by Tess Oliver
Sugar waved me over. Pete glanced up from the huddle as I approached.
He grimaced. “Jameson is playing?”
I looked at him, and, as usual, he flinched. “Dude, stop with the hate crap. I’ve never said two words to you.”
Sugar turned to Pete. “We need him if we want to win.”
“Oh, now what kind of talk is that— need,” I said. “How about want? Want would be nicer.”
Sugar flicked up a sweet, overdone Southern smile. “Tommy, we really, really want you to play on our team.”
“I like that word— want.” I said it suggestively. “Actually, need works too.” I gazed at her long enough to earn a deserved eye roll from Sugar and make everyone in the huddle squirm uncomfortably, which was, of course, my goal.
I pulled my attention away from Sugar and clapped my hands once. “What’s the line up?”
“You’ll be pitcher,” Sugar said.
Pete grunted in disapproval and was about to comment, but the loud stutter of a car motor turned everyone’s attention to the parking lot outside the security gates. It was a bright yellow Camaro with black stripes.
“Whose race car?” I asked.
A big guy, maybe six four or five, stood up out of the door. His shoulders spanned the top of the car.
“Frank’s here,” Nurse J. announced to no one in particular.
“It’s the new ward assistant,” Mandy said, with just a bit too much admiration in her tone. Sugar turned to Pete. “See, told you we needed Tommy.”
“So it’s back to need?” I said. “Beefy guys like that are usually more bulk than talent, unless it’s football.” My knee ached at the thought of football. I’d been a quarterback, the youngest in my school’s history, with a lot of potential, supposedly, until another player took out my knee. A few surgeries later, my dad insisted I get back out on the field because it was the one thing I was good at and it kept me out of trouble. The one thing? Throwing a fucking football is my one claim to fame? I’d repeated back to him just before letting him know I was done with it. Probably would have played again if he hadn’t said it was my one thing. And if I hadn’t hated the coach and some of my teammates. My dirt bike accident solidified the idea that I would never play football again. Military school came pretty quick after I’d given up on my one thing.
So, Frank, or Frankenstein, which was more fitting, joined the ranks of the other team. They made him pitcher. We started the game. After a coin toss, residents were up at bat first. As Frank walked to the pitcher’s mound, from the corner of my eye, I saw Julian get up to head back inside with his hat pulled low and his laptop clutched under one arm. I followed him to the door.
“Jules, where are you going?”
“Can’t stay, Tommy. I told you I don’t like that guy.”
“Yeah, but he just looks big and dumb. I think he’s O.K..”
He shook his head hard. “No he’s not, and my father refuses to do anything about it. Told me I need to stop worrying so much. He’s not stuck in here with that villain.”
“Villain?” I laughed and then felt bad. “Sorry, buddy, I get it. You don’t like the guy. This is going to be lame as hell anyhow. Heck, I might just join you in there if things get really dull.”
He hurried inside and practically race walked to the hallway before disappearing around the corner.
“Is he all right?” Sugar asked.
I spun around. “Damn, do your feet even touch the ground when you walk? I didn’t hear you. Jules doesn’t like that new guy. Not sure why he’s so freaked out about him.” As we walked back to the game, Sugar reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny braid of hair.
“I was bored this morning. I made you this. For luck and stuff.”
I took hold of it. “It’s hair.”
“Yep.” She walked past me toward the game. “And I don’t give locks of my hair to just any guy. Remember that.”
“All right,” I said. “I will cherish it, I guess.” There it was again. That wall. The girl I was crazy in love with had handed me a lock of her hair, and I was mocking her for it . . . outwardly. But inside I was thinking— holy shit, Sugar gave me a lock of her silky hair.
She stopped, turned around and stuck out her hand. “You know what, this was a mistake. Give it back to me.”
I pushed it into my pocket. “Nope, I want it.”
“Asshole,” she said under her breath.
Pete was holding the bat out for Sugar. “Jayleen struck out,” he said with disgust as if this was an important game and not just something to pass another day in this place.
