by Shaun Plair
Directions were plain. “Pick a partner and discuss the quotes I’ve just written on the board. Compare and contrast, agree and disagree, support and contest. Go.”
“Partner?” I asked Eric, but he didn’t answer. I looked at him, but he wouldn’t return my stare. So I surveyed the classroom and locked eyes with a girl across the room.
“So what about these quotes, then?” Eric asked.
I looked at him, then back at the girl, shrugged my shoulders to her and mouthed Sorry as I pointed a thumb at Eric. I would finally have my chance to just ask him straight, Who are you?
“So tell me how you feel,” he said, probing my eyes while he pulled the hood off his head. It fell swiftly behind him and exposed the mane that framed his face, black hair that fell down beside his cheeks, and bangs that shot diagonally across the right side of his face. He shook his head, and the bangs swayed backward. I knew he saw me staring, because once again came that smirk.
“Did you ever play a sport?” I asked. No time for freedom talk when I had so much digging to do. I did have plenty to say, but why would he care anyway?
“So yeah … about these quotes,” he responded.
“Just tell me.”
“Why do you care?”
“I’m curious.”
“I played football freshman and sophomore year.” He looked away from me with strain wrinkling his face.
“Why not this year?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager, and failing. He shook his head and shrugged. “You seem to be friendly with David and the other players.”
“You like David.”
I wasn’t sure if he was asking or stating. “Well, I just met him.”
“You should probably let him know you’re not into him now.”
“I didn’t say that.…”
“But you did.”
The frustration started to activate again. I was supposed to be interrogating him. I asked him, “What makes you think you know me? What makes you special?”
“A, I do know you. B, God did—take it up with Him.”
“Okay what’s your deal? Trouble in middle-class suburbia?”
“Try having a mother who’s so busy keeping up with her four other accident children she forgets to feed you, let alone speak to you.”
“We all have problems, kid.” I let it out before I could catch it. Never before in my life had I said something so cruel, but I was jealous of him. I was jealous that he had a mom to ignore him.
He looked me in my eyes, staring hard, and said, “So why ask?”
“Sorry,” I pleaded. I didn’t know what emotion showed on my face. But to my surprise, he didn’t look fazed, but actually comforted by the fact that I’d been a total jerk to him. I stared at the papers on my desk, upset that I’d let the conversation steer from my original motive.
“UGA?” he asked, spotting the red-and-black keychain hanging from my bag. “Aren’t you from Cali?”
I should avoid these observant types. “My uh … mom went there.”
“So you’re not a future Trojan?”
“Oh …” Who were the Trojans again? “I don’t know yet. You don’t need to know about me. I’m supposed to be asking the questions.”
“Chill, I answered your question. What is this anyways? Is this some type of suspect interrogation or something?”
“What if it is?” I fired back.
“Well if it is, I’m not saying anything else until I talk to my lawyer.”
I puffed a wisp of air through my nostrils before I could stifle the rest of my laugh. “You didn’t answer my other question. Why didn’t you play football this year?”
“Lost interest, I guess.” He paused, and I waited for him to continue, but no more words came.
“Is that really all you’re going to say?” I watched him, incredulous. His eyes squinted as I realized I was way too eager for his response.
“Why does it bother you so much?” he said. “Why do I bother you so much?”
“You keep … saying stuff to me, and it gets to me. I don’t understand you.”
“You don’t know me.
“Well as much as you may think you do, you don’t know me, either.” I responded, sternly. With that, I felt his eyes survey my face, and body, and when his eyes returned to mine, they were different. Inquisitive.
“That’s why you should stop messing with me,” I added, covering my sudden discomfort with the way he was looking at me. “Leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone.”
“What if I don’t want you to leave me alone?”
Noticing a tall presence approaching us from my right, I tore my eyes from Eric to find Mr. Kyle standing beside my desk, leaning in to lessen the distance between our faces. He adjusted his glasses.
“So what have you two come up with?” he asked us, glancing at Eric, and then me.
“Ana was just saying how Lincoln’s quote can apply to people, too,” Eric responded, quick to throw me the ball.
“Is that so?” Mr. Kyle prompted.
I shot a glance at the board while Mr. Kyle’s eyes still focused on Eric. America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.
“Will you explain your thoughts more, Ana?” Mr. Kyle shifted his sight to me and I was forced to answer.
“I was just saying how, except in extreme cases, the demise of a person can be seen the same way as that of a country. No matter what the circumstances, a person always has the ability to choose how to respond, and is therefore always, well, mostly responsible for their own destruction.”
“Very interesting,” he said. “Eric, how did you respond?”
“I agree.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Well, great thoughts you two. Carry on.” Mr. Kyle looked at Eric and me each once more before stopping to talk with another group. When his back turned to us, I exhaled and slumped deep into my chair.
“You came up with that pretty quick,” Eric said.
I didn’t respond to him. I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything else, so there was no reason for us to talk.
“You might be a madwoman, but at least you’ve got a point of view.”
