“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing,” JC interrupts. “Marnie and Ace have been friends for years. Let that shit go. Are you guys even officially, like, a thing?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, sitting up straighter. A thing? Of course we’re a thing. Most of the time. Some of the time. We’re definitely something.
The fire truck starts to move, and the team lets out a big cheer. I don’t feel like I can join in.
“Seriously. What do you mean, ‘a thing’?” I poke JC’s arm.
“Just have fun! Stop worrying about all that. Quit thinking about Ace all the time,” JC says, then lets out a giant whoop as the fire truck turns the corner onto the parade route.
“I can’t. You don’t understand. You don’t see it. Nobody sees it,” I say, but JC isn’t listening anymore. The crowd is cheering and waving at us, and most of the team is waving back. I catch sight of Ace at the very front of the truck. He’s waving and smiling like the Mayor of Easthaven, but he’s not watching the crowd. I follow his line of sight.
He’s watching Marnie.
I watch Marnie.
She throws a look over her shoulder, but not at me.
The parade winds through Easthaven and ends back at Independence Park, where a bonfire is roaring when we arrive. The seniors hop down from the fire truck and are met with raucous applause from the audience that has gathered around the fire. Mostly Broadmeadow alumni, coming back to Easthaven to relive their Beaver glory days. Grandpa grabs the bullhorn again.
“Thank you, Easthaven!” he says. More crazy applause.
“Don’t forget to come out and support our boys tomorrow morning. Are we going to beat those Panthers?” he asks, then puts his hand to his ear.
The crowd whoops and claps in response.
“That’s what I like to hear!” he says.
I find Marnie by the fire, alone. “Hey,” I say, coming up next to her.
“I’m sorry about before,” she says, stepping closer to me.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Just home stuff,” she says.
“I’m here if you want to say more,” I tell her, running my fingers down her arm and reaching for her hand.
“My parents aren’t getting along. It’ll be fine, I’m sure, but I hate listening to them argue,” she says, letting me take her hand. She squeezes my fingers.
I try to remember a time when my own parents argued loudly enough for me to hear, but I can’t pretend to know what that’s like.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Marnie shrugs. “It’ll be fine,” she says dismissively. “I think it’s just what parents do.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I squeeze her hand. I hope that it’s enough.
We start wandering. Like you do when you’re comfortable with someone and you feel safe. We wander away from the bonfire and toward the playground. When we get there, Marnie plops down on a hard plastic swing. I stand behind her and start pushing.
“Being a senior isn’t exactly what I thought it was going to be,” she says quietly.
“What do you mean?”
Marnie sighs. “I don’t know. I thought it would be more fun, but there’s, like, all this stuff we have to do. So much that’s expected of us. I just feel like…like everyone is already expecting us to be completely grown up,” she says.
“Your parents?”
“Everyone, Sam. Yeah, my parents. But also teachers and coaches and just…everyone. I have heard so many times this year ‘You’re a senior now. You can’t just goof off anymore’ from so many people. I don’t know. I feel like I want more time to be irresponsible or something. It’s all happening too fast. Don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m talking about,” she says.
“No, I understand,” I say, even though I don’t exactly understand.
“Sorry I’m being a downer,” she says.
“You’re not a downer, Marn. It’s okay if we talk like this. You don’t always have to be Little Miss Sunshine,” I say.
“I was talking with Ace on the way here earlier. He said almost the same thing,” she says.
“Did he really? Huh,” I say, gritting my teeth.
“He’s been such a good friend this year. He’s always right there. It’s been nice,” she says, smiling softly.
“Are you saying I’m not always right there?”
“It’s not a competition, Sam,” she says, jumping off the swing. Her little cheerleader skirt flies up and reveals blue trunks she wears underneath.
Marnie starts walking deeper into the woods. I walk quickly to keep up. “I know it’s not,” I say. “But seriously, aren’t I there for you too?”
