Varsity Tiebreaker

by Ginger Scott

  He smirks and puffs out a short laugh, moving his hands to his pockets and relaxing a little more.

  “Guess she ruined both of us, huh?”

  I shrug in response.

  “Something like that,” I say.

  He studies me, looking for the cracks in my answer, the way to really get to the core. I’m not yet ready for core sharing when it comes to her. I’m giving her up for him, and it’s going to take me a long time to not be truly bitter about it.

  “I have to ask you something, and . . . it’s . . . “ I pause, rubbing my hand over my mouth while I fight through the wave of anger that still courses through my body over the things I’ve discovered in the last few days. “This is hard for me to talk about. Hard to wrap my mind around, but Hayden . . . I found the Olsen Academy letter, man.”

  His eyes widen fast. His mouth remains a straight line, though. He’s been practicing for this moment, probably for years. Still, the unexpected timing was too much to prepare for now that I confront him about it in our gross-ass high school bathroom.

  “Don’t give me the story. I want the truth. I can take the truth, okay? It’s this awful resentment we’ve both fostered that I can’t handle. Tell me. Tell it to me straight.” I brace myself for his response, which takes him several seconds to form.

  “It was a really shitty thing to do, Tor. I’m sorry,” he says. I wasn’t expecting him to start so humble. It makes it easier to hear, somehow. His ability to admit that he did take something precious from me somehow makes the wound sting less. It stings all the same.

  I nod and slowly spin where I stand, rocking on my feet. My head falls back and I look up at the ceiling tiles, marred with dangling pencils and gum.

  “It was in fact a pretty shitty thing to do, Hayd. I’ll give you that. You nailed the description spot on.” I suck in my lips hard, making a near impenetrable straight line that holds in the other things I’m tempted to say.

  Hayden groans, lowering his chin to his chest and letting his head fall into his open hands. His fingers scratch at his scalp, and it takes me a few seconds to realize that he’s . . . he’s crying. When he raises his head, I’m met with red eyes and a sour face.

  “Tory, I messed up. I messed up, and it messed up everything, and I don’t know how to make it right.” His confession churns my stomach.

  “Messed up how?” I question.

  Another deep breath for both of us. Hayden brings his fist to his mouth, holding it to his bottom lip while he blinks at me, trying to get the words out. My fingers itch to grab his wrist and yank his fist away, but he needs it right now. He needs to hide a little, as silly as that seems.

  “I saw mom and Mr. Fuller,” he admits.

  My brow pulls in so tight I can feel the fold above the bridge of my nose.

  “Like, at our house?” I question.

  “Freshman year, at football camp. When they first—” He can’t finish that statement and nobody wants him to. It’s an awful image.

  “Hayd.” I shift to lean against the sink. I press my palms into my eyes, dizzy from this information. I pull one hand away and lift a brow as I look at my brother. “You knew? You knew all this time?”

  He shakes his head.

  “I wasn’t sure. I thought it was only that first time and maybe that was it, but then this summer—”

  “Oh, my God, summer. They kept it going over summer,” I groan. I flip around and grip the sink, taking in my own sick expression in the scratched-up mirror.

  “When your letter came, I thought if you and Dad left, I’d be there alone with Mom, and then . . . ” His shoulders rise up to his ears as he shakes his head. “I deleted the email, but then the letter came and I wanted to throw it away, but also, I knew it was important to you. I’ve thought about throwing that thing away every day for nearly four years.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I mumble, once again dropping my chin to my chest as I lean over the sink. “God, Hayd. I wish I’d never known. It would have been better than this.”

  I can’t help but play through the what ifs of my life, a thing I have been doing constantly since I found out Hayden sabotaged my shot. Yeah, Mom and Dad probably would have split up a long time ago, and Hayden and I probably would have lived apart, but I’d be at Olsen and on my way to D1 somewhere big, maybe more. But I wouldn’t have had Abby. Probably not ever.

  My hands grip the porcelain and I shake it a few times, knowing if I want I could probably rip the sink from the wall. I stand straight and let my hands fall to my sides while I just breathe.

  “It all got away from me, and then it seemed for so long like things were just . . . fine.” Everything about the look in his eyes is the opposite of fine. My brother made some selfish, stupid choices, but they’ve taken a toll on him. This is why he’s struggling so much. While I can get mad and let anger rule me for a little while, he’s still trying to tuck everything that’s wrong into this little box to keep it safe, keep our family whole.

  “I love you.” I say it with my gaze toward the floor. The same words I started this with, and maybe I’m saying them because I need to remind myself a bit, too.

  “I swear to God, brother, if you’re about to hug me,” he says, trying out my brand of humor, a default mode I prefer over emotional moments. I laugh at the attempt. Not bad.

  “I’m gonna hug you,” I say, moving in closer. He recoils, but only for show.

  “It’s coming, big man. Might as well let it happen. Feel the love,” I ramble on, getting close enough that we can touch.

  We stare at one another with limp bodies and tired hearts, for once truly the same in almost every single way. We embrace mutually, and I hug him with as much force as he hugs me. My hand grips his shirt over his shoulder, and we rock a little because that keeps us from crying. After simultaneously slapping each other’s back, the secret bro way of signaling it’s time to stop hugging, we pull apart and back away from one another.

