by Unknown
“As if he can do no wrong, when he so clearly has and will in the future. You are blind if you think Graham will ever be anything other than a player.”
I stomp to the door. When my hand grips the knob, I turn to face the boy who might’ve been capable of changing everything. “People can say the same about you.” I swing the door open and step out.
Mark wraps his fingers around my wrists, tugging me back. “Where are you going?”
I snap my arm away and rub my wrist. “I need time, a breather to get my mind right.” Twisting on my heels, I turn my back on him.
“You’re going to him, aren’t you?” Mark shouts down the empty hallway.
I dart down the hall until I’m directly in front of him. “And if I am?” I challenge.
“You’d only be proving me right,” he sneers.
“As far as I’m concerned, I can be friends with anyone I damn well please. If I want to run to Graham because I’m comfortable with him, then I sure as hell will, Mark.” I take a long step back and circle around. “Not that I need to explain myself to you, but I’m going to Violet’s room. Don’t wait up. I’m not coming back,” I shout over my shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Graham
My bags hit the floor. I kick my bedroom door shut and fall face first onto my mattress. Not bothering to unpack, I grab the remote and bring the flat screen to life.
Spring Break has been a thrill, but I couldn’t be happier to be home. After spending almost a full week with Kennedy and Mark, I’m ready to lose my mind. Most of the time, I managed to avoid them. They seemed on edge when we all went our separate ways at the airport, avoiding eye contact and barely speaking full sentences to each other.
I drag my bag closer. In the front pocket sit the last words Savannah and I will probably ever exchange. She disappeared after our day trip to the waterfall, only leaving me a letter at the front desk. Unlike most girls, she challenged me. That girl had the innate ability to make me question everything I think and do. Her tenacity was contagious and addictive, but something happened on the cliff.
I open the flap of the envelope to see the neatest handwriting scrolled across several pieces of paper. Unfolding them, I lay on my back and read.
Dear Graham,
At this point, you’re probably back in the states and wondering why I ran off. I felt like I needed to distance myself from you, give you a few days to take my wise-beyond-my-year’s advice to heart, and hopefully, learn something about yourself.
I approached you by the pool that day because you remind me of someone I’d like to forget. I ended up being wrong. You, my friend, are nothing but a gentleman, in your own right. You have a charisma that will bounce off all four corners of this earth if you choose for it to. That’s why I approached you. I just didn’t know it at the time.
We may have only known each other for a few short days, but something tells me you have left a lasting impression on my heart, and I hope you can say the same about me.
You need to know that Kennedy will die lucky. She got to have a piece of you that I can only assume you keep hidden from the rest of the world. You are better than your past, and you are better than your present, Graham Black.
There are things in life that are sometimes out of our control. The ones that we can control are meant to be handled with care. Our choices and our hearts should be handled as such. Please make me a promise that, at the end of every day, you’ll be proud of your choices and can live with them.
So, Mr. Black, if you ever find yourself near Ole Miss, look me up. Until then, follow your heart. Be a good guy, and for fuck sakes, stop being a douchebag and get your head out of your ass.
Love,
Savannah
P.s. I want to be invited to the wedding.
My arms fall to my side, and the papers drift to my bedroom floor. Damn her. Even through a letter she knows what to say to put me in my place.
As I contemplate her words, I hear a car door slam. I look out the window over the dark driveway and see my father’s SUV leaving.
The front door slams and I rush to meet my mom in the hallway. Her silhouette is illuminated by the moon shining through the large windows over the foyer.
“Mom?” I meet her at the top of the landing.
“Yeah, honey, it’s me.” Her voice hiccups in the middle and I know something's wrong.
As she takes the final steps, her head stays downcast toward the floor. With disheveled hair and the sleeve of her dress ripped, she looks anything but like my mother’s usual perfection.
“What happened?” I ask, trying to stay calm. “Where did he go?”
“Hotel,” she whispers.
