The Edge of Anything

by Nora Shalaway Carpenter

  Sage didn’t think she imagined the way Len’s body tightened, but Len kept her concentration entirely on her straw. Using her teeth, she pulled it free of the wrapper, then dropped it into her glass without ever using her hands. Kayla stared at her.

  “Sage,” Hannah said, reaching for a napkin, “I wanted to—” But her elbow clipped Len’s water, knocking it clean off the table. “Oh, sorry!” The plastic cup clattered against the tiled floor, sending liquid flying. Hannah hopped up, grabbing napkins, and began cleaning the mess. Len, who’d looked paralyzed at first, reached for the napkin dispenser.

  She took double what Hannah had grabbed, but instead of squatting down to help, she dropped the napkins to the ground and pushed them around with the toe of her boot.

  Hannah stood and took her wet bundle to the trash, leaving Len standing above a mound of dirtied, sopping napkins. Len hesitated, seemed to decide something, then took her fork and tray—still filled with untouched food—down to the floor, using the utensil to push wet mass onto the tray.

  “What are you doing?” Kayla asked. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  Len continued pushing the napkins onto the tray, her head shaking the slightest bit. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Why don’t you just pick them up?” Kayla asked.

  Len stood, the napkins amassed on her tray. “I—” She frowned, forehead pinched, unable to make eye contact.

  “Sorry about that,” Hannah said again, rejoining the table. “I can be such a klutz sometimes.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Len said, turning so quickly she almost tripped over Hannah’s feet. Her eyes met Sage’s for the briefest moment. “Sorry.”

  “Len—” Sage called. But Len practically threw her tray onto the kitchen conveyer belt before bolting from the cafeteria.

  Hannah slid back onto the bench. “What just happened?”

  Kayla drew a long sip of chocolate milk through her straw. “Yeah, Sage,” she said, “she’s not that weird at all.”

  Sage clanked her silverware on her tray. Her appetite had fled along with Len. “Why’d you do that?”

  “Do what?” Kayla looked genuinely confused. “I just asked a question.”

  Sage stood, trying to temper the gross, guilty feeling flaming through her. She’d thought inviting Len to join them would be kind, but it had totally blown up—because of her best friend, no less. She gathered her things.

  “Where’re you going?” Kayla asked.

  As she dumped her tray, Ian caught her eye from one of the football tables, and she was suddenly thankful their lunch periods had lined up this semester. His eyes narrowed into a You okay? look, and she nodded. She pushed through the cafeteria door, leaving Kayla’s calls to her unanswered.

  * * *

  Sage found Len in the back of the art room at a table squeezed between shelves full of drying clay sculptures and totally creepy papier-mâché masks. “Len?”

  Len didn’t look up. Her fingers swiped her eyes.

  “Hey.” Sage took off her backpack. “Sorry about back there. About”—her throat tightened—“Kayla.” Sage wanted to make an excuse for her friend. Instead she said, “She was a jerk.”

  Len gave a small shrug, her hands busying themselves with a group of papers on top of a purple folder.

  “What’s that?” Sage asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Sage sat next to Len, relieved she’d spoken. “It can’t be nothing,” she prodded. “Come on.”

  Len straightened the small stack. “It’s the criterion for this photography scholarship, the Melford. I probably don’t have a chance—”

  “I’ve seen your photos,” said Sage. “You have more than a chance.” She reached out her hand. “Can I see?”

  Len let her take the papers.

  “This is for a full ride!” said Sage. Her eyes found the bolded qualifications section. “Applicants must be North Carolina residents, in good standing. Essays and recommendations twenty percent; portfolio makes up eighty percent and must include, yada, yada, lots of art stuff I don’t understand…” She flipped over the paper. “Maximum of three awards per year. Scholarship may be applied to any four-year degree program in North Carolina.” She looked up. “This is a nice deal.”

  Len nodded. “No one from Southview has ever won.”

  Sage couldn’t help smiling. It was the kind of challenge she loved. “Then it will be even more impressive when you get one.”