  “You should probably get back to study hall. She’ll red card you for the game because she’s mean like that,” I say to him.

  He nods with a short sniff, toughening up his posture to enter the same way he left.

  “No more shit on the court, okay?” I hold out my hand for him to take, and he does so without hesitation.

  “Nothing but the good kind of trouble.” He shoots me a brief crooked smile. That’s what Coach refers to us as when we’re on the court together. We’re trouble for the other team. Too much to guard, too fast to catch.

  I wait for Hayden to leave first, sticking around in the bathroom until the period ends and I can head to the gym and dress out for the game. I’m going to have to talk to Abby first, if I can get her alone. I have to make her world right while also making things right with Hayden, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to do what needs to be done. She makes me forget the line.

  20

  Abby

  I’m leaving.

  Wednesday.

  The moment school breaks for the long holiday, my mom and I are locking up the house and driving up to Toronto for what will be months. I’m leaving, just when things are happening. Just when things feel right.

  I’m leaving.

  I got the call this morning, and there’s not a way to say no when producers who took a chance on you for their big budget movie say they need you a month earlier than expected. Leaving will give us space from my dad, too. He’s renting a house about four miles away and about four times the size of ours. He’s doing it to show off, and it’s gross. It’s also an irresponsible thing to do with his money, which does not bode well for him being involved in my finances at all.

  Now that I’m eighteen, I’m allowed to file suits of my own, and I intend to break my company into pieces and give him the worthless part while forming a new one with only my mom and me. He doesn’t know it’s coming, and he’ll be really ugly about it, but I’ll be in Toronto, with my mom. And he doesn’t have a passport.

  This all leads back to this moment. The one
I’m about to have.

  I’m leaving, and I have to tell Tory.

  He texted me to wait outside the locker room at four. It’s about five minutes past and I feel a bit foolish, and a bit like a predator who hangs around boys locker rooms to catch peeks of their asses. I’ve seen two so far, and I will never be able to erase those visual assaults from my eyes.

  I’m about to text him to catch me later, a little thankful that maybe I can put this talk off a little longer, when the door pops open again. I look up briefly, trying to avoid seeing something I don’t want to see, but it’s Tory jogging up the steps and out to me.

  He scans the area around us before bending forward, leaning his palms on the concrete bench I’m sitting on, and holding my lips with a soft kiss. I tilt up as he hovers above me for a few seconds, his mouth lingering, sucking in my top lip just a little then letting go. He leans back to sit next to me, kicking one leg over the bench to straddle it while I sit in front of him.

  “You sticking around for our game?” His eyes crinkle, a hopeful expression.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” I say.

  “Good, good.” He nods, his tight-lipped grin pushing into his cheeks.

  I’m leaving. I am leaving.

  He looks down at the concrete between us, tapping his fingertips manically while he chews at the inside of his cheek.

  “What’s going on?” I reach up and touch his cheek, and he lifts his eyes, giving me a half smile that doesn’t stick around long. He keeps his gaze on me, though, all kinds of worries and thoughts rushing behind it.

  Tory reaches up and cups my face, pulling me in for another kiss, once again chaste, the same fated feelings attached. His hands fall back to the bench, gripping the sides as he sits up tall and holds on as if he has to hold himself to this spot on the earth.

  “It’s Hayden,” he says.

  My heart rushes with so many chemically induced and heart-wrenching emotions that for a moment I think I might overdose on feelings.

  “Did he find out about . . . us?” I keep playing our night together over and over in my head, thinking about how close Hayden’s room was to us, how he could have come home at any moment, how guilty my face must have seemed when he came to my party. He’s sharper and more intuitive than we give him credit for.

  “No, at least, I don’t think so. He knows how I feel, but I know how he feels so I guess it’s a wash.” He shrugs, despondent and lifeless. He squints from the sun as he brings his gaze back to me, his words suddenly stalled. I have the power to save him from having to say any more.

  “So . . . I’m leaving Wednesday.”

  His brows lift and his breath halts for a beat.

  “Yeah, I know,” I say, looking down to where his hand is still curved around the edge of the concrete. I place mine on top of it, threading my fingers with his until his grip loosens and he rolls his palm over to completely give me his hand. I play with his fingers, wishing I had the time to really study them, to learn how they look with mine, how they look on me, around my waist and near me while I sleep.

  “I got the call last night. Something about budget, and getting my shots early before Jordan has to film something else. The good news is it means I’ll be back for prom and graduation.” I dip my head to catch his eyes again and grin at the word prom. It doesn’t seem to do much for him, though.

  “So you’re leaving, for like . . . a while.” He draws in a deep breath and leans back.

  “Probably four months. I’ll have a tutor.”

  I should be excited about this, but I dread every moment. My big break feels like a crash and burn, and it’s making me rethink my dreams and goals. I’m giving up one of the most important times in my life. I’m giving up this feeling—love. I’m falling in love with Tory, and walking away before it has a chance to take hold.