Sugar took hold of the bat and made extra sure to swing her hips as she peered back at me over her shoulder. She stepped up to bat, and immediately, Frankenstein, who’d had a stiff as marble expression up to this point, beamed.
“Do you like it fast or slow?” he asked her.
My fists curled as he leered at her from the rubber mat pitching mound.
“I’ll take it any way you want to give it to me,” Sugar quipped back. I stepped forward into her line of vision. She flicked a mischievous smile my direction and then leaned over with the bat raised, making extra sure to stick out her ass. For most people, she went out of her way to help them, to please them. But when it came to me, she went out of her way to drive me nuts.
She thwacked the ball and took off running. Frankenstein, with his deep chin scar that went nicely with the name I’d given him, snatched up the ball. Greene was waiting with her tiny hands and tiny feet, ready for him to throw it to first, but apparently, the long legged runner was too enticing. Sugar squealed as he chased after her with the ball. She landed firmly on base, but he went the extra mile, awesome team player that he was, and touched her side with the ball. I looked away or risked getting pissed and truly giving Pete and Jayleen something to complain about.
“You are fast,” Frankenstein said with an ugly grin.
Greene put her mini hands on her hips. “You were supposed to throw it,” she said angrily.
He held up the ball in surrender. “Next time.”
“Subtle,” I said from the sidelines as he reached the pitching mound. He caught it just like I’d meant him too.
He stopped and looked my way. “What was that?” he asked it in that ‘dare you to say that again’ tone that most others probably missed, but I hadn’t. And I never shied away from a dare.
“I said subtle, you know, like your bumblebee car over there.”
“Let’s go, Frank,” Lawson said from second base. “It’s getting hot out here.”
Frankenstein glowered my direction and then pitched the ball to Pete, who popped it up and ran full speed to first base, all the while trying hard not to smile at his triumph.
I picked up the bat. Frankie boy and I had a nice staring contest for a second. Then he whizzed it my way at what was an impressive speed for a clunky plastic ball. I flung the bat and sent the thing wiffling over the back fence. It plunked off the Camaro. I shrugged at Frank as I tossed aside the bat. Sugar ran and Pete followed. I jogged around to each rubber mat while Lawson complained loudly as he walked to the gate to retrieve the ball.
As I reached the home mat, Sugar threw her arms around my neck. I grabbed her to me. Her long legs swung around as I turned her in a circle. I stopped and released her. Frank watched the whole little celebration with dismay. I was gloating in my head, and feeling like the fucking cocksure asshole I was. As I looked at Sugar, her smile faded. She looked from me to Frank and back again. She looked hurt. I’d just had Sugar in my arms, even if it was only for a few seconds, it was still a huge deal. I rarely allowed myself any physical contact with her. It was a pleasure, a drug of sorts that I had to deny myself. I’d had her in my arms, the girl who had basically replaced and surpassed any other addiction I’d ever had, and I was so fucking busy wondering if I was pissing off the idiot with the wiffle ball, I hadn’t even taken the time to enjoy it. Sometimes my own stupidity astounded me. And now Sugar, the only person who t
ruly mattered to me, was upset. She turned and walked as far away as she could get from me, the biggest fucking ignoramus in the world.
Three innings into the riveting game, the atmosphere had started to feel more like warm milk than air, and enthusiasm was wilting quickly. Frankenstein had, of course, knocked it out of the yard too. It had even bounced off his Camaro like mine, but this time, the ball couldn’t be found. Or at least that’s what Lawson claimed. We were all thankful and quick to call the game off. The staff won nine to five. Sugar had spent the entire hour ignoring me. Twice, I’d caught her peeking my direction, but she quickly looked away.
Nurses and ward assistants were called back into work. Our team scurried in behind them, claiming extreme thirst and heat exhaustion. Sugar and I picked up the mats. The rubber had gotten so hot, it felt sticky. She hadn’t said a word. The hurt expression on her face was far worse than any harsh words she could have doled out.
“Sugar, look, I’m an asshole,” I said to her as we walked toward the building.