Keeping myself from glaring at him, I shook my head as Mr. Kyle returned to the head of the classroom. Eric flipped his hood back on top of his head and leaned back in his chair as the lesson resumed. I should stay away from him, I thought, knowing that if anybody could pull Sydney out and shake her until she spilled everything Ana was built to hide, it’d be a curious boy with dark hair, dark eyes, and a smirk that hid things she couldn’t begin to predict.
Chapter 8
When the clock on my cell phone read 7:28, I was buying my ticket. Brit had already called me twice while I was on the way—she told me where the girls were sitting and to hurry up. So maybe I was alone, broke, half-homeless, and deceiving everyone I met, but I decided to go to the game. Just a scrimmage, against some team from another county, but people I genuinely liked would be there, and I might just enjoy myself.
Fun. God, could I use some.
As soon as I passed the ticket gate, I could see the fan-filled stadium roaring with excitement. On the left was the bigger section of bleachers filled with gold, black, and white t-shirts and body paint, the home side. I walked in that direction. The other side had much less bleacher space, but was still full. People stood and leaned on the rails in anticipation of the game’s kick-off, and the Rock Bridge band started our school song. The other team’s fans all had blue, gray, or white t-shirts and paint. Seven boys standing in the front spelled out “YOU SUCK,” their chests as billboards.
Lost in the crowd, I called Brit’s cell, and as she answered she raised her hand in the air to show me where to go. Relieved, I walked to their level and pushed through the standing students, trying to avoid touching any wet paint, and found a spot saved for me next to Kylie at the closest end of the line of girls.
“Hey, A
na!” Kylie greeted me, and we hugged as the rest of the girls smiled and waved.
Throughout the game, score after score, the band would play “Jump on It!” and the whole student section, even some of the parents, would move their hips to the tune and jump around in circles chanting “Go Cougars!” three times. Pretty cute. The girls talked to me as if I was one of the group, Ana this, and Ana that. Eventually, some other people in the crowd who knew the girls would turn and ask them who I was. I smiled at them all, but didn’t speak. The Ana Show was a fun show to star in, and I was loving the spotlight. I portrayed myself as an untouchable creature, a newly discovered sculpture to be deeply admired but no one could guess how it came about.
Seventeen – three, Cougars, was the final. Our side was happy; some kids rushed the field. The girls and I kept to our seats, though, enjoying the newfound space in the bleachers, and later we walked up to the fence to watch everyone celebrate. Some cops were taking one overgrown kid off the field as he shouted “Cougar pride!” at the top of his lungs. The team was having their post-victory talk, and I noticed Number 38 looking around. Thirty-eight seemed the perfect number for David, large and dominant.
He noticed me standing by the fence, and sent me a wave. I smiled and waved back, and he pointed to the locker room. I nodded and gave a shy thumbs-up, to which he responded with an almost cheesy salute before he jogged off the field, helmet in hand, good form.
I guess I’d forgotten whom I was standing with. Once David ran off, each of the girls took turns joking and poking at me about him until eventually they were congratulating me.
“He’s so hot,” Michelle said, rolling her eyes.
“Perfect,” added Kylie.
“And so good at football, actually, at most things he tries,” Brit finished.
“If you guys all think he’s so amazing, why have none of you dated him before?” I asked, laughing, but a little afraid of their answers.
Michelle responded, “Well he just broke up with his two-year girlfriend this past summer. She graduated and they didn’t want to deal with the whole long-distance thing.”
We all stood to leave the stadium.
“Yeah,” Kylie chimed in, “so this is the first year he’s been single, and you just had to jump in here and take him right when we all thought we had a chance!” I laughed, as did they. “Treat him well,” she said.
“We’re all going to go eat,” Brit said when we reached the grass. “Waffle House, want to go?”
“Oh, no, my mom’s on the way already. Thanks though,” I lied.
“I thought she was working,” Taylor said, throwing me off.
“Oh, yeah. She just got off her night shift. She just texted me.”
“You want us to wait for her with you?” Brit asked.
“No, oh no. You guys go ahead.”
They left me where I would meet David after he came out of the locker room. He probably wanted to walk me to my car. I checked the time on my phone, 10:02, and when I looked up he was walking toward me.
“Hey David, congrats on the win,” I said
“I usually suck, I think you made me lucky or something.” He smiled when he said this, and his right hand found its way into my left.
“You played really well, even better than I was expecting.” Ana was much better at flirting than Sydney was.
“Well thanks for coming, you look amazing.”
I took a second to mentally scan my outfit: faded jean shorts, a simple red V-neck. Nothing special. “Thank you.”
“So how did you get here, did you drive?”
“Oh, no I walked, it’s really close, my house is like nowhere from here.” Realizing I had told the girls I’d be picked up, my eyes fluttered around the dark parking lot, stopping at every petal of light on the ground below each streetlight. I avoided his stare.
“It’s dark out, let me take you home.” Sometime during my frantic glancing across the parking lot, he’d moved closer to me. He pulled my chin to face him, and Sydney banged on my insides, pulling me away from him as I stepped back. Thankfully, Ana played it off as a flirty game, but I was slipping too much. Reassuringly, he laughed quietly and slowly dropped his hand from my face.
