Dangerous Play

by Emma Kress

  He pushes himself up in bed, setting his laptop to the side. “What’s wrong? What are you doing home? Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m fine. I just—” The bedside lamp casts a cone of dull light. He’s lying against the headboard, messy hair, tired eyes, all because he tried to make me a waffle breakfast on game day. Forced into bed. Again. Because of me.

  “What’s wrong, then?”

  And it just hits me. Again. Like a relentless wave crashing against the shore. Nothing I do matters. Nothing I do fixes anything. There’s nothing I can do. But Mom is supposed to fix things, to help people. It’s her job for fuck’s sake. “Mom should—”

  “Hey. You have no right to make your mother feel bad about what she does for us.” He sits up higher and the pain spreads across his face and his stupid broken watch catches the light and I can’t—I just can’t—“She—”

  “Dad.” He would feel so much better if he just admitted it. Finally. All these times I’ve seen him swallow his disappointment. It would be better to let it out. Then maybe he and I could get her to help somehow. “You have to admit you shouldn’t be doing as much as you do and she—”

  “Zoe.” His lips are thin, his voice stern. “I know you think you know what I need. But you don’t.”

  “But she’s a nurse, and she can’t even—”

  “No,” he says. “Listen. You are my daughter. Laura is my wife. Neither one of you is my caretaker.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “Stop, Zoe. Enough!”

  I go silent. He’s never spoken like this to me. My whole body feels unsteady, at the edge of something deep and ugly. Suddenly the six feet between us feels like six hundred. This room is so damned dark. And I don’t know how we got here.

  “Nurses aren’t superheroes. Neither are doctors. Neither are any of the healers and specialists I’ve seen. They don’t have all the answers. Some don’t even ask the right questions. But your mom has never given up—not on me, not on you, not on us.

  “And none of these doctors and specialists are free. Your mother works her tail off to make sure that I have access to all of them, even if our insurance won’t cover them. And on top of everything, she works extra shifts so that you don’t have to worry about college. Do you know how hard it is for me to see her work like this and not be able to help? And then you blame her?”

  This room is so dark. Everything’s shifted. Nothing is where I thought it was. I’m not where I thought I was. I want to slip into the darkness, become invisible. The lamplight shows me his face and it’s twisted with anger, disappointment.

  At me.

  “It’s not her job to fix me, Zoe, but she’s doing everything she can anyway. And you know what? I’ve been to fifty doctors and specialists and physical therapists and nurses and massage therapists and acupuncturists, and guess what? Not one has ‘fixed’ me.” He sighs big. “This is just life, Zoe. You can’t control all of it. You can barely control some of it.”

  I can’t control anything. Not my team. Not school. Not myself. Not my scholarship. Not Grove. Not Kups. Not Reilly. Not Dad’s face right now.

  “Do you know why I think you get so angry at your mom?” His voice is softer but his cheeks go blotchy. Like he’s going to cry.

  I don’t think I can take it if he cries.

  “It’s because you’re so angry that I got hurt. And you can’t be mad at me so you get mad at her.” Tears arc down his cheeks. “And your mom”—he sniffs—“the wonderful, generous woman that she is, just takes it. I wanted to say something to you, but she always protects you. She just lets you use her like a human punching bag because she says you need something to punch.” He shakes his head. “But no more, Zoe. It’s not fair.”

  Inside, a tidal wave surges, threatening. “I—”

  “Oh honey,” he says, waving me over, “come here.”

  I walk slowly. They thought I had to be protected. They thought I had to be handled. It’s like a compass I’ve been following all this time just up and switched north and south. I lean over and hug him, careful not to put my weight on him like always, but he holds me tight, holds me until the tears roll down my cheeks anyway.

  “I love you, Zozo.”

  “I love you too, Dad.”

  He releases me. He nods at the chair and I pull it over. He takes my hand in his. “I think we let things go too far. And that’s on us. Not you. But I need you to start seeing things the way they really are.”