“Uh huh.” She dropped the mats next to the door, and I placed mine on top. The girl had the cold shoulder thing down to an art, but I was hot and sweaty and I’d come out to play the stupid game for her.
I reached for her wrist, but she pulled it away. She might as well have yanked away a chunk of my heart.
“L-l-look.” I stopped and swallowed hard. Get the fucking words out, Tommy, or shut the hell up before you make a bigger ass of yourself. “You know my anger problem. I didn’t like the way the guy was looking at you.” I put my arms out. “There, I’m laying it out there, Sugar. I’m an arrogant menace just like everyone keeps telling me, and I’m dealing with a lot of shit, and it makes me an asshole and—” Her blues eyes glossed with tears and I stopped.
She shook her head. “We’re all in here for that, for dealing with a lot of shit— me, Jayleen, Pete. Why the hell else would we be here? So we can play a comical baseball game with a plastic bat?”
“I know your mom wasn’t exactly a stellar mom, but I’ve got some ugly stuff—”
“Are you seriously trying to one up me on ugly stuff?” Her tears spilled and I swallowed again, not to stop the stutter but the ache in my throat. “Shit, Tommy, do you really think that’s all I had to deal with, a mom who didn’t bake cookies or read me bedtime stories?” She shook her head and reached for the door.
“Sugar,” I said once more, hoping she’d turn back and let me dig my way out of the hole I’d just fallen into, but she disappeared inside.
Chapter 7
I gave the secret clubhouse knock, but Julian didn’t answer. Half past noon meant Julian was on the wall. As I popped my head in, I realized that whenever I was feeling down or off, especially when Sugar was upset with me, I needed to talk to Julian. Even if he didn’t say much in return or was absorbed in something and only half listening to me, I liked talking to the guy. It seemed unlikely that we would ever have been friends on the outside, but this place had thrown us together and it was good. At least it was good for me.
Like Spiderman clinging to the side of a building, Julian was stretched out on the tiny rocks covering his wall. For some unexplained reason, Julian was always more communicative when he was climbing. I wasn’t sure if it was because some of his meds had worn off by then or if the intense physical act of climbing just freed some of his natural personality.
“Hey, Jules, do you mind if I come in?”
“That’s fine.”
I sat in his chair and watched him figure out his next move. His hands were covered in chalk, and his feet, wrapped in his special rock climbing shoes, curled around the colorful protrusions. He was five feet off the ground, but in his mind, he could have been plastered on the side of a mountain. It was tough, what he was doing. I wasn’t sure I’d have the patience for it. Hell, who was I kidding? My patience was as thin as cotton gauze.
“I’m an idiot. Sugar is mad at me again.”
He moved his hand over to the next rock. “You know what they say,” he said with a grunt of concentration, “we always hurt the ones we love.”
“Whoever started that quote was an ass. Just dooms us all to failure.” I slumped back against the chair. “Is it that obvious, Jules?”
It took him a second to respond. “Is what that obvious?”
“That I love her. That I love Sugar.”
He moved his foot up to a new rock and steadied himself on it. “Tommy, the birds in the garden fountain know you love Sugar.”
I smiled. Humor and sarcasm were rare from Julian. He was a different man on the rocks. Maybe, deep down, he knew this was what he should be doing. He didn’t need the drugs and the therapy. He needed to be crawling up the side of a mountain, defying death and proving to everyone that he was a fucking badass and not just some uber-genius, too cerebral to have any real connection to other humans. Or, maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.
He moved slowly, strategically, along the wall, closer to the end where he could chalk up new numbers and get nearer to the summit of his imaginary mountain. “How was the game?” he asked.
“You were right. There’s something off with that new guy.”
He lost his footing for a brief second, and I wasn’t sure if it was related to the topic or not. I was going with yes. “I don’t know why my father is being so obstinate about it. But he doesn’t belong here. That is clear.”
“Like I said, Jules, I’ve got your back. And you’ve got mine too, right?” I was always playing the protector part, keeping an eye on Julian and Sugar, but the truth was, I needed them just as much. Maybe even more.
