by Shae Connor
Kenny’s face falls, and I hold back the urge to apologize. I don’t fault him for asking, but I’m here as his coach, not his friend. “Okay. Let’s work on the flairs. You’re doing much better.” I add the last to assuage my residual, inexplicable guilt, though it’s not a lie. He is getting better.
Kenny nods, so I wave toward the mat. “Start with that set of backflips that leads into the floor work. Go through it easy once and let me take a look, and then we’ll work on the details.”
I back off the mat to watch while Kenny pulls his mind back into the game, and then for the next half hour, I run Kenny through his paces, giving him tips and demonstrating a few moves. We adjust his approach to the flairs slightly to give him more momentum to carry through, and I make a mental note to check the change with Coach Everson. I’m supposed to be helping him with his routine, not changing it up.
After one more run-through of the floor work section, I nod as Kenny climbs up. He’s got to be tired, which makes this a good time to go through the full routine. If he can handle it fatigued, he’ll be much better equipped to handle the stress of competition.
“All right. Let’s put it all together now.”
“Yes, Coach.” Kenny looks as surprised as I feel at his instinctive words, but I flash him a small smile and nod before he moves to his starting position. He takes a deep breath and then launches into his opening moves, and I blink, startled. I don’t know if he’d been distracted before, wondering about Darryn, but he’s hitting every point perfectly. His flairs are high and fully extended, and when he swings into the final split and lifts his arms over his head, he looks every inch an Olympic champion. I can’t help breaking out into a grin.
“Nailed it!” He returns my grin before climbing up and bouncing on his toes once before walking toward me. I clap him on his shoulder when he reaches me, just like Coach Everson does when any of us has a good routine. “You’ve got that down for sure,” I tell him. “Comes down to doing it over and over again until it comes naturally and you don’t even have to think about it.”
His smile slips and he looks down and away. “Thanks,” he murmurs. “I mean…” He shrugs. “Thanks.”
I squeeze his shoulder one more time and drop my hand away. “I think our time’s about up.” I glance toward the digital clock on the wall as Coach Everson blows his whistle.
“That’s it, guys,” he yells. “Time to hit the showers.”
I shoot one last glance Kenny’s way, but he doesn’t look up, so I head toward the locker room. I feel a thousand percent better than I did on Friday. I’m actually pretty proud of myself. I’m still worried about Darryn, and I still miss him, but I managed to set that all aside and focus on my goal—coaching. The session went well, and I really feel like I helped Kenny.
I’ll keep trying to get in touch with Darryn, of course. In the meantime, life has to go on.
…
Tuesday and most of Wednesday pass in a near-normal blur of classes, meals, and homework. I almost don’t notice the gaping hole on the other side of the dorm room, though I can’t say my sleep is anything to write home about. I send one more text message, but I leave it at that. If Darryn wants to get in touch with me, he knows how to reach me.
I get to practice Wednesday a few minutes late, thanks to a long-running lecture in my last class, so I hurry through getting changed and jog out onto the gym floor. When I make it out, though, Coach Everson blows his whistle and waves an arm.
“C’mon, guys, gather ’round.”
I join the others in a loose half circle, facing him and Coach Sato, who stands with his arms crossed across his chest, face neutral. I can’t decide if that’s good news or bad.
“All right, guys,” Coach Everson says. “It’s a small campus. I know you’ve all heard about what happened to Kaneko last week.”
I can’t help it; I jerk in surprise, and I can see several guys cut their eyes in my direction before dragging their attention back to Coach, who’s still talking.
“I talked to Kaneko’s parents a few hours ago, and they asked me to pass along some information. Kaneko—Darryn,” he corrects himself at that point. “Darryn is doing well. He has a second-degree sprain of his left wrist, and his right shoulder was dislocated.”
He pauses and shakes his head. “I don’t know yet how this is going to affect him in here, in the gym, but that’s not my primary concern, and it shouldn’t be yours, either. He’s healing, but he’s got a long road ahead of him. And he’s going to need all the support we can give him.”
Murmurs of agreement come from around me. I’m still frozen in place, glued to Coach’s every word. How is he really doing? And when is he coming back?
“It looks like Darryn might finish up this semester from home.” It’s as if Coach read my mind. “They’re still working out those details. I told Mr. Kaneko that if there’s anything we can do, we’ll be happy to help.” He pauses and glances around at us. “And when he does make it back here, the whole team will be here to help, too.”
“Yeah!”
That comes from Heath, and it surprises laughs out of several others. Coach flashes a brief, small smile. “Okay.” He claps his hands together. “Now let’s get to work.”
I bite back the million other questions I want to ask. Like, why the hell couldn’t Darryn tell me any of that himself?
I need to get out of my head, and putting my body through its paces is just the ticket.
A few hours later, muscles still burning from practice, I’m in the corner of the dining hall, picking at what’s left of my lukewarm spaghetti, when someone bumps my shoulder.
“Wake up, bro.” Annie takes the seat across from me. “Faceplanting into your pasta might seem like a good idea. The mess? Not so great.”
I give her what I know is an anemic smile. “Kind of a blah day, I guess.”