“Maybe another time,” I said. “Congratulations again, I’ll see you later?”
He sighed and nodded as his mouth poked out, understanding Ana’s game. “Yeah, definitely.” He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Goodnight, Ana.”
“Night, David.”
He watched me walk away for a while before turning to head to his car, where a few of the guys waited for him. I gave one more wave goodbye before I turned the corner.
* * *
The streets looked a lot less pleasant without daylight, and eventually everyone else who walked home from the game had veered off to their homes while I walked on. A few lurkers hobbled by, sniffing as I passed. Could I do this for a year? Two? Loneliness was one thing when it meant boredom, a much more serious thing when it meant fear and danger. I’d been searching for a better solution all week but ended up back in the shack every night.
And soon, I was back in the shack, and at least the air was cool. I turned on the flashlight to find my hairbrush in my bag, and had pulled it out to start brushing, when the phone rang.
David. I decided I had talked to him enough that night, so I let it ring. It rang until it stopped, only to start ringing again three seconds later. I moaned, and then chuckled at his persistence.
“Hello,” I said, trying to sound busy.
“Hi ho little one.”
Dad greeted me like that since I was little. He’d wake me up in the mornings before school. He would shake my belly and say “Hi ho little one” when I woke up. “Hi ho Daddy” I’d answer. Then he’d say, “Rise and shine, its wakey-wakey time,” and I’d groan, but eventually giggle.
This time I didn’t want to giggle, or groan. I just wanted to bawl and scream and break things—innocent things. I wanted to hurt someone or something and get this ridiculous feeling out from inside of me. No words I could have said would have quenched the rage. So I didn’t speak.
“Sydney, you there?”
After a few seconds, I took a deep breath. “Yeah, what do you need?” I held back tears with every word and every breath.
“I miss my daughter, and I just wanted to check and see how things are with you up there in North Carolina, since we haven’t talked in a few days. Things aren’t the same without you here, kid.”
How could he be talking like this, like the old Dad? What kind of sick joke could he be playing on me that would make him try and act like the Dad I loved—the Dad that died the same day my mother did? Why was he impersonating him?
“Things aren’t the same, period,” I said. “It doesn’t matter where I am, or whether I’m around you.”
“How can you talk like that? You should be home. Whether she’s alive or dead, your mother holds us together, Syd. Don’t you see? Everything left of her is in this house.”
The rage built up and erupted from me. “What you’re talking about isn’t possible. She doesn’t hold us together, she’s dead. Dead people can’t hold anything. The only one who can hold me together is me, and that’s what I intend to do for the rest of my life. You haven’t taught me much since Mom’s death, Dad, but I have learned one thing: the worst kind of orphan is the kind whose parent consciously chooses not to be one.”
I clicked off the phone and dropped it. Why was I so angry? This was the most clearheaded he had sounded in a long time.
Perhaps it was the stench of the old shack, the must of failure rising from the two blankets that covered the floor. The room growing emptier as I searched desperately for something to throw. I flopped down on the blankets and sat silently for a long moment, and then a scream burst out. And I screamed, and pleaded with myself to stop.
“God. No.” I cursed my father and the whole world. I cursed my old house and everything that reminded me of her and how things used to be
. I cursed the little girl who fell in love with her parents before she had the sense to only trust in herself. I was the only person who couldn’t leave me.
Sitting on the top blanket in the bedroom, the floor felt hard and stiff. Hopefully Mom was right when she always said I was strong as stone. But I was finding that hard to believe.
Chapter 9
I didn’t know what time it was—didn’t want to know, really. My stomach was begging for breakfast, so I changed into my clothes for the day: a t-shirt, jean shorts and sandals. Reaching for my bag, a light blue blotch in the left bottom corner of my navy t-shirt was exposed. I remembered.
Mom was teaching me how to wash whites, and I spilled bleach onto the floor. She had shrieked at such a high pitch, I almost dropped the whole bottle, hugging it to my body, wearing the same blue t-shirt I wore now. We cracked up at the two of us, clumsy and loud and crazy, until she took the bleach from me and we cleaned the floor.
I yanked the shirt off before the memories had a chance to take over, and replaced it with an unstained black t-shirt. I swiped away a tear or two before rubbing lotion onto my dry legs and arms, and then I headed out through the shack’s front door.
While I walked, I checked the texts that had come in while I slept. David, Taylor, Brit, all texting about this party tonight. While Sydney was crumbling, Ana had been making a name for herself.
After a wash-up in the gas station bathroom, I grabbed an orange juice and two donuts, and handed the items to the clerk to scan.
“I notice you come here a lot.” When I faced him, the clerk was staring at me. He said, “Like every day.”
“Oh, yeah well, I live really close and I go to Rock Bridge, so, you know, it’s a good place to get cheap junk food.” I laughed, a nervous laugh.
“Mhm.” He rang up my items.
“Yep.”
A silence ensued, and now he refused to look at me. “You know, you can’t bathe, or whatever, in there.”
“Excuse me?” What the hell?
“You always take a while, and leave here wet, hair and everything.”