“By himself?”
Sad eyes look up at me and my mouth drops open in shock. I flip the hallway light on, only to see dried blood beneath her eye and bruising along her cheekbone.
“What happened? And don’t you dare lie to me.” My voice rises into a bark, biting into her already fragile state.
“We had a disagreement.”
“Mom, that,” I point to her face, “is not a disagreement. You disagree on what color flowers to plant.” The pictures rattle when I slam my fist against the wall. “When are you going to stop this, Mom? You deserve better than him. He’s killing you, and you don’t even see it.
“Graham...” she says my name like a curse.
“I can’t deal with this shit,” I bellow. “I’m not going to be here next year. Explain to me what happens to you then.”
“I can handle myself.” Her lips tremble as she looks to me, for what, I’m not sure. “Your father is a complicated man.”
“Quit making excuses for him. I’m not the eleven-year-old boy anymore who believes he’ll change.” Anger bubbles behind my glare. “You never protected me. You weren’t there when I was the confused little boy who only wanted to be accepted by his father, who wanted to be good enough to love. I’m never going to have a normal relationship because of you guys. Y’all have ruined me.” I snap, my anger uncontrollable. My arms flail in between us. “I walked away from the one person who knows how to love me because I don’t feel worthy of her and it’s your fault.”
I leave her in the hallway, and her sobs follow me through my bedroom door. Once my back falls to the mattress, guilt sneaks in to remind me my mom has done the best she can. It may not be as good as I deserve, but she’s done the best she’s capable of in the situation.
She’s a prisoner to my father, and until she breaks free, I’m held captive in her nightmare.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kennedy
“Why are you here so early?” Graham shouts.
His strong body presses against the fence, his hands dangling over the top. My eyes scan over his baseball uniform, something I’m never prepared to see him in. The way the material molds to his body is impossible to ignore. A group of freshman girls snicker on the bleachers as they gawk at him.
I pull out my camera and flaunt it at him. He grins before heading to the dugout.
We’ve been back from Mexico for a month, and as graduation closes in on us, I feel like I’m playing catch up. I need to finish gathering photos for the yearbook, study for finals, and make a list of things I’ll need in the fall.
My acceptance letter to Columbia had been waiting for me when we got back. I’m almost positive the smile never left my face for weeks. Never in a million years did I think I would be accepted to my first choice, and now I’m shipping off to New York to start a new life.
With forty minutes until the senior baseball players’ last home game, my lens captures their warm-up. A melancholy feeling radiates through to my heart. This is it. Right here, right now. These people who have become a part of me, will no longer be by my side this time next year. I understand now what adults mean by this being the time of our lives. After we walk across the stage in a few short months, everything changes. We will be considered adults in the outside world with expectations and responsibilities, but
most excitingly, a sliver of freedom.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Mark says as he runs by me. I drop the camera from my face and smile at him. “We going to Dan’s tonight?” He bends down to put on his catcher’s gear. His strong legs shift as he buckles his leg guards, and then his face disappears behind his helmet.
“Do we ever go anywhere else on Fridays after games?” I shout back to him. He winks at me over his shoulder. “Good luck,” I singsong to him.
After our Spring Break blow-up, things have been strained, but manageable. I cried myself to sleep in Dan and Violet’s room that night, trading my towel for one of Dan’s t-shirts. The next morning, Mark found me in the lobby with a giant bouquet of flowers and an apology a mile long. Instead of standing my ground and demanding what I needed, I hugged him. I’m not proud of it, but I don’t want to be the girl who can’t let go. Mark’s proof I can.
By the time I take enough photos to fill the back half of the yearbook, the team is huddled by the dugout, chanting to pump them up and prepare them for the game. I find my spot on the fence and watch Mark and Graham play a game of catch before the first pitch is due. They work well together. Graham sets up, and Mark shifts behind home plate. If only they could bring those skills of teamwork off the field and into their friendship.
