I was on what was supposed to be one of the best nights of my life releasing the floodgates all over again because of a stupid story in the Rosemark Gazette.
“Lane, those things don’t ma-”
I cut her off. They did matter. They mattered to me and no one else. That was the point. No one knew Jillie like I knew Jillie. “Did they tell you that she failed English and wasn’t going to graduate?” I asked, “She couldn’t spell, like to save her life, and not because she was dyslexic or anything excusable like that, just because she was lazy in grade school and never worked at it.”
I fumbled with the buttons on my jacket before giving up and crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m sure you wrote a great article about an imaginary person who everyone loved, but you didn’t write about Jillie,” I said, a teardrop sliding down my angry red cheek. “You don’t have to apologize for hurting me, Andie,” I said coldly. “I literally don’t care what you do.”
Andie’s shoulders sagged, stung by my words. I knew I was unnecessarily harsh but thinking about Jillie got me worked up. This was precisely why I didn’t want Andie to write that article.
Frustrated with how the evening had gone I slung my helmet over my head and mounted my scooter for home. Sesame chicken and The Bachelor were not going to make up for the damage I’d done tonight.
Chapter Nineteen
Over the long lonely weekend I had plenty of time to think about how I had treated Andie. The longer I thought about it the worse I felt. Especially after Veronica revealed what had happened before I got to the party. Apparently, I wasn’t the first girl Elliot attempted to make a move on that night. The difference was, Andie had very loudly and publicly told him no, whereas I had done so quietly. Too quietly considering Mackey thought we were canoodling and not fighting.
When I wasn’t feeling bad about Andie, I was feeling bad about Mackey. I knew I had to do something but what was I supposed to do? Call him up and say, “Oh hey, you should know another guy tried to kiss me, but I said no?” What good was that going to do? Besides he was still avoiding me. Even his Twitter account had been set to private. That or I was blocked. I knew blocking and unblocking someone was as simple as clicking a button but I felt sick to my stomach imagining him logging into his settings just to prevent me from reading what he was up to.
And then came the final blow: My response from Northwestern. No scholarship. Dear Lane there were many qualified applicants blah blah etc. etc., dagger to the heart. Mom had been apologizing profusely since Saturday morning when I got the letter. I knew she wished she could do more than co-sign my first set of college loans, but book sales had been trending downward and we couldn’t swing 16 grand out of pocket.
I didn’t bother calling Dad when the letter arrived. He had made his position on my going to Northwestern very clear. I didn’t want to hear that thinly veiled joy in his voice when he learned I hadn’t ‘made my own way’ like he expected and would likely have to reconsider colleges. Instead, I shot him a text.
Lane: Lane 0, scholarship committee 1.
He knew exactly what I meant with my vague text, sending back what could best be described as a disappointed father emoji. Amazing how my super serious Dad communicated via text almost exclusively in emojis.
I thought back to Thanksgiving dinner, how Mackey had stood up for me and I wished we were talking now so that I could text him and commiserate. I tried texting him anyway, but just like every other time since Thanksgiving, there was no response.
I couldn’t control what was happening with Mackey, and I couldn’t make Northwestern arrive on my porch step with a bag of money, but I could fix what I’d broken with Andie.
After some reluctance, she agreed to let me pick her up at Ryan’s place. I packed an extra helmet in the carry-on for my scooter and tucked my scarf into
my jacket so that it wouldn’t blow out on the ride over. I recognized Mackey’s car at the curb when I arrived and immediately felt my stomach plummet. I wasn’t ready to talk to him. Not yet. Luckily, Andie stood shivering in the driveway.
“I’d invite you in, but my guess is that would be a little awkward right now,” she said, casting a glance toward the house.
“Probably,” I agreed, saddened that the idea of Mackey and I in the same room was as uncomfortable for spectators as it was for he and I. It broke my heart how quickly we had gone from friends to an awkward run in. “Here,” I said, pulling the beat up spare helmet I had brought her out from the back. “Put this on.”
