Until I Break

by Bietz, Kara M.

  Marnie, JC, and I walk down the beach and find a spot to sit away from the screaming, sparkler-wielding kids. “Remember when we all used to do that?” Marnie asks, bumping up against my shoulder.

  My face burns when I look at her and nod. “Doesn’t seem that long ago.”

  “It wasn’t that long ago, you dorks. We were screwing around like that last year!” JC says, hurling a rock into the ocean.

  “Look, Ace is here!” Marnie stands up and points down the beach.

  Sure enough, Ace is sauntering toward us through the sand, shirtless and shoeless. Marnie takes off running to meet him.

  “Great, Mr. Wonderful has arrived,” I say.

  “Just chill, Sam. Let it go,” JC says quietly.

  “Tonight I was gonna…Marnie. You know,” I say.

  “And now you can’t?” JC asks, eyebrows raised.

  “He just complicates everything.”

  “Only because you let him.”

  “He’s constantly right there. Right in my face,” I say.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute…I thought all that business with him stopped after…when we were twelve?” JC says.

  “After my dad died? It’s okay. You can say it.”

  “Yeah. After that. I thought he stopped.”

  I didn’t tell him, or anyone, what really happened to my trophy at the Student Athlete Awards. About Ace breathing like a bull and looking ready to take my head off. The look in his eyes. It’s true; I had almost five years of relative peace before this new, more sinister Ace showed up at the awards ceremony. Relative peace. I mean, he was still the same pigheaded blowhard, but at least I wasn’t directly in the line of fire. But now? Something has shifted.

  “Seriously, Sam. We’re about to be seniors. You’ve got to let that shit go,” he says.

  You didn’t see him that night in the bathroom after the awards. If you had, you wouldn’t be telling me to let shit go.

  “What’s up, girls!” Ace says as he and Marnie approach JC and me.

  “Hey, Ace,” JC says, holding his hand up for a high five.

  I ignore him and look instead at Marnie. Her arm is around Ace’s bicep, and she’s staring up at him with big, moony eyes. She’s been staring at him like that since we were little kids. My gut falls to my knees. There goes my plan.

  “How are you liking the community center, Ace?” JC says.

  “Can’t complain. It would be nice to have a few more hotties to look at, though. Why don’t you get a job there, Keaton? Give me something to look at,” he says, grabbing Marnie around the waist and tickling her ribs.

  Marnie giggles and tries to twist away from the tickling. Her rear end bumps Ace’s thigh, and he gives her a hearty smack right on the butt. The heat rises up my chest.

  “Some of those camper groups are pretty hot, though. That seventh-grade girl group? Am I right, Cushman?” Ace laughs, his mouth gaping open so wide I can see the back of his throat. I’d like to stick my fist in there.

  Marnie backs up from Ace. “Did you seriously just say that?” She laughs and covers her mouth.

  “Yeah, so? It’s true! Even Sammy thinks so. Don’t you, Sammy?” Ace nudges me hard in the ribs.

  “No,” I say into the sand. My face turns red. Marnie is staring at me.

  “See! Sammy’s turning red! He’s been checking out the little girls!” Ace puts his hand on Marnie’s hip and squeezes. She snorts.

  “I think I’m going swimming,” I say, walking toward the bathhouse.

  “Wait up,” Marnie calls, jogging in the sand away from Ace and JC. My face burns. I clutch my fists at my sides. “Don’t worry about Ace. He’s just kidding. He’s just a kidder like that,” she says.

  “Yeah, he’s a kidder. Those girls he’s talking about are only like twelve, Marn.”

  “Well, he’s just joking. He’s not going to seriously hit on a seventh grader, for crying out loud. I know Ace’s sense of humor.”

  We stay quiet all the way to the bathhouse. I want to say more, but something heavy hangs between Marnie and me. She doesn’t reach for my bicep and hang on like she did to Ace just a little while ago. I don’t want this to bother me.

  I walk into the water and dive under, resurfacing and turning around just in time to see Marnie coming out of the bathhouse. She’s wearing a one-piece bathing suit with a towel wrapped around her waist. She looks beautiful. I stick my head under the water again.