  Len snorted, and Sage couldn’t tell if she’d made Len more relaxed or stressed. Maybe she was like Hannah, who didn’t fare well with too much pressure. Just in case, Sage added, “I mean, even if you don’t get one, you are bound to get into a great program.”

  Len’s face clouded. “It’s like your friend said. College is expensive. If I don’t get the Melford…” She collected the papers back into the folder. “I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere.”

  Sage’s mouth fell open. “You can’t hang your whole future on one scholarship! There must be loads out there, right? And loans—”

  “My family can’t take on more debt,” Len said. “We just—can’t.”

  “But—”

  The door clicked, and Ms. Saffron entered the room, startling at the sight of them. “Len?” Her eyes moved to Sage quickly. “Hello. I don’t think we’ve met?”

  Sage stood up. “I’m Sage Zendasky.”

  “Ah. The volleyball player?”

  Sage nodded, ignoring the jab in her chest.

  “I hear you’ve got quite the future ahead of you,” Ms. Saffron said. “I played in my day. Setter. Glad the sport is finally gaining some popularity in the States.” Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t love students in my classroom when I’m away. What are you two doing exactly?”

  “Nothing,” Len said, sounding not at all suspicious. “I just needed… I mean Sage, um—”

  “Len was showing me the requirements of the Melford Scholarship,” Sage said smoothly. “I’m helping her.”

  “Is that so?” Ms. Saffron crossed her arms, amused. “And are you a photographer, Sage? Or an artist of any kind?”

  Sage smiled. She liked Ms. Saffron already. “No, but I’m super with deadlines.” She nodded toward Len. “I’m helping keep her on track.”

  Ms. Saffron arched her eyebrows, and whether she smelled bullshit or not, she clearly liked Sage’s answer.

  “Wonderful,” Ms. Saffron said. “I was just telling Len yesterday she needs to stay on top of this. The first round is due in just over two weeks.”

  Sage nodded, like she was fully aware of this. Ms. Saffron eyed Len.

  “You left class today before I could ask how those prompts are coming.”

  Len looked at the table, her hands clenched in her gloves. Ms. Saffron walked over and knelt beside her. “Len, I want to help you win this scholarship. I really think you could. But you’ve got two weeks to design a themed series that we can use for the application’s first round, and if you’re not even doing the prompts—”

  “She is!” Sage blurted. “And they’re great. She’s been taking pics everywhere. Even under the bleachers at the football game.” Her eyes went wide and knowing. “And it’s gross under there.”

  “For vertical,” Len piped in. Sage had no idea what that meant, but she gave a satisfied nod, like it was very impressive.

  Ms. Saffron did look impressed and more than a bit relieved. “What an interesting viewpoint. I want to see those, definitely.” Her nails, turquoise and glittery, drummed the table. “How are you doing, Len?” Her voice reminded Sage of a warm blanket.

  Len dug her hands into her sweatshirt’s pockets. “Fine. I’m good.”

  “Remember,” Ms. Saffron said, “you can always talk to me.” Her eyes slid to Sage, who looked away, unsure what was happening. “I’m always here.”

  Len nodded, and Ms. Saffron stood up, her eyes finding the clock above the door. “Now, ladies, I need to get ready for my next class, so if you don’t mind—” She held out her hand for
them to exit.

  “You’re a good liar,” Len said as soon as they were out of earshot. Sage wrinkled her nose. “That didn’t come out right,” Len said quickly. “I meant thanks for saying that back there.”

  Sage nodded. “No worries.”

  “You should know, though, my prompts are crap.”

  “So take more pictures.” Sage stopped at the stairwell. “My next class is upstairs.”

  “I’m down,” said Len.

  “Okay. Well, see you around, then.” Sage leaned on the door handle.

  “Wait!”

  Sage turned.

  “Did you mean what you said back there, about keeping me on track?” Len asked. “Or were you just, you know, saying that?”

  Sage tucked a thumb under the strap of her backpack. “I mean, I am good with deadlines.” She shrugged. “You want me to text you reminders or something?”

  “I don’t have a cell phone.”

  Sage blinked back her astonishment. Was she serious?