  “Maybe it’s for the best . . . with Hayden and all,” he says, his eyes meeting mine in fits. They’re glassy, but he masks it, coughing and hazing them as he purposely looks back toward the sun.

  “Maybe,” I choke out.

  “Another time, maybe. Or life. Or maybe our future selves. I don’t know,” he rambles, squeezing the bridge of his nose and holding his breath. He averts his eyes as he stands, and I stand with him, feeling the need to wrap him in my arms and hold him here, to me.

  “We’re in warm-ups, and I just slipped out. But you’ll be at the game, right? You’ll stay?” His arm swings out and his fingers latch on to mine, like fragile hooks holding together too much weight.

  “I’ll stay,” I promise. I will, and it will hurt. Because I am leaving.

  Tory leans in and presses his lips to my cheek this time, pausing there long enough to graze his nose along my jaw and plant one more kiss on the bare skin peeking out from the large neck of my sweatshirt.

  “See you after, then.”

  Our fingers slip apart and he walks away backward for the first several steps. He turns around to jog, disappearing down the steps to the locker room door, slipping inside and never once looking back.

  I talked June into coming to the game. She was the second person I told that I was leaving early, so she hardly even grumbles about having to sit on these bleachers with me. Of all the things I’m going to miss out on for months, time with her ranks as one of the highest.

  “One thing I do like about basketball over football is it’s inside, even if it’s crowded,” she says.

  “It’s because our basketball team is a million times better than football,” I gloat.

  “You’re biased,” she retorts.

  We take our seats at center court but in the very top of the bleachers. I learned last time that it’s nice to have a wall to rest your back against. Plus, I kinda like keeping everyone else in my line of sight. You never know where the haters are gonna come from.

  I haven’t filled June in on Hayden yet. That’s the other reason I want her and I to have this time together.

  “I’m more impartial than biased now, by the way,” I say, leaning into her. She pulls her water bottle from her mouth and it makes a pop. Her mouth hangs on to the O shape.

  “You broke up?” I can’t tell if she’s really shocked or just playing the part.

  “Come on, you know you were shocked to see us together in the first place. And yeah, it just wasn’t right, and with me leaving and all . . . ” And with me being in love with his brother. That part stays in my head.

  “Yeah, I guess I can see that. Are things good between you, though? I mean, when did this happen? At your party?” She studies me for a second, reading the truth in my wincing face.

  “Oh, shit. Before?”

  I nod and sigh.

  “Oh, that must have been hard or weird or . . . hard and weird?” She turns her attention back to the court where both teams are lining up for the tip-off.

  “Hard and weird pretty much sums it up.” I chuckle. The whistle blows and Tory sails over the St. Agnes player, pushing the ball through the air to his brother who rushes it down the court for a fast two points. June and I both stand and shout.

  “Okay, I can get into this basketball game thing,” she says. Tory steals the ball the moment she finishes her statement, this time taking it all the way himself but stopping at the three-point line and putting up a shot that floats through the air in perfect silence. When he sinks it, we stand again, a roar erupting.

  “Yes! Go Tory! Go Hayden! Go Eagles!” June is red-faced, screaming, and I tug her arm to drag her back down to sit with me.

  “Slow down there, mama Eagle,” I tease.

  “It’s just . . . this is so exciting. Things happen so fast, and there’s not all these timeouts and measurements and—”

  We stand again for another steal, this one by someone other than one of the twins. Another layup, and our team is up seven to zero with less than a minute burned.

  We’re giggling from the excitement, and it injects much needed joy into my body. For a little while, I’m able to forget that I’m leaving something new
and special, and that I hurt someone kind and soft, and that I’m going to miss my best friend. For the next hour, I simply exist in this bubble, in a world where the boy I love and the boy I admire absolutely put on a show together on the court, and I’m lucky enough to watch it unfold. Hayden and Tory bond before my eyes. They celebrate each other, and they work as this singular unit that positively cannot function without the other half.

  And then it hits me. Maybe they can’t.

  “In another life,” I mutter, not realizing my thoughts spill out loud.

  “Hmm?” June leans in.

  I shake her off, claiming to be talking about the other team, but the way she continues to look at the side of my face makes me believe she knows better. She also knows not to push.

  The game ends with us on top by twenty-seven points. It was basically a blow-out, led by the D’Angelo boys. A reporter from the local paper asks them to stick around for a short interview and a picture, so June and I move down to the bottom row to listen in. The questions are pretty typical, but the D’Angelo answers are not. They goof with each other, poking fun in a way that also praises, and whenever the reporter tries to bring the spotlight to Tory, he instantly shifts it, giving credit to Hayden. Before they get up, one of their teammates rushes by with a cup of ice water and splashes it across the backs of their necks, and they take off after him into the locker room.

  “I guess we can just hang around outside,” June says.

  I follow her out the doors and glance to my car. I can’t wait around and see them both. Whatever balance they have happening between them, it’s necessary. It’s how they’ll get through the next few weeks and months. It’s how they’re going to navigate their lives. They don’t need me to stick around to tell them both nice game.

  “Actually,” I begin. June’s head falls to the side, a frown tackling her lips. “I know, I know, it’s just that I have so much to do. I have to pack!”