The garden was a mess, weeds claiming the whole paving, sprouting up through the cracks and tangling in on themselves. I compared it to walking through an urban jungle.
“Do you live here?” I asked when Julian pushed open the front door without knocking.
He smirked at me over his shoulder. “Don’t look too surprised.”
I hadn’t meant to sound rude. “I never meant—”
“Don’t sweat it. It’s a shit hole, I know.” The ghost of a smile touched my lips, catching my first real glimpse of an actual personality. There was no pretense, no sarcasm or show—it was just him, and I was sure in that moment he wasn’t as big an ass as he made himself out to be.
Inside, the small home was clean and tidy, but in dire need of repair and maintenance. It didn’t faze Julian and my gaze wandered everywhere in curiosity while I followed him into the kitchen area. It was a difficult concept to master, getting my head around Julian ever staying here, never mind growing up here. I stood like a spare part, idling by the door.
“Sit down,” he said, taking a carton of orange from the fridge.
Pulling out a wooden-backed chair, I sat down, still scanning everywhere. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Cockroaches, maybe. Rats. I prickled with guilt at my horrible thoughts. This was someone’s home. No, not someone’s home—Julian’s home.
“Thirsty?” Julian held out the carton of orange to me and I nodded.
The door slammed, the wooden house shaking on its foundations, and a bundle of hair and limbs came flying through the door. Julian swooped down and threw the smaller boy over his shoulder. He swung him around and then boosted him up onto his back. The boy smiled at me, his hair flopping forward into his eyes—the same blue eyes as Julian and full of the same mischief.
“Who’s this?” I asked Julian, smiling at who had to be his brother. They were too alike, except where Julian’s hair was a rich brown, the little guy’s was a dark-blond shaggy pile.
Julian tipped his head back and looked up at his brother. He nodded and dropped him to the floor, then nudged him in the arm with his muscled-thigh.
“This is Taj.”
“Hi,” I said.
The last thing I expected was Taj to throw up his fingers and sign, hello.
I looked at Julian, caught completely off-guard, but he smiled at me and Ruffled Taj’s locks. “He’s deaf,” he explained. “He can’t lip read either.” Taj was smiling even though he couldn’t hear a word of what we were saying.
“That’s fine.” I really like your Vans, I signed. Do you skate?
Taj’s smile grew and he kicked up his foot to the side, admiring his own sneakers. Yes, do you?
No. I’m no good. But I’m a pretty quick learner. Think I’d need the right shoes though, kinda like yours. I angled my head to get a better look. Maybe in purple or pink?
Taj nodded enthusiastically. The Mall’s ten minutes away. I can take my board.
Taj looked up at Julian and I shrugged when Julian narrowed his eyes at me. He signed to Taj, Go brush your teeth because I know you haven’t already, then grab your board and I’ll meet you in the yard. Do not go any farther, or I’ll kick your butt.
Taj made a happy noise that sounded like ‘yes’ and then ran from the kitchen, throwing me a toothy grin over his shoulder.
Julian leaned back against the counter and studied me. “You sign?”
“Well Taj understood me.”
“The only other people I know who can communicate with him outside of school is my mom and his best friends mom, Joanne down the street.”
“Then we’ve got our own language,” I said. “I think that’s kind of amazing.”
“Why do you sign?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“You learned sign language for the hell of it?”
“It’s a skill. One that I wanted.”
Julian looked the other end of convinced.
“When I was little and my dad would piss me off, I would sign behind his back and cuss him out. I learned Spanish for the same reasons.”
Julian grinned. “Who taught you?”
“Me.”
“You taught yourself to sign when you were a kid?” He sounded like his brain was trying to process why someone would do something so nonsensical.
“People assume that just because a person is deaf that they are lonely or isolated, and I guess, yeah, sometimes that’s true. But I was living in a world where I could hear, and everyone could hear me, but I was the one who was isolated. I needed an out, and that was it for me. I needed my own thing—something that was just mine. I wanted to block out the noise. Every once in a while, you need to hear without the noise.”
Truth was, I’d learned to sign after a one-off week of lessons in grade school, and I loved the idea of talking with your hands. I was hooked, and I took after school classes, seeing as though I didn’t have a huge group of friends waiting to hang out with me.
“I doubt it’s that way when you spend your whole life not being able hear to a word.” Julian’s tone was offended, and I could feel him throwing up all his defenses, each one slapping me in the face, shutting me out.
I sighed. “I’m sure it’s not. I can’t begin to imagine what it feels like to live your whole life in silence, and I would never pretend I do. You asked me why I learned to sign, and I told you.”
“We can’t go to the mall.” Julian put the orange back in the fridge and puffed out his chest. He braced both arms on top of his head and turned around to face me. “We need to start this assignment. I have practice every night this week. Today’s my only time free.”
I’m sure it wasn’t, but I didn’t care enough to argue about how seriously he was—or wasn’t—taking this. “It’s just shoes,” I said. “We’re still finding things out about each other, and it’s got to be better than sitting here on the verge of another argument. Plus, Marcus said that whatever material I get, he will help me write it up.”