  She swims underwater until she reaches me. Her eyelashes drip when she comes up for air just inches from my face. We tread water and look at each other. I want to put my hands on her like Ace did a little while ago. I want to know what her skin feels like under my palm.

  “Race you to the buoy,” she says, putting her hand on my head and pushing me under as she starts kicking toward the orange buoy about fifty feet away.

  “Cheater!” I yell, kicking and swimming as fast as I can to catch up with her.

  “The crowd goes wild! Keaton wins the gold! Keaton wins the gold!” Marnie reaches the buoy first and pumps her fist above her head.

  I halfheartedly paddle my way out to her, a full five seconds behind. “Cheaters never win, Keaton!” I laugh.

  “You’re no fun,” she says, laughing and touching her finger to my nose. I grab on to the buoy with her, and we bob in the waves together. Our feet touch underwater.

  The salt water clings to her skin, and her eyes are shining in the sunlight. Our feet touch again.

  So I kiss her.

  And she kisses me back.

  “Race you back to shore,” she says, pulling out of the kiss.

  “Wait. Maybe I wasn’t done yet,” I say, reaching for her waist underwater.

  “If you win this time, maybe I’ll let you do it again,” Marnie says, pushing off of the buoy and out of my reach.

  I dive under and kick as hard as I can, the feel of her salty lips on mine driving me forward faster than I thought I could go.

  I reach the shore just one arm length ahead of Marnie. “I’m the winner!” I say, completely out of breath. I collapse in the sand as Marnie crawls up.

  “Maybe I let you win that time,” she says, sitting in the sand next to me, her thigh touching mine.

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” I ask.

  “Maybe I wanted the prize too,” she says, leaning in and biting her bottom lip.

  I bend down and kiss her again. Slower this time.

  “Hot damn! Leave you two alone for five minutes, and already you’re rolling around in the sand!” Ace yells from down the beach. Three or four freshman girls are with him, and they all giggle at his stupid joke.

  Marnie laughs too. “Shut up, Ace,” she says, standing up and brushing the sand from her suit.

  She walks back down the beach toward the barbecue, winking back at me over her shoulder. The freshman girls follow behind her like a flock of baby geese, leaving Ace and me alone.

  “What are you even doing, Samantha?” he says in a soft voice.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “With Marnie? You like her? You want to bone her? You’re a loser. She’s not going to sleep with you. You’d be better off trying to sink your pecker into your buddy JC. He’d probably take it up the ass from you.”

  “Shut the hell up, Ace,” I say. I try to stand up as straight as I can, but I’m still an inch or so shorter than him. I know he can see my heart pounding against my ribs from where he’s standing.

  You’re not twelve years old anymore, Sam. You’re bigger, stronger, smarter—

  “Seriously, I’m just trying to help you out. You have no chance, dickweed. No chance. I just want to save you any humiliation. You’ll see,” he says, shaking his head and smirking.

  I keep my distance from Ace for the rest of the night. If he comes near, I make sure I move away. I can feel him watching me, though. I can feel it right through my skin.

  When the sun finally falls below the horizon, JC’s dad hauls out the fireworks. He and JC busy themselves at t
he end of the dock, setting up complicated-looking wooden rigs. I watch my mom try to have a conversation with Mrs. Macmillan. I can almost hear my mom trying to tell Mrs. Macmillan the finer points of her zucchini bread recipe. I hope Mrs. Macmillan is at least pretending to listen.

  I look for Marnie and find her with the little kids, helping to light sparklers and hand them out. “Want to watch with me?” I ask her.

  “Of course.” She smiles and bites her bottom lip again.

  I motion down the beach with my chin, and she nods. I shove my hands in my pockets, and Marnie holds on to my bicep. My cheeks burn.

  We find a quiet spot in the sand close to where we were before and sit down. We both stare out at the ocean and the sinking sun.

  We look out at the horizon for a long time without speaking. It’s comfortable, though. Easy. Marnie doesn’t move her hand from my arm.

