Breaking Ties

by Tracie Puckett

  “Yeah?” I looked up, and that was it.

  He kissed me. Bam. Before I could even register the thought of what was happening, Gabe’s soft lips spread across mine. Like everything about our relationship thus far, it started slow. It grew into something bigger the longer he held me, slowly drawing the breath right out of me. After six weeks, after all the waiting, we were there, perfectly connected to one another. It was short and so sweet, and it was everything I’d ever imagined it could be. It was all I ever wanted because it was with him.

  Gabriel Raddick had every last ounce of me—my breath, my heart, my lips. I was his, and he was mine—forever—and I knew that. Our togetherness was meant to be, and it was one that would never change.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I couldn’t have asked for a better end to the night.

  By the time he dropped me off at home, Gabe’s lips had found mine more times than I could count on both hands. We couldn’t stop—a small taste wasn’t enough; an overdose would never cut it. I could’ve kissed him all night.

  Leaving him at the front door was probably the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life, but I couldn’t very well invite him back into the house where everything inside was falling apart. We said our goodnights—one more kiss at the door—and went our separate ways.

  I woke up the next morning—happy, smiling, ready for what the day was going to bring. Even though the future was uncertain, even though Mom was mere miles away, Bailey was ready to flee to California, and Dad was heartbroken, I had one incredible thing to look forward to; his name was Fletcher Wilson, and today his dream was going to come true.

  ###

  “Whoa,” I said, glancing around the gymnasium, and Fletcher’s eyes rounded to the size of quarters. “This place is huge.”

  “Do you think they brought us all the way out to Desden because the Desden team won?” Fletcher asked, looking around their full gymnasium. If I thought he was nervous the night before, I couldn’t even define what he was just then, walking into that school.

  “No, you goofball,” I said, shaking my head. “They arranged the final announcement to be held here weeks ago. Gabe was saying last night—”

  “I know, I know,” he said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

  We took our seats at the front of the section reserved for the Sugar Creek RI competitors. Seated on the other end of the bleachers was the competing team from West Bridge. Directly across from us, on the other side of the gym, sat the Oakland contestants, and then they were seated next to our biggest rivals: Desden High School.

  The center of the floor was bustling with students and parents as they talked with the team leaders, scurried around to find their seats, and socialized for the first twenty minutes. Dad and Bailey both showed up separately but ended up sitting together a few rows above where Fletcher and I sat. Fletcher’s parents were there to show their support, and they wandered in and took a seat on the other side of their son.

  “Nervous?” I asked.

  “Understatement of the century,” Fletcher said, wiping his face again.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to begin,” one of the program directors said, speaking into a nearby microphone. He wore a red and white RI shirt, matching those of all the West Bridge participants.

  Mr. Davies, the representative from Sugar Creek, spoke next. “Please take a seat with your district and we will get started momentarily.”

  Everyone scattered to their seats, hurrying to get situated so that the announcement could be made.

  “Hello,” a familiar voice came over the mic, and all the eyes in the room trailed over to a beautiful woman dressed in a blue RI shirt. “Some of you know me, though most of you don’t.” The room filled with a quiet laughter. “My name is Lashell, and I am the head program director for Sugar Creek.” All of the students and parents in our section cheered, and she smiled at our enthusiasm. “Can you believe it’s already been six weeks?”

  There was a mix of reactions from the crowd; some looked exhausted, while other yelled their cheers. You could tell the ones who’d worked the hardest from the ones who’d rode the coattails of their teammates. The main contenders for the scholarships were quiet. Just like Fletcher, they sat still, focusing directly on the leaders in the middle of the room. Carla, in all her soup kitchen glory, was one of the many people mimicking that behavior as if she somehow believed she still stood a chance at winning. Too bad for her, though, everyone knew her attitude had sealed her fate a long time ago.

  The assembly went on for the better part of twenty minutes. Lashell talked about the program, passing the mic off every now and then to some of the other directors. They all talked about the hard work, the community improvements, and how much they enjoyed getting to know all of their volunteers. It was a fantastic experience to sit there with all of them, supporting them through all of their hard work. A few of the directors even called out certain volunteers by name—Lashell made special mention of Carla’s soup kitchen in Sugar Creek.

  And then it came time for the big announcement, the reason everyone had driven out to Desden High School and gathered in the gym.

  “I’m sure everyone knows the man here at my side,” Lashell said, gesturing to Gabe, and the crowd went wild with cheers all over again. Even Fletcher moved out of his statuesque form and clapped this time. “There’s been a lot of discussion as to who we felt should call out the winning school and award the scholarship today, and it seems that we all agreed unanimously—minus Gabe, of course—that he should have that honor. So, Mr. Raddick, whenever you’re ready.”