  I swipe my cheeks. “I’ll tell Mom I’m sorry.”

  He nods. “Good. But there’s more, Zoe. It’s me too. You see me as sick. Ever since the accident. That’s all you see.” He squeezes my hand. “I am so much more than this injury, Zoe. But you behave as though you’ve forgotten who I am. You only see me as a burden.”

  I lean forward, clutching his hands in mine. “Dad. That’s not true. You’re not a burden. I love you. I just want to help you feel better.”

  “I know that, honey.” His voice softens. “You’ve done so much to help out these last few years. Too much.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “No. It was a lot. And I am so grateful. But that’s not what I mean. It’s the way you treat me now.”

  “I—” The tears gather behind my eyes, my cheeks, my nose. I sniff. I refuse to cry again.

  “Trust me, I know it’s coming from a good place. But—” He exhales. “It makes me feel like crap half the time. Sometimes I just want to forget about my accident, you know? Sometimes I just want to be your dad. I just want to bake cookies and listen to Marvin. I want to dance with your mom. I want to make you a waffle. I don’t want that accident to define me. Or you. Or your mom. I don’t need your pity, Zoe.”

  Every part of me is working to dam up the tears. All this time, I’ve been the one holding him back. I’ve been the one making their lives harder. I’ve been the one not seeing what’s in front of my face. Not them. All this time I thought I was in the right. And I was so far from it.

  “I’m so sorry, Dad.”

  “I know, pumpkin. I love you so much.” He pulls me in for a hug and I hear the soft music from his earbuds. He laughs softly. “I can’t believe you came home in the middle of the day. Did you leave them a note?”

  I sit up and let out a half laugh. He rubs the top of my head.

  “My little rebel.”

  It used to be this joke. Me and my notes. Me and my rules. But there are so many rules I’ve broken I don’t even know where the line is anymore.

  “You better get back. You’ve got a big game. That’s what you should focus on. Don’t worry about me. Enjoy being a field hockey player going to States, okay?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I manage. I stand, my legs somehow walking me to the door.

  “Do me a favor?”

  I turn back. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t forget to shoot your mom that text, okay?”

  “Definitely,” I say. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “Honey, it’s okay. Really. It’s on us. Your mom and I made a lot of mistakes. Don’t worry, we’ll make more.” He smiles. “Now go back to whatever passes for learning in that fine institution.”

  I slam the car door, and the clang rips right through me. I put my hands on the wheel and run them along the ridges. I lean my head back against the headrest. The daylight is the color of concrete, but it still feels too bright, too much after the dark of his bedroom. All this time, it’s been me.

  Help and harm are too close.

  I take out my phone.

  ME: Sorry about this morning, Mom.

  ME: I’m sorry about a lot of things. I was wrong. I love you.

  I also toss a quick text to Liv.

  I wipe my face and start the car. All this time, in so many ways, I’ve been in the wrong.

  I am a complete and total shit.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  BACK AT SCHOOL, IT’S BETWEEN periods and the halls are thick with people and my throat feels jammed and my chest feels tight and I’m trying to remember whe
re Liv would be but—

  “Whoa.”

  Great. I just ran into someone.

  “You okay?”

  I look up.

  It’s Grove. Of course.

  “I—”

  “Come on.” He pulls me toward the lockers, away from the rush of bodies. “You don’t seem—are you okay?”

  “Don’t.” I look down, over his shoulder, anywhere but at him. “I’m such an idiot.”

  Grove shrugs. “Funny. Jake said the same thing about me.”

  I look at him. “Excuse me?” I think I forgot how gorgeous he is. But man, right here, up close, it’s like he’s made of gorgeous. Like gorgeousness is a place, and he has a house there. Not a summerhouse. A house house.

  “I owe you an apology,” he says. “I was mean and stupid.”

  “No, I—”

  “No, I was. I liked you, I got hurt, and I didn’t treat you well.”

  Liked me. Past tense.

  “And I’m really unproud of that.”