  I lean in and kiss her again. I touch her cheek, and she puts her hand on my knee. I can see the red and blue glow of the fireworks even with my eyes closed. I put my hand on her leg, and she doesn’t move or flinch. My hand traces the smooth line from her thigh to her hip to her waist. I pull her closer to me, and she puts her hand on my hip and squeezes.

  I stop kissing her, and she rests her forehead on mine.

  “Does this mean…I mean, are we…” I can’t bring myself to say the words. My eye twitches, and my heart pounds in my throat.

  “Do you think we need to define this like that? Can’t we just be…what we are?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

  I don’t even know what that means. I kiss her again. Hard. Her breath catches in her throat, and a tiny noise escapes. My insides are on fire.

  “We can be what we are. What are we?” I say, my lips on her neck now.

  She giggles and puts her hand on my chest. “We escape definition,” she says, suddenly standing up and pulling on my hands. “Come on, let’s take a walk on the pier.” She laughs, her face bright and lips swollen.

  I watch her from my spot in the sand for a minute. Her green eyes dance in the glow of the fireworks in front of us. “Sure. Just let me change out of this bathing suit, okay? Wait for me outside the bathhouse?”

  Marnie nods. She bends at her waist for another kiss. A short one this time.

  I grab my bag and head toward the men’s changing room. The light is yellow and dim, and the mirrors are foggy from the salt water. The floor is covered with grime and sand, and my toes curl. I know I should have worn my flip-flops in here. Gross.

  I throw my wet suit in the bag and try to wash some of the salt from the mirror with my damp towel. I lean over the sink and get as close to the mirror as I can.

  “Samantha,” I hear spoken quietly behind me.

  My chest tightens and I turn around.

  “What the fuck, Ace,” I say.

  He is just inches from me. I didn’t even hear him come into the bathhouse. My toes dig into the grimy floor. Ace’s breathing is shallow like it was the night of the awards.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he says quietly, a sneer forming on his lips.

  I can feel his breath on my face and the heat radiating from his bare chest.

  “She’s not going to stay with you, Samantha. She’s a little slut, and she’s always looking for the next best thing. Why don’t you just give up your little fantasy?” he says, shuffling his feet even closer to me.

  The cold stainless-steel sink digs into my lower back as Ace gets closer and closer to my face. My heart is pounding so hard I know he can hear it. This isn’t the harmless all-talk Ace I’ve come to avoid and ignore for the past five years. This Ace is different. I feel like a gazelle trapped in a lion’s cage.

  “Not to mention,” he says, “that you’re dickless. Little Marnie Slutbag doesn’t want a dickless boyfriend,” he says, grabbing the waistband of my shorts and pulling. My feet slip on the grimy floor, and I tighten my grip on the edge of the sink.

  “Watch out, Samantha. Watch. Out,” he says, poking a finger into my sternum.

  He turns and walks out of the bathhouse. My feet are glued to the nasty floor, and I finally exhale in a loud puff. I turn around at the sink and splash cold water on my face and try to catch my breath. I will my heart to stop racing. I know Marnie is out there waiting for me. She can’t see me like this. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember some of Mom’s yoga breathing techniques. Three long, deep breaths from the bottoms of your feet.

  Outside the bathhouse, Marnie is waiting for me. And talking to Ace.

  “You guys taking a walk to the pier?” he asks with a smile when he sees me.

  “Yeah, you want to come with us?” Marnie answers him with a smile as big as the sun.

  Oh god no. No. No, no, no.

  He looks at me and smirks. “No, that’s okay. You guys have fun.”

  I grab Marnie’s hand and stand up as straight as I can. We turn and walk toward the pier. I look back over my shoulder at Ace, standing shirtless in the pool of yellow light outside the bathhouse.

  “Watch it,” he mouths, crossing his arms over his chest.

  6

  AUGUST

  Nine Months Before

  “Two-a-days suck,” JC says to me as he gets into my truck, throwing his football pads into the bed.

  “Good morning to you too, sunshine,” I say, laughing.

  “Can’t you convince Grandpa that we’re good enough without the two-a-days in the middle of August?”

  “Do you think we are?”

  “Hell, no,” JC says, closing his eyes and leaning his head on the window.

  “Well, there you go, then,” I say, readjusting the AC vent to blow right on my forehead.