  “We had to make some budget cuts,” Len said, looking down, “a few months ago. My Nonni, um, grandmother—” Her voice cracked.

  “No problem,” Sage said. “I totally get it. Maybe I could, um, ask you every couple days or something? Or is there something else that would help?”

  “Actually.” Len looked up. “Maybe—”

  The bell rang above them, setting off a stampede of fast-approaching. footsteps. “I used to hike on the Parkway,” Len said. “All the time, with my sister. A lot of my best photos come from there, but I haven’t been in a while, and, well, I know you have practice after school, but maybe after that?” She shrugged. “It would be nice not to go alone.”

  A couple students nudged past them, pushing them into the stairwell. “Oh,” said Sage, “I love hiking.”

  Len smiled.

  “But… I can’t.”

  The smile collapsed. “Yeah, no problem.”

  Sage could tell she expected a reason, but Len knew about her diagnosis. There was no way Sage could tell her about tonight’s tryout with the Hendersonville team. “I’m sorry,” Sage said and was surprised to find she truly meant it. “Another time maybe?”

  Len nodded quickly, slinking back into the hall. “Sure,” she said. “No big deal. Forget it.” The hallway pulsed and writhed with bodies, and before Sage could say another word, Len stepped into the crowd and was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SAGE

  SAGE TOLD COACH SHE HAD TO MISS PRACTICE DUE TO A cardiology appointment, which he totally bought. She rechecked the YMCA address as soon as she got into the Subaru. So far, that was the only positive to having a defective heart. Mom felt so bad for her that, after getting Dr. Friedman to clear Sage for driving, she gave Sage full access to the extra car.

  Derek, the boy who’d answered the number on the flyer, had told her to meet the team in the gym at four p.m., so she was a good twenty minutes early.

  She heard it before she saw it—the uneven rhythm of balls smacking the court—and walked in to discover the place filled with players. Of course. This must be open practice for the competing teams. She felt silly for thinking it would only be the team offering the tryout. They couldn’t reserve the whole court.

  Her phone buzzed from her bag.

  Kayla: Where r u? Coach said you had appt??

  Sage frowned, still annoyed with Kayla for upsetting Len. She switched off the phone and tossed her duffle near a group of bags against the wall. As she leaned into a hamstring stretch, the sounds of the gym sank into her. The thuds of volleyballs on skin, the calls from setters, the squeaks of shoes—they settled into her blood, pulsing beside her heart, and she had the distinct feeling that she’d been asleep for days and had suddenly awoken.

  “Are you Sage?”

  She turned at the voice, the same one from the phone. “Yeah.”

  “Excellent.” The boy clasped her hand. “I’m Derek.” He nodded around the court. “We’ve worn our team shirts so you can identify us.”

  He pointed to the service line, where two women wearing shirts identical to his—teal with white lettering—stood warming up. “Those two are Lucy and Flick. Both played at UNC Asheville. Flick’s our player-coach and wicked smart. You can thank her for the tryout protocol you’re about to go through.” As if she knew Derek was talking about her, Flick tossed the ball, jumped, and served with a sharp wrist that clearly earned her the nickname. It was the fastest jumper Sage had ever seen in person.

  Derek pointed to another teal-shirted woman by the net. “Ketia’s our setter. She turned down a volleyball scholarship at App State for a full academic ride to UNCA.” He nodded at the giant man who had just stepped up for his turn to attack. “And that,” he said, “is Mountain.”

  Mountain, Sage estimated, was at least six feet ten inches, and it didn’t escape her notice that all the players opposite him cleared the floor as he tossed the ball to Ketia.

  “Mountain’s from San Diego,” Derek said. “Probably coulda gone pro if he hadn’t wanted to be an engineer.”

  Mountain proceeded to drill the ball inside the ten-foot line.

  “Daaamn,” Sage said. To play alongside that kind of skill—it would be incredible.

  “Yeah,” said Derek, misreading her excitement for nerves. “He gave the last guy that tried out a bloody nose; but that kid, well, he was subpar. I’m sure you’ll do much better.”