  Gabe stood still in his spot for a moment, not reaching out to take the microphone. He turned very slowly where he stood, letting his eyes sweep across the bleachers. He was having a moment, a profound moment of accomplishment. He was in awe of what they had accomplished, of how many students, teachers, and parents were involved with something that he’d built from the ground up.

  He was taking it all in, trying to stand tall and proud, not to break under pressure. It even occurred to me that in that moment, Gabe might’ve even been trying to come to terms with the fact that he was standing in the middle of the gym—being watched, being admired, being celebrated, when only a handful of years ago, he’d stood inside the walls of that very school, feeling rejected, alienated, and good for nothing.

  He looked over to Lenora Bennett, watching her as she sat tall and proud in her wheelchair, next to our team. She smiled at him, he smiled at her, and then he nodded. He was ready.

  “I didn’t want to be the person to do this,” Gabe said, speaking into the microphone. “Because even though I’m standing here today, awarding one school for the hard work and commitment they’ve given to their community over the past six weeks, I’m also telling three districts that they didn’t win. That’s hard for me because I don’t want any of you leaving here today thinking, just because your school didn’t win, that you’re the losers.” The entire gym fell to complete silence. “Today, there are four winners, but only one who will take the title. With that said, I want to thank each and every person in this room today. Whether you were a volunteer, a teacher, a friend, a parent … whoever you are, whatever role you played in supporting the program, thank you.”

  It was a quiet clap this time, no cheering at all. Everyone knew that this was the moment, so we sat on the edge of our seats and we waited.

  Fletcher’s mother reached over and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly, and even though a smile didn’t break out on my friend’s face, I saw a tear welling in his eye. He felt it now, just as I saw it. His mother wanted this for him, and that only made him want it even more.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, considering all the events, all the progress, and all the money raised over the past six weeks by these four districts,” his eyes swept over the crowd, and then he turned his back to us, “all of us here at the Raddick Initiative would like to congratulate our first place winners, Desden High School, for their outstanding work in
the program.”

  I’m certain the gym rang out in applause from the other side. I’m sure there were screams, celebrations, hugs, and cheers galore. But for three districts, the world fell silent. I know because I felt it. There wasn’t a sound, not even the slightest shuffle from the Sugar Creek section. The tear in Fletcher’s eye broke, sliding down his cheek, and his mother’s grip on his hand loosened at once. I couldn’t hear a thing but rows of hearts breaking, one by one. The world stopped. It was like the last six weeks of work, six weeks of pushing him to the finish … all for nothing.

  “Fletch—”

  “It’s okay,” he said, nodding, and then he looked down to the floor. “We all knew it was a possibility, right?”

  “It shouldn’t have been,” I said, putting my hand on top of his and his mother’s. “I’m so sorry.”

  It took a solid minute before any of the other schools joined in the celebration. And it was only then that Gabe spoke into the microphone again, silencing the whole gymnasium. And then words followed. A lot of them. And I don’t even remember what they were. He was awarding the scholarship. He called out a name, a name that didn’t mean anything to anyone on our side. A young, bouncing brunette rushed to the center of the room, collected a giant check from Gabe, and cried as she took the microphone to say a few words of her own.

  And all along I kept thinking of how insignificant the moment was. A moment that I’d been waiting for forever, focused on for weeks, it meant nothing to me. Someone was walking away with the promise of higher education, someone who probably deserved it as much as Fletcher, but it wasn’t him. So I couldn’t celebrate.

  At the end of the morning, most of the parents and students cleared out of the gym pretty quickly. The Desden district hung around, all of them conversing and hanging out, congratulating each other on a job well-done. Fletcher told his parents they could wait for him outside, and with a nod in my direction, he let me know he was going in to tackle the crowd.

  He made his rounds, introducing himself and congratulating each of the winning students. And then he even made his way over to the scholarship winner, obviously saying something funny to break the ice. Knowing Fletcher, I’m sure it was something like hey, I think you stole my check.

  “You’re not happy.” I turned away from watching Fletcher to meet Gabe’s gaze. He stopped next to me, watching the swarming group himself.

  “I’m happy,” I lied, watching him, and then he tilted his head, telling me he knew that was a lie. “Okay, I’m not happy.”

  “Does it help to know that it was by a very slim margin?”

  “Not even a little,” I said, looking back to my friend. “I wanted this for him.”

  Gabe took me gently by the elbow and pulled me back to the first row of bleachers. We sat down next to one another.

  “You know, when we started the program, we knew this was a likely outcome,” he said. “That there would be more than one obvious student who deserved the scholarship. But we made the rules very clear, Mandy. The most deserving person from the winning school,” he said. “And Desden was the winning school.”

  “I understand that.”