  Grandpa gets to football practice way before JC and I do. He and Ace are already looking over the playbook when we arrive. Ace’s dad stands at the fence nearby as usual, his Broadmeadow cap perched on his head. Since Ace made the varsity team his freshman year, Mr. Quinn has been a permanent fixture on the sidelines at football practice. He’s just part of the scenery now, like the scoreboard or sponsor signs hanging in the end zone. It would be weird if he wasn’t there.

  “Hey, QB2! Get enough beauty sleep?” Ace yells to me when he sees me coming.

  Both Grandpa and Mr. Quinn laugh. They think it’s just good-natured razzing, but I know better. I can’t think of a snappy retort, so I just keep my mouth shut. JC trudges off to the far side of the field with the other running backs while I approach Ace and Grandpa.

  “Coach Franklin,” I say when I get there, nodding my head at Grandpa. On the field, he insists that I call him Coach Franklin. I get it.

  “I was just showing Ace the playbook for the season, Sammy. I’m going to leave you guys to it for a bit and address the other players. Field house in thirty. Okay, boys?” he says, jogging away and not waiting for an answer.

  “Coach! Can I get your ear for a second?” Mr. Quinn yells to Grandpa, jogging down the fence line toward the visiting end zone.

  I’m stuck standing alone with Ace on the sidelines. I grit my teeth because I don’t want to ask him to show me the plays. But I also know I’ll be in deep shit if I don’t at least know what Grandpa is referring to when we have our team meeting in the field house in thirty minutes.

  “How much is this worth to you?” Ace asks, holding up the playbook and throwing a quick glance downfield to where his dad has caught up with Grandpa.

  I shrug like it doesn’t matter, but Ace knows better.

  “Oh, QB2, quit fucking with me,” Ace says with a smile.

  “Quit screwing around. I don’t want to be here either. Let’s just get the plays down and get it over with,” I say.

  Surprisingly, Ace just smirks and sits on the bench, opening the book. We look at plays together for a solid ten minutes without talking.

  “So…tell me about Ms. Marnie Slutbag,” Ace says.

  Immediately I get defensive. “What about her? And don’t call her that.”

  “Relax, QB2. I jus
t mean you’re together, right?”

  I exhale. “Yeah.”

  Ace shakes his head and lets out a guffaw.

  I want to ignore it. Really, I do. The truth is, I don’t know what Marnie and I are doing. Are we together? I say yes. We haven’t talked about it since the Fourth of July. She comes over a lot. And we spend a lot of time together in my room. Or at the lifeguard stand at the beach. So are we together? Yeah. Unless we’re not.

  Last night, I heard a quiet plink, plink, plink on my window. I opened the shades, and there she was in my driveway with a handful of pebbles. Three a.m. I threw on a T-shirt and ran outside.

  “Why didn’t you just call me?” I said.

  “I kind of like being retro…throwing rocks at your window,” she answered, wrapping her arms around my waist and kissing me hard.

  “Everything okay?” I asked, kissing her back.

  “Meh,” she said. “Just don’t want to be alone.”

  We started walking, heading toward the beach.

  “Remember when we were on a basketball team together in kindergarten?” I asked her.

  “Of course I remember that! The Bumblebees! We had yellow and black jerseys, and your dad was the coach.” Marnie laughed. “I remember he spent the entire season making sure every kid on the team got to score at least once. The last game of the season, I was the only kid who hadn’t scored. He told everyone on the team to give me the ball every single time we went down the court. I finally scored one basket in the final seconds of the game.” She laughed again.

  “I remember that too. The Bumblebees…Feels like a million years ago,” I say, smiling at the memory of my dad and kindergarten Marnie.

  “I remember that when I scored that basket, your dad came out onto the court and lifted me up in the air. He ran up and down the court with me like that while everyone cheered,” she said, laughing. “That was the beginning and the end of my basketball career!”

  We reached the lifeguard stand and climbed up.

  “I remember how sad it was when he died,” Marnie said.

  We settled into the lifeguard chair, our thighs touching. “I remember you were the only one who didn’t ignore me right after it happened,” I said to her. I reached out and held her hand.