  My lips tilt up, despite everything. “Unproud?”

  He nods. “It’s definitely a word.”

  I sigh. Unproud isn’t a big enough word for all the mistakes I’ve made.

  “Hey.” His voice is soft. “I get that something happened. And if you want to talk about it, I’m ready to listen.”

  I look down and my hands are shaking. I don’t even know where to begin.

  “Are you the sort of person who likes to run?” he asks.

  “Yes.” At least that’s a question I can answer.

  I text Liv that I’m back, that I’m okay, and somehow, minutes later, Grove and I are on the track. I don’t know how he did it. He talked to a PE teacher, a security guard, and then we’re here, outside where the air is sharp and cold. Snow feels as though it’s waiting, just out of sight. The ground is gray and bare.

  I break into a run. He catches up. He doesn’t say anything, just runs beside me. At first, it’s stressful. I’m so aware of every breath, of the way my boobs look when I run, of the way his legs look as they pound the ground. I go too fast. I go too slow.

  But then it’s not stressful at all. It just is.

  I hear the bell in the distance, but we keep running. I like the rhythm of his breath. It’s like waves lapping a shore—steady and sure—and my breath calms too. I don’t know how long we run, but when we finally stop, there’s more space inside my rib cage.

  “Want to talk about it yet?” He bends down to get his water and take a sip.

  “Do you miss your dad?”

  He looks at me sideways and caps his water. “Are you the sort of person who answers questions with questions?”

  “Are you?” I smile.

  He shakes his head and puts down the water and nods to the track. We walk it slowly. “I love my mom,” he says. “And she does this amazing job with us, you know?” I nod. “But sometimes I feel like she asks a lot of me. Like I’m supposed to be the dad replacement or something.” He looks at me. “That sounds messed up. I don’t mean—”

  “I think I get it,” I say. “My dad had this accident a few years back, and ever since then I’ve tried really hard to get everything right, to be a good student, to take care of things—”

  “Before anything goes wrong?”

  “Exactly.”

  “It’s exhausting trying to anticipate disaster.”

  I stop. “Right?” And I realize how tiring this has been. And for what? I shake my head.

  “What?”

  We start walking again. “It’s just that all this time I thought I was doing the right thing, but it turns out I was hurting him. And my mom.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think I was trying to protect him or something.”

  “I do that too.” His voice is quiet.

  “I guess my dad felt like whenever I’d do that, I was just seeing him as someone to be pitied. But I do feel sorry for him. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be in pain all the time, to be tied to the house, to give up the things he loved.”

  “That would definitely suck.”

  “Exactly.” I walk a little faster.

  “So what’s the problem?”

  I think about when I thought someone pitied me. When Liv looked at me, I felt like she didn’t think I was strong. Like I couldn’t handle what happened. When I wouldn’t tell Dad about Reilly, it was because I couldn’t bear for him to think about me in that situation. But also, I didn’t want him to pity me. I didn’t want him to see me as weak. I stop. “If you pity someone it’s like you don’t see them as capable.”

  Grove is quiet for a minute. “That makes sense. It’s sort of like what Mac always says: It’s all about—”

  “Power,” I finish with him. I felt powerless when Liv looked at me that way. At the thought of my dad seeing me that way. It was one thing for Reilly to make me feel that, but to feel powerless in the eyes of someone I love and respect? Awful.

  “I mean, if your dad felt like you only saw him as this powerless sob story, he might start to see himself that way too.”

  My insides sink. “Wow. I’m a complete idiot.”

  “No, you’re not,” he says, putting his arm around me in a side hug. The kind of hug guys give to girls they’re just friends with. He drops his arm.

  And I feel like an idiot all over again. An idiot for everything with Kups, for fighting with Ava, and right here, right now, an idiot for letting Grove go. “No. Trust me. I’m a total idiot.”

  He tilts his head and looks at me. “Wanna know why Jake called me an idiot?” His voice does that rumbly thing I can feel in my knees.

  My mouth is dry. I nod.