“That’s right, Tommy. What did you do to anger Sugar this time?”
I laughed at the words ‘this time’, but, unfortunately, they were appropriate. “Don’t know, Jules. I just always manage to step in it when I’m talking to her. Either my words gets stuck and I stutter like a fool, or the words come out making me an even bigger fool. Don’t know which scenario is worse. Never had problems talking to a girl before.”
“I have the opposite problem.” He reached the last rock and stepped off the wall. “I have always had trouble talking to girls, but I’m completely comfortable talking to Sugar.” He shook his hands out. White dust puffed up around his fingers. He reached for the small hand towel he’d hung on a hook at the end of the rocks. He wiped his face. The climb had put color in his complexion and with the sweat, he just looked like any guy who might be hanging out in a gym or sitting on a barstool with a mug of beer. But he wasn’t.
I leaned back on the chair. “Why do you think that is?”
He hung the towel up and motioned me out of his computer chair. He flipped open his laptop and relaxed back to catch his breath as he waited for it to boot up. He stared at the monitor, ready to get lost in his computer world. The computer was almost more of a drug than anything. It sucked his attention back in, and his communication skills usually waned as soon as something of interest got caught up in those constantly churning gears in his head. But he wasn’t gone yet. No trance yet. He looked at me. “Because Sugar’s not like any other girl we’ve met. That’s why, Tommy.”
Chapter 8
One time, when I was seven, I’d had a terrible toothache, and my mom had to drag me to the dentist’s office kicking and screaming. I didn’t want anyone poking and prodding a tooth that already hurt like hell. As I walked down the hall to the group meeting room, I wished I was seven again. Being taken to the dentist was still more inviting than going to group.
After the game, Sugar hadn’t talked to me for the rest of the day. This morning, I’d sat alone in a corner, like the most unpopular kid in school, picking at my breakfast. Sugar had chatted and laughed with the other members of our team, reminiscing about yesterday’s game as if it had been even the slightest bit entertaining. All my life, I’d been a pro at doing asshole stuff, but in all that time, I’d never learned how to undo the shit. ‘People don’t forget, Thomas’, my mom had constantly reminded me. She was the
only person I let call me Thomas. I figured she’d picked the name, she might as well be able to use it. Of course, she probably had little choice. Thomas was what everyone called my father. But she called him Honey. I guess that’s why I didn’t mind it so much when she called me Thomas. She was right too. People didn’t forget. It seemed I always remembered the shitty stuff my dad said a lot more than the good stuff. But then the good stuff was always backhanded, like the compliment about my football abilities, the one good thing.
I walked into the meeting room. Sugar was talking to Jayleen, and Harold was on the other side of her. There were no empty chairs near her. To make things worse, there was no pink box on the table and I had to sit next to Pete. Sugar didn’t make eye contact with me and kept up her conversation with Jayleen. Not completely sure what they could possibly have in common other than being in this place.
Dr. Kirkendall walked in with her colorful clipboard and shimmering ear. She flashed me a smile and sat down. She had a picture book under her arm, and I wondered if she was going to read to us to make up for those of us whose parents didn’t tell bedtime stories. My older sister, Katherine, had occasionally sat in my room to read me a story, but I wasn’t a great listener unless she was reading me a scary book. As far as I was concerned, those were the only cool stories, even though some of them gave me nightmares. Still better than knights and princesses and wizards, at least in my eight year old opinion. Nowadays, a fairy tale happy ending didn’t seem so boring after all.
“Afternoon, everyone. So glad you all came to group today.” Another wink my way. I was piling up the fucking brownie points. “Hope you don’t mind but I forgot the notepads. I think we can do a group without them.” She lifted up the book she’d carried in. “How many of you have read or heard of this book?” I recognized the book. It was about a kid who had some really sucky day, and the whole book told about it. Everyone raised their hands like little kids responding to the teacher. I held back a laugh. “Tommy? Have you? If everyone has heard the book then I don’t need to take the time to read it.”