Julian rolled his eyes, sparking irritation to prickle my skin. “I’ll bet he did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a sucker, is what it means.”
“Excuse me?” I could feel my temper flaring, and I was ready to combust.
“The guy’s a fucking tool. Where’s he helping you get it on paper? His house? I’ll bet it was Jordan’s idea.” Julian’s smirk was as cruel as his words.
The pinging of my phone receiving a text message diverted me from arguing back. I couldn’t get it out of my pocket quick enough. My fingers were shaking as I unlocked it to read the message.
Jordan: Can we meet tomorrow night? I’ve thought about you all day. I’m not ready to give up yet.
My smile was immediate and I finally let out a breath laden with relief. We were going to be okay. I felt like I could breathe again.
I heard Julian snicker. “Your boyfriend text you? I guess the milkshake worked. What kind of guy makes up for pimping out his girl with frozen milk? No, scratch that. What kind of person who isn’t twelve drinks milkshake?”
“He didn’t pimp me out,” I said through gritted teeth. I stabbed my finger into my chest. I was so gassed I could launch a thousand rockets. “And I drink milkshake.”
“Who you trying to convince here, you or me?”
“My relationship has absolutely nothing to do with you. It in no way affects you, so get over it.”
“Relationship’s a bit of a strong word. I heard easy girls are quick to forgive. First time I’ve seen it close up.”
I laid my palms on the table and pushed myself up out of the seat. “Wow.” Julian’s face was tense, his eyes sharpened. I didn’t know who was madder. “I’ll write down anything you need to know about me to do your part of the work. Make of it what you will, you’re already doing such a good job of that.” I shoved the chair back under the table, the wood screeching against the grubby linoleum. “Tell Taj I’m sorry about the mall, but I just couldn’t stomach anymore time spent with
his idiot brother.”
“Where you going? I drove you here.”
“I’d rather walk… hitchhike—anything but be near you.”
Julian never followed me and eventually I caught a bus back to Campus. I sat at the back, absently watching the neglected streets rush by in a gray-concrete blur. The only color came from the graffiti that adorned the buildings like forbidden masterpieces. I ignored the tear rolling down my cheek, a solid sign that Julian was under my skin, and had no intentions of crawling back out. I tried to recall when it was that I had started to care about what he thought of me and what I’d done to piss him off. He was nobody, not to me anyway. Being the star of a football team didn’t make you king of the universe, giving you a free pass to trample all over people. But underneath it all, it bothered me the most that he had pointed out my weakness. My overthinking was one thing, but hearing someone else say out loud my deepest fears was something else entirely. I was well aware Jordan called the shots, but Julian didn’t understand how much I loved him. How much I was pretty sure he loved me.
Julian was nobody and what he thought of me was irrelevant. I could give two shits. I reminded myself that this was just a stupid assignment and passing came first. Allowing Julian to so easily piss me off wasn’t a part of it. Neither was kissing guys I hardly knew. But so far college was kicking my ass. I had lost all focus and I hadn’t been at BU two minutes. My dad was the worst kind of person, but he was right. Everything you do should strive towards an end goal, and figure skating was my end goal. Intercollegiate competitions started in October and Nationals was something I would like to win.
I replied to Jordan’s message. Knowing I would see him later was enough to make me forget the disaster that had just unfolded. Since Thursday night too many things had gone wrong, but it would be better from now on. I would make sure of it. But first things first, I had to find a new partner for this paper. Nothing could be fixed till I got rid of Julian.
7: Julian
ANGEL DIDN’T DESERVE THE way I just went off on her, but I would love nothing more than to bang her head against the hard wall of the truth. Okay, the whole Marcus wants in her pants thing was out of order, but I fucking hate that guy Jordan. She has no problem talking smack with me, but when it comes to him she turns into this pathetic, needy loser. It took me all of an hour to see that side of her, but it didn’t take a genius to work out that was how she acted all the time with him. She was clueless to how badly she was being played. And when I tried to give her the clue, she didn’t wanna fucking know. I felt like a bit of a shit for my ulterior motive for caring, but I was too deeply invested. Besides, she was kind of a bitch. I’m sure assisting me in my side of the bet wouldn’t be too much for her.
So much for the assignment. We were flunking at this rate and if I got anything less than a B to maintain my average, O’Hara was to going to have my balls on a silver platter. And that guy was in a fucking mood lately. Nothing made him happy. Not even our win Friday night could put a smile on his pretty face. Training this morning was brutal and something told me it would be that way for the rest of the week.
Speaking of the devil, my phone was ringing, coach’s name on full display.
“Shit,” I murmured before pressing answer. “Yo, what’s up, Coach?” I said, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Be in my office in the next fifteen minutes.”
“But—”
“I don’t care. Fifteen minutes, Seven, or I’ll bench you next game.”
It was Sunday, for fuck’s sake. Taj bolted back into the kitchen with his board hanging by his side. He must have got sick of waiting outside for me.
Sorry, Buddy, I gotta go see Coach. You mind hanging at Mikey’s till mom gets back?