  “Well.” He looks down. “I guess Liv told him you were going through something, but that it didn’t have anything to do with me, and that if I wasn’t a total idiot, I should”—his voice gets lower, softer—“try again.”

  Right here, looking at Grove, I remember our talk on the dock, our paddle on the lake, our kiss in the canoe. I remember the millions of stars above us and the fireflies between us. A smile rises from my toes, lifting everything else with it. I put my hands on his chest. He smiles right back. I grab his shirt and pull him close to kiss him.

  His lips feel soft and strong all at once. He cups his hands around my face and runs them down my neck and shoulders, and I throw my arms around him. I can feel his smile through his kiss. I missed this. I missed him.

  I feel something wet on my eyelash and I open my eyes and laugh.

  The first snow.

  THIRTY-SIX

  IT DOESN’T MATTER THAT WE’RE in high school. It doesn’t matter that we live in one of the snowiest places in America. It doesn’t matter that this is what November always looks like.

  The first snowfall is the stuff of magic. And Grove and I kissed our way right into it.

  I’m practically skipping when I get to Liv’s car at the end of the day.

  “I guess you saw that Kups is back, huh?”

  “Can I be glad he’s alive and still hate him?”

  She laughs, opening the car door. “Absofockinglutely. And how about Sasha?”

  All the lightness evaporates and the weight in my stomach returns. With everything that happened with Dad, Mom, then Grove, I completely forgot about Sasha.

  It doesn’t matter that I regret everything. It doesn’t matter that I will never touch a gun again. It doesn’t matter, because if Sasha breaks, I’ll lose everything. I edge into the passenger seat, my whole body rigid. “What about her?”

  “She didn’t tell. She was just super-upset. You know how nice she is to everyone. She just felt like she let her sisters bully her into … not being herself, I think.”

  “I get that.”

  “But I guess she decided telling wouldn’t make much of a difference. Thank goodness. Can you imagine?” Liv starts the car.

  I can. I did.

  In front of us, the snow has begun to stick, already blanketing the steps. I remember what Nik
ki said about parkour and the steps—about parkour teaching us that there are a million ways to get to the next level and not to settle for the one they give us. I twisted that. I took it to mean no rules. But it’s not about anarchy or order. It’s about seeing all the possibilities in a thing—the way Aunt Jacks does when she carves.

  Liv pats my knee. “I’m so glad you’re back to you.”

  “Me too, Livvy. I’m so sorry for all the ways I stressed you out these last few weeks.”

  She laughs. “We’re good, Zo. You and I will always find our way back to good.” She turns out of the parking lot. “You had quite the day of epiphanies, huh?”

  “Absofockinglutely.” I watch Liv’s hands move easily from the gearshift to the steering wheel, her eyes scanning the road confidently. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  Liv laughs. “That another epiphany?”

  “Nah. I’ve always known it. I just … maybe took it a little for granted lately. I’m sorry.”

  Her globe pendant is caught beneath her seat belt. I untangle it for her.

  “Thanks,” she says.

  “Do you”—I pause—“do you want to talk more about having sex with Jake?”

  She’s quiet and I think maybe I’ve messed this up too. That I waited too long. Because I know now that our friendship is bigger than whether or not she has sex or moves to England.

  She pulls up to a red light and looks over at me. “Yes. I do. Next weekend, you will spend all weekend at my house and we will bake ten kinds of cupcakes and you will listen to all the things that could go wrong and tell me what to do.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I say. “Except you’re the one who tells me what to do.”

  The light turns green. “Only lately. And you didn’t listen anyway.”

  “See where that got me?”

  “Exactly. Neither of us should be allowed to do this life thing alone.”

  I laugh. “Deal.”

  “But we have to win States first. I plan to do my part and stop by the store to grab some blue and green nail polish. And maybe hair ties. Want me to drop you home first?”

  “No way. I want to hang with my bestie. Besides,” I say, getting an idea, “I think I’ll pick up something for my dad.”