Marnie sighs. “Yes, Sam, you’re there for me too,” she singsongs and rolls her eyes.
Suddenly Marnie stops walking and pushes my back into a tree, kissing me hard on the lips. She hooks her fingers just inside the waistband of my jeans.
“What’s this for?” I ask her while she kisses my neck.
“Must be the chill in the air,” she says, giggling.
I kiss her back, my hands finding the curve of her hip and pulling her as close to me as I can. She puts her hands inside my jacket, and her fingers travel down my chest to my stomach. She kisses my neck.
“Hey,” I whisper to her. “JC just asked me if we were ‘a thing,’” I say.
“Mmm,” she says, her lips still on my neck.
“I didn’t know what to tell him,” I say. “I mean, I say we’re a thing. We’re together…most of the time. It’s definitely a thing, isn’t it? We’re a thing,” I say.
“Why do you feel like you need to define it all the time?” she asks, her hands still on my stomach, her pinkies tracing little circles.
“I-I don’t,” I stammer, lying through my teeth.
“We’re just having fun,” she says, her hands traveling down. “Aren’t you having fun?” she asks, her lips and teeth back on my neck and ear.
“Yeah, I’m definitely having fun. But I just…I want you to be my girlfriend, Marn,” I say, trying not to think about her hands rubbing the outside of my thighs right now.
“I don’t think we need to label this, Sam. We’re doing what feels good, right?” she says, squeezing her hands low on my hips.
“Yeah, but—”
“Sam. Stop it,” she says, backing away from me and putting her hands on her own waist.
“Why can’t we just say you’re my girlfriend? I mean, you are, right?” I say, trying to reach for her hands again.
“Let’s just go back to the fire,” she says, keeping her hands on her waist and stomping back through the woods toward the glow of the bonfire.
I follow behind her, trying to figure out when the conversation went off the rails. Marnie disappears as soon as we get close to the party. I find JC and Jeannie near the hot chocolate table.
“Where’s Marnie?” Jeannie asks.
“I don’t…uh…She went that way,” I say, pointing to the fire.
Jeannie stands on her tiptoes and kisses JC on the cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit, James Christopher,” she says.
“Marnie’s being weird,” I say to JC when Jeannie jogs off.
I tell him the whole weird conversation I had with Marnie at the swings. “And she’s spending an awful lot of time with Ace. I don’t know what that means, but I know I don’t like it,” I say, pulling a cup of steaming hot chocolate from the table.
“I think you spend too much time worrying about Ace. Just go with it. If Marnie doesn’t want to define anything but she’s still happy to be with you, than so be it. If you want her, you may just have to get used to having Ace around,” JC says, shrugging.
“Psh” is the only answer I have for that.
A few minutes later, the king of assholes himself saunters up to us. “What’s up, girls? Marnie wanted me to tell you that I’m bringing her home tonight,” he says, tapping my shoulder.
“But…why?” I ask.
“Okay…why didn’t she tell me herself?” I ask Ace.
“Hey, Jeannie’s waving at me. I’ll be right back,” JC says, throwing his paper cup in the trash can and jogging away.
“All I know is that she came out of the woods all sobby and whiny and asked me to take her home. You must have really pissed her off. What did you do, show her that you’re dickless?” Ace asks, crossing his arms across his chest.
I ignore him and crumple my paper cup in my fist.
“Have a good night with Rosie Palm, Samantha,” he says, grabbing his crotch and walking away backwards.
“Hey!” I yell with more force than I feel.
Ace walks slowly back toward me, his hand still firmly planted on his crotch.
“Yes?” he says when he reaches me. He stands an inch or two from my face, his head cocked to the side.
“Don’t…” I say, my voice shaking. My insides have turned to ice, and I can barely breathe in or out with him standing that close to me.
“Don’t what, Samantha? Don’t touch your girlfriend? Aww, I would never do that unless she asked me to. Begged me. Sat right down and demanded. But remember what I said to you. QB2 never gets the girl in the end,” he says, squeezing his palm around his crotch and groaning.