This sucks, Taj signed back, a huge fucking frown on his face. Where’d she go? His blue eyes flicked around the room like Angel might pop out from behind the door.
I patted him on the back on my way past him and waited for him to follow. She’s gone, man. Chicks are hard work. Don’t ever get one.
Underneath his shaggy hair, his frown deepened. So why’d you bring her here? You never bring anyone here.
Kid was too smart. He might not be able to hear but there was nothing wrong with his eyesight. Just hurry up, I signed, ready to push him out the door. I’ll walk you to Mikey’s.
None of the other team’s cars were in the lot when I got to the stadium and I took it as a bad sign. I walked through the empty locker rooms and tapped against the glass window of Coach’s door.
“Come in, Seven.”
I exhaled a breath before ducking my head and walking in. “You wanted to see me?” I asked, hanging back by the door, in no rush to get too comfortable.
“Sit.”
As commanded, I took up one of the visitor seats. Coach sat with his head down, his pen pressed to paper acting like I wasn’t even there. “So what do you want, Coach?”
“To talk some sense into you,” he said, his pen working hard and still no eye contact.
“I don’t know what you mean, C—”
This time he looked at me. “You don’t, huh?”
Holy shit. “Coach, if this is about Angel—”
“Angel?” No, it wasn’t about Angel. “What about Angel?” His eyes sharpened with suspicion. “Seven, I swear to God—”
“No! I just thought… you know, she’s my partner in Sociology. Marcus Fucking Lucas assigned us a paper to learn about each other’s lives an’ shit. I would never sleep with your daughter.” His eyes narrowed even more. I probably shouldn’t cuss in the same sentence I mention fucking his daughter. “Anyway, she’s taken.” Was I still fucking talking? “It’s gotta be said, though, her taste in men is hilarious. Does she get that from you?” I sniggered at my own stupid joke but Coach’s lips were pinched in fury.
He muttered something I couldn’t comprehend, throwing his pen down onto the desk. He leaned back in his chair till it bobbed under his weight, and stared me down. “I see you’ve met Jordan? I hate that Kid.”
“You and me both.”
His suspicious eyes made another appearance. “What reason have you got to hate him?”
“None,” I said quickly. “So, what’s up? Why am I here?”
A heavy silence.
“Two words. Draft evaluation. Stop me when you know where I’m going with this.”
“So?” I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s not illegal.”
“No, it damn well isn’t. Is that what you’re aiming for, then? Early draft entry?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
He threw an opened envelope down between us. “First round pick,” he said. “See for yourself.”
My eyes were fixed on coach as I reached for the envelope. I flattened the paper, skimming every line with rushed precision. There it was, three lines down. First round draft pick, recommended by the CAC. I never had any doubt I’d be drafted, but seeing the words made it real. My chances were solid. I fought back my smile to avoid any more shit.
Coach watched me, his lips pursed to speak. His fingers tented under his chin as he bobbed in his chair. “You sure you want to leave before senior year? If this doesn’t work out…” I folded up the paper, shoving it into my back pocket. “You’ve a year of college eligibility left.”
“I know that,” I said, matter of fact. “But I came to college to play ball. It’s written down that that’s exactly what I’ll be doing. Only pro. That was what I wanted. That’s what we wanted.”
“I’m here to guide you, not just coach you. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t make sure you were looking seriously at all aspects.”
“I was finding out some stuff, that’s it. I haven’t made any decisions.”
“Son, you are a damn fine quarterback and one hell of a prospect. Your talent is undeniable and you are a great leader, never mind that arm you were blessed with. And your team respects you. But if you are going to stick two fingers to a final year of college and put everything into nex
t year’s draft, then you need to get your priorities straight.”
I looked at him like I had no clue where he was headed.
“Don’t give me that shit. You Party too much. You wanna go all in? Put it all on the line for the January deadline? If you are going to give up playing in the NCAA then you better buck up your ideas. There’s no such thing as a sure thing. You need to work, and work hard. Now get out.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get the hell out of my office.”
I only needed to be told once. I got up to leave, the door seconds out of reach. “And, Seven?” I turned to face him. “Go behind my back again and—”
“Yeah, I’m benched. I got it.”
<>
Mom was home by the time I got back from seeing O’Hara. She was in the living room with Taj tucked under her arm, threading her fingers through his blond waves. She was dusky blond just like Taj and I was dark like our dear dad, but we both had his blue eyes. The fucker had left us for another woman and the shocker is, I don’t actually hate him. I’m at BU on a full football scholarship, but dad still sends a monthly check for Taj. Hell, sometimes he even comes to see him. Julian Sr.’s got a new wife now and two daughters who I’ve never met. I might not hate him but I’m in no rush to break bread with the family he left us for, half-blood or not.
Mom and Taj both sat staring at me from the couch. “What?” I said, dropping into the armchair. The leather was cracked and worn, just like everything else in this house.
“Do anything interesting today?” Mom asked, signing at the same time, a smirk pulling on her lips.
“Not really.”
Taj grinned, showing his teeth. Fucking snitch.
“Oh, yeah? You didn’t bring anyone home with you?”
“It was schoolwork.”
Falling for Seven Page 8