  A smile played at her lips. Derek was trying to scare her, to gauge her grace under pressure. “What about you?” Sage asked, licking her palm and swiping it across the bottom of her Asics for traction. “What’s your story?”

  “Not as much of a pedigree, I’m afraid,” he said. “I’m a senior at UNCA. Ketia got me playing when we met a few years ago, and I got, you might say, obsessed. You ready?”

  Sage nodded.

  Derek cupped his hands around his mouth. “TEALs, gather up!” His teammates looked over, their eyes moving past him to Sage. Most of them smiled, but they were the kind of smiles that said they weren’t expecting much. Lucy gave Mountain a look, and Sage knew what it meant. What kind of high schooler would be available for a rec league in mid-season? But Sage didn’t mind. With her name in the Asheville paper so often over the past couple years, she hadn’t gotten underestimated by anyone in a while. A thrill itched through her, shutting out the whisper that had nagged her all day—Was this safe? Could she actually die?

  Sage cracked her knuckles. The thing about Russian roulette, she reminded herself, was that most of the time, you won.

  “Come on,” Derek said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  * * *

  They put her through the paces. And despite her multi-day break, Sage felt as if no time had passed at all. Her ankle had healed, she was back to full potential, and she was born to do this.

  No one said anything, but she saw the tiny changes in their expressions with each drill. Derek’s expression went from humoring to intent as he peppered with her to warm up. Flick raised her eyebrows when Sage nailed her jump serves. After an attack drill, Lucy looked at Mountain again, though this time her eyes were pleased.

  When Sage had successfully dug Mountain’s serve, Ketia laughed out loud. “That’s enough for me,” she said. “Flick?”

  Flick motioned for her teammates to join her, and Sage had a moment to take stock as they huddled. Far from breathless, the drills had energized her. She felt buoyant, a volleyball Wonder Woman who could play forever. Something that made her this happy, that felt this incredible, it couldn’t be wrong, could it? The world couldn’t be that cruel.

  The team walked up to her, Flick leading the rest. “It’s Sage, right?”

  Sage nodded.

  Flick crossed her arms. “You’re not terrible.”

  Sage bit down a smile. Flick was a lot like her own coach, and though the words didn’t sound like much, she knew they were a compliment. “Thanks.”

  Mountain stared down at her. “You really in high scho
ol?”

  “I am.”

  “So why aren’t you on a team again?”

  Sage shrugged. “Grades.”

  Lucy folded her arms. “You’re better than some of UNCA’s girls,” she said. “You probably coulda played there. Too bad about your grades.”

  “But good for us,” said Mountain, clapping her on the shoulder. “Welcome to the team, Tiny.”

  Sage almost snorted, until she realized that for the first time in her life, she was the smallest player on her team. She’d thought Ketia was also five-eleven, but no. Standing right next to her, it was clear the setter was a good inch taller.

  “Not yet,” Flick said, holding up her hand and slicing through Sage’s ease. “Mondays and Wednesdays are all-player open practices like this, three thirty to six thirty. Games are Friday evenings, starting at seven. You can be here? On time, every time?”

  Sage nodded. “Yes.”

  “Occasionally I call team meetings, impromptu. Not required, but suggested.”

  “Strongly suggested,” Mountain coughed.

  “Are those in the evenings?” Sage asked.

  Flick nodded. “Derek has your number?”

  “I do,” Derek said. “I’ll add it to the group text.”

  Flick’s dark eyes locked on Sage’s. “This isn’t just some silly rec league, understand? They’re doing a state tournament this year, and the winners of all A leagues advance.” She took a micro-step toward Sage. “I want that spot.” She looked around. “We want that spot. And if we win the next two games, we get it.”

  Sage struggled to keep her face smooth. It was like the universe was giving her a sign, showing her she’d made the right choice. She could get her state title after all.

  “I won’t let you down,” she promised.

  Flick stared at her a moment longer. “We’re counting on you now.” She held out her hand. “Welcome to the team.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LEN

  LEN USED HER PHOTOGRAPHY PROMPT ASSIGNMENT FROM Ms. Saffron as the excuse to bolt right before Fauna’s nightly phone call.