He walks away toward the parking lot, and I’m left standing alone, the ice in my gut keeping me frozen to this space. My breath comes in ragged chops, and my hands are shaking.
You’re not twelve years old anymore, Sam.
11
DECEMBER
Five Months Before
We won our Thanksgiving game against Plantation, but lost in the playoff round that would have sent us to state. Ace made a bad pass during the last play of the game, and we lost 36–35. It was gut-wrenching, but I was kind of glad the season was over. That meant it was finally basketball season, and basketball season meant no Ace. The day after that loss, the temperature hovered around 33 degrees and rain was falling at a steady clip. I could hear the angry ocean just outside my window, but there was another noise too. A slapping sound, like heavy boots clomping around in puddles.
It was still dark outside when I peeked through the blinds and saw Mr. Quinn standing in his driveway holding an umbrella and a stopwatch. He was yelling something toward the street, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I pulled the blinds up slightly and saw Ace in his football shorts and jersey, running suicides in the cul-de-sac. He was soaking wet, but running those suicides at a terrifyingly fast pace. I flipped the lock on my window and raised it up a little bit. I could hear Mr. Quinn’s voice yelling through the rain.
“Drive! Drive! Drive! Not going to throw a pass like that and become a Longhorn, are you?”
Ace’s voice answered back, out of breath and shaking but still loud, “No, sir!”
“Not going to be beat by some pussy, are you? No son of mine comes in second, does he?”
“No, sir!”
I closed my window and locked it again.
* * *
It’s the third week of basketball practice, and I am sucking air like a flat tire. Coach has us running laps until our faces turn purple and we can barely stand up, never mind talk to each other.
“If you can quit yappin’ to each other…quit flappin’ yer gums…maybe we can win a championship this year. Right, North?” he says, clapping me on the back way harder than is necessary.
I look at JC. He’s hunched over by the garbage can. I know he’s just hurled.
“One more lap, boys, and then we scrimmage,” he shouts at us.
The whistle blows, and we all take off from the baseline. Suicides.
When practice is over, I bring JC home. He looks a little green.
“You okay, man? You look like shit,” I tell him when we reach his driveway.
“Feeling it today. Jeannie’s been over every night. I can’t take these workouts every afternoon and every night,” JC says, smirking.
“Shut up, buttlicker,” I tell him.
“I’m gonna go take a nap before she gets here,” he says, slamming the door to the truck.
Three days after Marnie drove off with Ace after the bonfire, she was at my window again. We walked down to the beach in the dark, bundled up in heavy coats and scarves and mittens. I thought about what JC said about “just going with it.” I told Marnie I was sorry for pushing her for a relationship definition, and she apologized for getting mad at me and stomping off. We crawled up into a lifeguard chair for a couple of hours after that.
Now that basketball season has started, we’re back to catching quick minutes alone in our secret spots at school. As much as I hate not knowing when I’ll be with her again, the not knowing makes the school day a lot more exciting. A shared glance in the hallway sometimes means I can meet her in the back of the library by the foreign language dictionaries for a few minutes between PE and chemistry.
When I get home from practice, Mom is there, poring over some paperwork at the kitchen counter. Dad’s blue robe is next to her on the counter. Her pill bottle is next to it.
“Hi, honey, how was your practice?” she asks, not looking up from behind her reading glasses.
“Exhausting,” I say, grabbing the orange juice from the fridge and gulping it straight from the carton. She hates it when I do that.
“I hate it when you do that, Sam,” she says, pulling a glass from the cabinet behind her and handing it to me. I go upstairs to shower and change and then flop on the couch with my English lit text. Mom has moved to the sunroom and is doing her nightly yoga routine. The sun is streaming in through the back windows, and Edgar Allan Poe is putting me to sleep on the couch. I almost hit myself in the face with my lit book at least six times before I hear the doorbell.