Someone bumps into me on each side. Violet and Amanda sandwich me between them. Both have sly, overexcited smiles on their faces.
“What’s going on?” My eyes scan between them, leery of what I’ll find. Amanda avoids my glance all together, so I drill my best friend, knowing she’ll crack under pressure. “No, seriously, I know you guys are up to no good. It’s in your eyes.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.” Violet pouts and shifts from foot to foot. “We’re going to get tattoos tomorrow.”
“You mean you two are getting tattoos,” I correct her.
“No, you too,” Amanda chimes in, a smirk on her face.
“And what are we permanently scarring our skin with?” I ask.
“You act like you don’t already have a tattoo, Ken.” Violet pokes my ribs where my ballet shoes are inked for eternity.
“Spill it, Vi.” I grab her chin, but she avoids me by watching the first pitch. “What are we getting?” I growl, frustrated by their antics, but amused.
“An Oreo,” Violet and Amanda mutter the answer together.
“Excuse me?” My eyes narrow into slits.
“An Oreo. We’re getting an Oreo cookie tattoo,” Violet shouts.
A small crowd gives us judgmental glares, and Violet flaunts her middle finger at them, making Amanda laugh. Amanda looks to me, an understanding gleam in her eyes. Obviously, she knows how stupid the idea sounds when spoken out loud. I’ll be remembered as the sweet, white center of a cookie for the rest of our lives because these two want to commemorate our friendship in the most permanent way possible.
“So, you’re telling me that tomorrow, I’m going to walk into a tattoo parlor and get a cookie tattooed on me? And where are we getting them tattooed?” My hands rest on my hips and my foot taps in a frantic motion.
“On your ass.” A loud giggle falls from Amanda’s mouth.
“Screw you guys. I’m not getting it tattooed on my ass.”
“But you are getting it tattooed.” Violet links her arm through mine. Her lips turn into a smile.
I turn back to the game, ignoring the two of them as they high five and giggle about their win over me. “You guys are a bunch of assholes.” I fight back my own grin.
Amanda has become a quick fixture in my life. Since Mexico, we’ve spent almost every day together. She’s taught me that giving others a second chance will sometimes change your life and perspective. Although from the outside and her past history, Amanda seems shallow and self-centered, the Amanda I’ve gotten to know over the past month is passionate and loyal.
We stand along the fence, hip to hip, and watch the boys take the victory by four runs. Graham pitches a hell of a game, only giving up two runs to the other team. Mark plays the perfect counterpart to Graham’s pitches, always supporting him behind the plate.
Since being home from Mexico, Mark and Graham have taken a less is more approach to their friendship, keeping a distance whenever they can.
Graham and I have taken the opposite approach. He tells me about things with his father, while I confide in him about how I’m managing everything from last year. Our relationship is the only thing that is left alone, always there, but never spoken of. Mark doesn’t know Graham and I talk, and we both agree it’s easier this way. Mark, like everyone else, doesn’t understand our compulsion to confide in each other, and our connection isn’t something I feel the need to explain.
A part of me is always filled with guilt, but it never stops me from texting back and answering late night phone calls.
“Dan’s, right?” Amanda asks, as we walk to our cars. “I’ll have a shot waiting for you.”
I wave to the both of them as they drive through the parking lot until I can’t see taillights anymore. On the hood of my car, my eyes search the stars while I wait for Mark.
Tennessee skies never get old. They’re clear and bottomless. I spot the Big Dipper and smile. My finger traces the outline of the constellation.
“Do you find it strange there are people on the other side of the world, looking at the same stars as us?” Graham’s voice surprises me.
“It is,” I reply. “A small world we live in. Good game by the way.” My eyes flicker to him. “I’ll see you at Dan’s, but Graham...”
He interrupts me. “I’ll keep my distance.”
Our secret is whispered into the night as he gets into his car and drives away.