Annie frowns as she sprinkles a packet of parmesan onto her own pile of pasta. “Still haven’t heard from Darryn?”
I give up on eating and shove my tray aside. “Not directly. Coach Everson gave us an update at practice today. He’s doing okay, recuperating at home.”
Annie snorts softly. “The ‘resting comfortably’ line. How helpful.”
I fold my arms on the table and tuck my shoulders up toward my ears. “It’s better than no word at all.”
I’m aware of how petulant I sound. Annie doesn’t press, but I find myself talking anyway.
“I keep hoping to get a call, or a text, or a freaking snail-mail letter—some kind of word. I’ve sent him several texts, and I even called once, but I got voicemail. I don’t want to annoy him, but I don’t even know if he hasn’t gotten the messages or if he doesn’t want to talk to me.”
When everything went down with Rich, all I could think of was making sure Darryn was okay, even if he hated me for it. But never thought he actually would.
Now I’m not so sure.
Annie sets down her fork and reaches across to tap her finger on my arm. “Give him some time,” she tells me. “He’s probably still in pain, and I don’t just mean physically. He’s got a lot to work through.”
I know she’s right. That doesn’t make things easier.
“Thanks.” I roll my shoulders and then stand and reach for my tray. “Got a test in anthro tomorrow and I’m a chapter behind. I better get to it.”
Annie shudders. “Glad I got that out of the way last year. I’d offer to help, but the last thing I want to do is relive it.”
I snort. “You stick with the computers, I’ll handle the humanity.”
“Deal.” Annie shoots me a grin that’s only about half the usual, but it’s something, at least.
I head for the door, dropping off my tray along the way, and try to focus my thoughts on what I need to review tonight. It’s impossible not to think of Darryn, though, especially with all the study sessions we’d s
hared over the past year. I could use a study bet right about now to keep me focused.
More than that, though, I’d love to have my best friend back.
Pretty sure my focus is going to be shot until I hear from Darryn.
If I hear from Darryn.
…
I survive my anthropology test, the rest of my classes, and three more afternoons of practice before the weekend stretches out in front of me, endless and empty. I have a paper and another big test coming up the next week, but the idea of hanging out in my suddenly solo dorm room and trying to study leaves me cold. The library isn’t a better prospect, exactly, but at least I’m less likely to feel like the walls are closing in on me.
Library it is.
I find a spot deep in the stacks, and I’m an hour into research on my paper when my cell phone rings. Crap. I forgot to set it to vibrate. I ignore the heads turning my way and silence the ringtone as quickly as I can. When I see the name on the display, I freeze.
It’s Darryn.
I swipe to answer, uncaring of the rules against phone calls in the library. “Hey.” I keep my voice as low as I can.
“Grant?”
My heart drops. It’s not Darryn after all. It’s his dad.
“Hi, Mr. Kaneko. Is…is everything okay?”
“Yes. Darryn’s doing well.” There’s a brief pause. “I wanted to call to say thank you.”
My throat closes up, and it’s all I can do to whisper, “Thank me?”
“For what you did for Darryn.” Mr. Kaneko’s voice is a strange combination of gentle and stilted. “I—we—are thankful that you were there to help him. We didn’t…” He pauses again. “We didn’t know about this…boy he was seeing. We didn’t know—”
He stops short, but I can fill in the rest. They didn’t know he was dating anyone, much less that it was a guy.
“I’m…I’m glad I could be there.” It’s the understatement of the century, but it’s all I can manage to say. “I’m glad he’s doing okay. I mean…he is doing okay, isn’t he?” Please tell me he doesn’t hate me.
“He is doing well,” Mr. Kaneko repeats. “I know you’ve called to talk to him. He hasn’t been ready to talk to anyone yet. I think…I think he will be soon. I think he’ll want to talk to you first.”
Relief floods through me. “Please tell him he can call or text any time he wants.” I hope he knows that, but I want to be sure.
“I will.” There’s another brief pause. “Thank you again. We all owe you a debt of gratitude.”
Take care of Darryn for me. “I…you’re welcome,” I say instead.
“Goodbye, Grant.”
“Bye.”
The calls ends, and I’m left sitting at my table, books spread out around me, staring at the phone in my hand. I close my eyes and picture Darryn’s face.
Please call soon, I tell the mental image. I miss you.
Chapter Ten
The first text from Darryn comes three days later.
I’m sitting on my bed with my laptop out, trying to get through a rough draft of my paper, when my phone buzzes. I glance over and jolt when I see Darryn’s name on the screen.
I pick up the phone and open the text.
Hard to text with one wrist in a splint and the other arm in a sling.
My heart’s pounding and there’s a swooping in my stomach as I consider my response. Darryn beats me to it.
I’d kill for a shower right about now.
I force my brain away from the image of Darryn naked and wet as I type with shaking hands. What, insurance won’t pay for a gorgeous nurse to come give you private sponge baths?
I wish. Its fumble with a cloth over the sink or let my mom wash my junk.
He inserts about six emoji after that, running the gamut from an embarrassed face to an eggplant to a vomiting face. I laugh out loud.