“Can you get that, Sam? I’m right in the middle of this…” Mom yells.
I get up from the couch and glance back toward the sunroom. Mom is on her stomach, and her knees are bent at a really scary angle. “Frog pose!” She smiles at me.
I answer the door, shaking my head.
Ace.
“Oh…hi, Sam,” he says, with a great big smile on his face, glancing behind me into the house. “Where’s your mom?” he asks.
“Busy,” I say, arms stiffening on the door handle.
“My mom asked me to come over and borrow yesterday’s paper. She said your mom knew I was coming,” Ace says, his smile disappearing.
“Oh…well…let me go get it, I guess,” I say, not wanting to turn my back on him.
I walk into the kitchen to the bin where I know Mom keeps the old newspapers until she has a chance to go by the recycling center.
“So, Sam. Everything good with Marnie?” Ace asks, sitting down at a stool in the kitchen and picking up an apple from the fruit bowl.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” I say, rifling through the old newspapers in the stack.
“I don’t know,” he says, taking a big bite of the apple. “I saw Marnie yesterday,” he says.
“Yeah?” I say, trying not to care but failing miserably. I want to hit him. Grab him by the neck. Tell him to go to hell.
“Yeah. She says you’ve been so busy at basketball that you haven’t had much time for her lately. I think she’s lonely,” he says, biting into the apple again. I can feel his eyes on my back.
“She’s not lonely. I have plenty of time for her,” I say, barely keeping the edge out of my voice.
“Mmm. So sure about that, Samantha?” he says, throwing something onto the table.
“What is that?” I ask him, standing up.
“Take a look,” he says, a smirk spreading across his smarmy face while he sinks his teeth into the apple again.
It’s a condom wrapper. Open and empty.
“Found it in Marnie’s ro
om. Now I know it doesn’t belong to you, dickless. She’s got someone else taking care of business while you play basketball with those d-bag idiots,” he says.
“Fuck you, Ace. Fuck you. You’re lying,” I say through my teeth. I glance toward the sunroom, where my mother is still completely involved in her yoga poses. “Get out of my house,” I say, throwing the wrapper at his chest.
“I’m not lying, dickless. She’s not sleeping with you because she’s sleeping with someone else. Get it through that thick head of yours. She’s not into you. She’s with you out of pity. A fatherless, dickless d-bag? Oh yeah, you’ve got the sympathy vote, Samantha,” he says, standing up.
He leaves the apple, half eaten and browning, sitting on the kitchen counter and saunters toward the front door, yesterday’s newspaper tucked up under his arm.
“You’re an asshole, Ace. Shut up about Marnie. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say to his back, following him to the front door.
“Ace! What a nice surprise! Did Sam find the paper your mother wanted?” My mother appears behind me, sweating with a towel around her neck.
“Mrs. North! How nice to see you again,” Ace leans past me and plants a kiss on my mother’s cheek, his hand shoving the condom wrapper back into his pocket. “I was just telling Sam here, good luck at this weekend’s basketball game! I know it’s an important one. Plantation High is a tough opponent. Right, Sam? I’ll be out of your way now, ma’am. It was so nice to see you again. Don’t be a stranger,” Ace says to my mom, holding out his hand. His oily smile spreads across his face, and he looks like a crocodile about to bite.
I slam the door shut as soon as his foot hits the porch.
“Such a nice kid, that Ace. I don’t know why the two of you aren’t better friends,” my mom mutters as she makes her way back to the kitchen. “Sam, why can’t you ever throw anything away?” she asks, holding Ace’s half-eaten apple in her hand.
* * *
I raise the gun from my hip and pop off two shots before lowering it back down. Two perfect shots, one right between the eyes of the human-shaped target and one in the chest. I glance over at Grandpa as I lay the gun down on the carpeted countertop. He motions to me to take the earmuffs off.
Until I Break Page 8