With my fist, I hit the top of my car lightly a handful of times in frustration. Our friendship is an up and down battle. It’s hard to separate the playful banter from the underlying attraction and the deep conversation. They’re harmless. I remind myself. And then I see the sadness behind Graham’s eyes and I know none of this is harmless.
“You ready to go?” Mark startles me as I watch Graham’s car turn the corner. Twice now I’ve failed to remember Jackie’s advice to be more aware of my surroundings.
Mark saunters to me. With his hair wet and a sleeveless t-shirt matched with ripped knee jeans, he’s a perfect distraction. When we walk into the party, Amanda’s patiently waiting with three shots between her fingers.
“Violet,” she shouts. “She’s here. Get your ass over here.”
Violet rounds the corner, a smile on her face. Dan’s two steps behind her, as usual, with a beer in hand.
“It’s about damn time.” Violet groans with a smirk on her face. She takes two shots from Amanda, hands one to me, and keeps one for herself. “Down the hatch, ladies.”
We lift the glasses to our lips and swallow down the liquid. I tell myself I’ll only have one more drink for the rest of the night, and I stick to that unspoken promise. Everything catches up to me, and keeping my eyes open becomes a struggle. I insist Mark stay and have fun with the guys, but I tell everyone goodbye.
When I get home around midnight, my phone rings as I’m climbing in bed.
I stare at the screen to make sure I saw the name correctly.
“Hello?”
“Wanted to make sure you made it home okay,” Graham says.
“Just laying down now.” I fluff the pillows behind my head.
“I’m jealous.”
“Of?”
“Your bed.” Graham deadpans.
The line goes silent with the exception of the loud music in the background.
“Go have some fun, Graham.”
“I could always sneak in your window.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
And I do.
*****
A stampede of elephants wakes me, or at least it sounds like a small herd. Violet and Amanda storm into my room. After a night of drinking, they should be crawling, but no, not these two. Amanda jumps on the edge of the mattress, and
it dips beneath her tiny weight. She stretches out at my feet. Violet extends an armful of clothes. Fighting laugher, Amanda buries her face in the comforter.
“What time is it?” I rub the sleep from my eyelids. “And why are you here?” I ask.
“You only had one drink last night, so I doubt you forgot what today is already.” Violet wiggles the clothes in front of my nose. “It’s tattoo day.” Her smile matches the excitement in her voice as she sings out her answer.
“I didn’t forget.” A yawn catches me by surprise.
“We figured we’d grab lunch first,” Amanda says, her eyes soft as she shrugs an apology.
“No, don’t worry about it. I’ve dealt with the fact that I’ll be walking around New York with a cookie tattooed on my wrist.” I brush her off with my hand.
“That’s where I’m getting mine,” Violet squeals, then turns to Amanda and waits for her to reveal her placement.
“Well, if you two bitches are getting it on your wrist, it would be stupid if I got mine on my ass.” Amanda and Violet’s laughter fills my room.
Every group of friends should share a moment of insanity, one that sticks out in your head, and reminds you what true happiness means.
A hard tug on her arm, and Violet tumbles onto the bed between Amanda and me. Giggles overcome us, and I pull them into a hug. Last year, I couldn’t fathom a world where Amanda, Violet, and I are inseparable. Now, cuddled with them as tears run down our faces, I’m ready to set out into the world, knowing I’ll always have them to fall back on when I need support.
After a much needed lunch, I find myself in a leather covered chair with my wrist exposed. The needle beats into my flesh for what feels like hours, but turns out to be fifteen minutes. Once Violet and Amanda finish, we pay and walk out into the sunshine.
Arms extended in front of us, we crowd the middle of the sidewalk to take photos of our new ink.
“It’s going on Instagram,” Violet announces. “Now Ken and I will always have something to remind us of you when we’re apart.” She throws her purse over her shoulder and walks away, eyes glued to her phone. Before she smacks into a light pole, I grab her arm and guide her around it.