Andie looked down at the helmet in my hands and then back up to me. “Um, I can drive if that’s helpful.”
I grinned, “Just put it on okay? Where we’re going is easier to get to on scooter.”
Andie reluctantly secured her helmet. “If you’re taking me into the woods for murder you should know that both Mackey and Ryan know you are picking me up and my last text was from you.”
I swung one leg over my scooter and patted the back seat, “My Dad’s a good lawyer.” Andie crossed her hands over her chest as if she were saying the rosary.
“Lord help me,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around my waist in a death grip. Neither of us spoke as we drove toward the outskirts of town.
She had been right about the woods part. The murdering not so much. I pulled the scooter off the main road, heading into Antigone Woods. We passed a no motorized vehicles sign along the way, but I didn’t take it seriously. Just like no one took scooters seriously. Andie loosened her grip on me as we cruised along the dirt path, far from traffic, far from town.
“Where are we going,” she called, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the engine.
“You’ll see,” I said, as I worried this would go as wrong as everything else had lately in my life.
A few moments later we pulled up to the base of two massive trees. Strung between them was a lean-to of sorts Jillie and I had constructed it in the 5th grade using bits and pieces from her father’s shed. It wasn’t a real treehouse, seeing as how it was all built at ground level. But it operated like a treehouse. It was the place we went when we didn’t want to be at home. The spot we snuck off to when we lied and said we were sleeping over at the others house.
“Did you build this?” Asked Andie, stepping off the scooter to inspect the fort.
“Me and Jillie” I answered, leaning the scooter against a nearby tree. “A long time ago.”
“Did Jillie make the sign?” asked Andie a smirk working its way across her face as she pointed to the words ‘no boyz alowed, not even thoughts of them’ painted in hot pink across the sidewall.
I laughed, “Yeah well. She painted that after freshman year. She was impulsive like that. I wasn’t here to say yes or no I just found it like this a week later. I thought we had mostly outgrown the place, but I came by myself sometimes. When I saw that…” A tear pricked the corner of my eye.
“When you saw that what?” asked Andie running her fingers along the weathered wood.
“I felt relieved. Like I wasn’t the only one who still came here when real life felt particularly awful.”
Andie smiled softly, “Does it still work?”
“What?”
“Coming here when things are awful? Does it still work?”
I laughed, “I don’t know. I haven’t been here since Jillie.”
Andie nodded, circling the lean-to until she found the stump we’d dragged in there to serve as a chair.
“Come on,” she said, waving me over. “We’re here might as well get the whole experience.”
I rolled a nearby rock in to sit beside her. “I brought you here to say I’m sorry.” I started, lowering my head to stare at the forest floor where pine needles lay scattered every which way at our feet. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you at the party. I don’t like hearing other people talk about Jillie. I get upset, and I lose my temper.”
“I appreciate you apologizing,” said Andie. “If it helps at all, I’m really sorry I didn’t know her.” Andie pointed to the sign on the wall. “I’m pretty sure I would have liked her.”
“I know you would have,” I said, knowing wholeheartedly that it was true. “She wasn’t perfect like the girl you described in your article.”
“No one ever is,” said Andie. “When my Dad died everyone remembered all of these amazing things about him. But that’s all they remembered. It was like everything else had never happened. I knew that when I wrote the article. But I wrote it anyway, you know why?”
“Why?” I asked, curious.
“Because you don’t write it for the person that died. Dad’s obituary wasn’t for Dad. It was for Me and Mom. So that ten years from now when we look back. We remember those great things.”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
“What?”
“Knowing there is a chance you’ll forget everything else? Knowing you’ll forget the not so perfect things?”
Andie gave me a half smile. “You mean like being a bad speller?”
I grabbed a stick off the ground and began digging in the dirt in front of me. “Those things are important too,” I said, careful to keep my eyes cast to the ground so she wouldn’t catch me tearing up for the second time in our brief friendship.