Yeah, I’d stick with the sink, I send before scrambling for something else to say. Do they at least have you on the good drugs?
I wait for his reply. Percocet is my friend but I only get that at night. Otherwise its Advil and being very very still.
I wince. Tell me they’re at least feeding you well.
All my favorites. Think I’m gonna turn orange from all the mac and cheese. I keep telling mom I don’t need anything special. I like what she usually makes.
Which, I know, is heavy on the traditional rice, fish, and vegetables of their Japanese heritage. Darryn’s parents are second-generation Americans, but they’ve made a point of maintaining much of their cultural roots. Not that they haven’t adapted to American habits. Darryn’s dad grills out as much as any other suburban dad in the South. I’ve been the beneficiary.
Tell her that, I suggest. Comfort food is different from favorite food.
Yeah.
I wait for more, but it doesn’t come. I wonder for a minute if I should leave him alone. Then the little blue dots appear that indicate a message in progress.
How’s practice?
I shift in my seat, not at all sure how to approach this. From what little I’ve heard, it’ll be another week or two before he even starts physical therapy. It could be months before he can tackle any of the apparatus.
It’s practice, I type, slowly. Lots of hanging off rings and bars. Choking on chalk dust. Coach Everson and Coach Sato playing good cop/bad cop.
Sounds like heaven. A second message comes up seconds later. I wish I could come watch.
I blink at my screen. Why don’t you? I mean, if you really want to, there’s no reason you can’t.
His response is slow to come. Not ready.
This whole laborious conversation is killing me. I want to be there with him, listening to him talk, watching his face, his body language.
Can you have company?
This reply takes even longer. I’m not ready.
Then: Soon, though. I promise.
My eyes burn as I type my response. I’m gonna hold you to that.
…
The texts keep coming at random intervals over the next few days. It takes me until halfway through day three to realize that he’s sending them around my class and practice schedule, at times I’m available to talk. My heart aches, and I miss him even more.
I’m lying in bed around ten Sunday night, in my empty, quiet dorm room, too keyed up to fall asleep but too tired to do anything else. We have two days of classes left before Thanksgiving and all my assignments are done, so I don’t even have homework to do.
My phone rings, making me jump. No one ever calls me but my mom, Annie, and the occasional telemarketer. I pick it up and see the name I most want to see. Darryn.
I almost drop the phone in my scramble to swipe to answer. “H-hey!” I blurt out.
Darryn’s soft laugh answers me. “Hey.”
His voice is as familiar to me as my own. Just hearing that one word has me awake and energized, as if I’ve touched a live wire.
With effort, I keep my voice low like Darryn’s, as if talking too loudly might break the fragile connection. “How are you feeling?”
“Woozy.” He sighs, and I hear the sound of fabric rustling as he shifts. I try not to think of him half dressed and curled up in bed. “Took my nightly drugs an hour ago. I’m a little loopy. But I couldn’t fall asleep.”
“Me either.” I roll onto my side, cradling the phone between my ear and the pillow. “It’s too quiet.”
He lets out a soft laugh. “No roommate crowding your space and making annoying noises.”
My smile is wholly involuntary. “No roommate telling me to stop goofing off and get back to studying.”
Darryn sighs again. “I’d have to tell myself that, too. Can’t concentrate on anything.”
The last thing I want to do is bring back painful memories, but my curiosity gets the better of me. �
��What did you end up doing about school?”
He blows out a breath. “I’m on a kind of modified online program. Two of my classes were being taught online anyway, so they switched me to those, and I’m doing a home study thing for bio.”
He had four classes, though. “And the last one?”
“We decided I should take an incomplete in chemistry. Kind of hard to do the labs for that, and since I’m taking only three classes next semester, that’ll give me time to finish up that one.”
Unspoken was the likelihood that he wouldn’t have practice and meets filling his schedule like we usually did in the spring.
“That sucks,” I say. “Let me know if you need any help with bio. I can send you lecture notes or whatever.”
“Actually…” Darryn pauses. “I was thinking, if you’d like to…you might come over this weekend so we can study together. I know it’s Thanksgiving, but I’m a chapter behind, and I need to get caught up so I can take the final on time. Otherwise I’ll have to take another incomplete.”
If I hadn’t been wide awake before, I would be after that. The prospect of seeing Darryn live and in the flesh for the first time since everything happened has me buzzing from head to toe.
“Sure.” I’m impressed at my ability to sound calm. “I can bring over all my notes, and we can go over what you missed. It’ll be good review for me anyway.”
“Great.” He hesitates again. “Does three on Saturday work? You can stay for dinner. I’ll see if Mom will make sushi.”
I’d never been much of a sushi fan until I had his mom’s homemade sushi the year before, the first time I went to Darryn’s house. “You sure it’s no trouble?” I know damn good and well making those delicious rolls isn’t the easiest thing in the world.
“She’ll love it.” I can hear the smile in Darryn’s voice, and it brings a matching smile to my face. “I’ll text you if we need to change the time or anything. Unless you hear something, I’ll see you Saturday?”
“I’ll be there.”
Chapter Eleven
“Yo, parental units!”