“Yeah,” said Andie, pausing to think. “But maybe it's better if those things stay with the people they matter to. Like I am glad the paper didn’t mention that Dad made lumpy mashed potatoes.” she laughed. “Only Mom and I get to know that. It’s our thing about Dad. I’m sure there are others who hold onto things about him that even we don’t know. That’s sort of beautiful don’t you think?
I couldn’t argue when she put it that way.
“Look, I want to be friends Lane, but it shouldn’t be this hard. So I have a deal for you. Take it or leave it.”
“I’m listening.”
“I won’t date the boys you love.”
“Boy,”
Andie rolled her eyes, “I won’t date any boys you currently or formerly loved. How’s that.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling sheepish that it had to be said at all.
“And I won’t try and replace Jillie either,” said Andie. “But you have to be real with me — no more guessing. When you like a boy, I better be first to know and if and when I find someone in Marlowe Junction that is more than tolerable you are obligated to listen to me, even when I ramble on and on and repeat all the same mundane details. You have to agree to let me talk until I have officially exhausted the conversation in my mind. Which could be never.”
I laughed, “I don’t remember friendship having so many clauses.”
“I take this very seriously. Especially considering our previous attempts.”
I reached out my hand, “Deal.”
“Excellent” said Andie shaking my hand like a seasoned businesswoman. “Now that we have that out of the way my first official friendship duty shall be to walk you through this Mackey issue.”
I made a face, “I’m pretty sure there is nothing to walk me through. He’s not talking to me. Clearly, he has no interest.”
“Is that what you think?”
I hugged my arms across my chest, the cold air beginning to penetrate my jacket. “What else am I supposed to think. You heard him at Veronica’s party.”
“Um yeah. The party that he attended exclusively to see you. Do you think Mackey risked being spotted at the newspaper party for bad Christmas cookies?”
I sighed, none of this made any sense. “If he came to see me then why did he blow me off the whole week before?”
Andie gave me a bemused smile, “Perhaps a little bird told him to get over himself and talk to you.”
I cleared my throat, “Maybe that little bird could tell him I’m sorry I froze up on that kiss and possibly that Elliot means nothing while she’s at it.”
; Andie rose from her stump. “In this instance, you’ll have to do the explaining with your lips. Both verbally and...not so verbally, if you know what I mean.”
Easy enough for her to say. She wasn’t a senior who had never kissed a boy before.
I could have stayed in that lean-to for hours. As it turned out, you never outgrow escaping the real world. But the sun was going down, and the cold wind was beginning to find its way through the cracks of our makeshift shelter.
“Come on,” said Andie, grabbing her helmet “I’m sure Mackey is gone by now.”
I grinned. Our friendship was new, but she already had me figured out. She was right, by the time we pulled up to her driveway the street was mostly clear. She gave me a warm hug goodbye before bounding into the house.
Light flurries fell around me as I scooted home, a subtle reminder that winter break was coming and my final article was due.
Chapter Twenty
Rosemark Gazette
December 20th.
Lane Crawford, Sports Editor
At six foot seven inches tall, Hunter Mackey stands above his peers both on the court and off. You probably know him as that large, loud guy, who always looks like he’s dressed for game day and never remembers to turn his ringer off in class. I know him as the guy who volunteered to teach this reporter with zero sports knowledge, why the Mountaineer’s matter despite their lackluster record.
Although he looks the part, his four-year tenure as a varsity Mountaineer has yielded zero trophies and few wins. There won’t be any NCAA scouts in our bleachers attempting to lure him away. No NBA aspirations like his teammate Jeremiah. Yet for Hunter Mackey, serving as the starting center for the Mountaineers will always be the focal point of his high school career.
A center’s role is to defend and protect. But for Mackey, this role extends past the rim and into the real world. Ask any member of his team who they count on to center them when life gets messy, and they’ll tell you, Mackey. Ask the new guy who helped him conquer game day anxiety, and he’ll tell you, Mackey. And when this reporter found herself way over her head, it was Mackey that pointed her in the right direction time and time again.