  Gabe leaned into me so that he could retrieve something from his back pocket. He sat straight again, holding a white envelope in his hand. “But lucky for Fletcher, he’s planning to enroll in the only program on the DU campus that I have a little bit of pull with.” I looked at the envelope, and then back to Gabe. “Lashell still runs the funds for the scholarship program,” he said. “She attended Fletcher’s show a couple of weeks ago and was floored by his talent. She’s not even asking him to audition.”

  “Audition for what?”

  He lifted the envelope a little higher. “Paid in full.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “She wants me to give it to him,” he said, looking down. “It’s a congratulatory letter. I don’t know why I have to do it.”

  “Because it will mean something coming from you.”

  “It’ll mean more coming from you,” he said. “Can you make sure he gets it?” He passed me the envelope. “Let him mingle, make some friends,” he said, and we both turned to watch Fletcher as he made his way through the crowd. “He’s a good sport. He has exactly what we were looking for in a scholarship recipient. He deserves this, Mandy. And you should be the one to give it to him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Fletcher cried, and I mean sobbed, when I handed him the letter I’d acquired from Gabe. I left him, Lashell, Gabe, and the rest of the lingering RI competitors to enjoy their morning in Desden with family and friends, and I headed straight home.

  I was somewhere between Sugar Creek and Desden when the emptiness set in.

  It was over. Everything that had started this whole process—everything that had brought Gabe and I together, pulled us apart, and brought us together again … it was gone. The program I’d worked for, the one that had introduced me to Haley and Amanda Goodwin, the very one that’d brought me close to people I would’ve never known without it, it had come to a close as quickly as it’d started.

  Even back when I’d quit the program, I’d never felt like it was truly over, but now I felt it. Now the end was real.

  And with every end, there comes a new beginning. A chapter of my life was over, and the next one was about to begin. Although I didn’t know where life was going to go, or what was going to happen, I knew one thing for sure: I would be going through it all without my sister at my side. That was the excruciating truth.

  I skipped school on Monday morning.

  There were very few people and circumstances I would break a rule for, but Bailey was definitely among the exceptions. I blew off my responsibility as a student for the day, woke up at the crack of dawn, and watched as my sister stuffed the final few things into her carry-on.

  Neither of us said a word that morning as she packed. She made her bed before she left, smoothing out the last wrinkles near the foot of the mattress.

  And then we left—Dad at the wheel, Bailey in the passenger’s seat, and me in the back. I kept staring at my sister. The whole, dark ride to Desden, I watched her. I kept praying that she would say something, that she would change her mind, back out, or tell us that she was only messing with us.

  But she never said a word. No one did. The only words communicated for the entirety of that drive came from Gabe in the form of a text message. Thinking of you this morning. Stay strong. I’m only a call away.

  The drive from Sugar Creek to Desden felt like it was never going to end. And in a way, I prayed it never would. At the end of that drive, when we were parked and out of the car, that was it. She’d be gone. And I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. My tie with Bailey … it was one that I would never be okay breaking. But she had to go. A new chapter was about to begin for her, too, and it was the one she’d been waiting to live for her entire life.

  “Hey, can I have a minute?” Mom asked me, standing outside of the security checkpoint. It was the first time I’d seen her since Thursday night, and she was there when we arrived, waiting for us to make our way in.

  Bailey and Dad took Mom’s question as an opportunity to take some time for themselves, and they sidelined off to say their goodbyes. And I just stood there, staring at my mother.

  “Amanda,” she said quietly, keeping her voice low, “are you ever going to forgive me?”

  “I’m working on it,” I answered as honestly as I could because I owed her that much. She was trying, and I had to recognize that she deserved the best effort I could give her. It wasn’t what she was asking for, but it was the best I could give her for now. She understood that, as well as I understood that I had to keep trying. “I’d like to think that sometime down the road, maybe this will all be behind us. Today’s not that day, and it probably won’t be tomorrow either. It’s a lot to ask me to forget.”

  “I’m not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to forgive.”

  “Right.”

  “I love you, sweethe
art, and I’m sorry I didn’t get to spend more time with you on this trip. Maybe next time I’m in town—”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said, and then I looked over to Dad and Bailey. They were wrapped in a hug, Bailey sobbing on Dad’s arm, and Dad crying into her hair. “What happens if you decide you were wrong?” I asked. “What happens if she gets on that plane, and things start to get hard, and you suddenly decide that having a daughter is too much work?”

  “It’s going to be different this time,” she promised. “I’m going to do everything I can to make this right.”

  “You have to,” I ordered, feeling tears in my eyes. “Because she needs you.” And then I found myself ready to say the words that I hadn’t been able to say in years, the words I feared saying out loud, because it was the most painful truth I’d ever known. “A person never stops needing her mother.”

  I felt a tear stream down my face as I looked at her. The truth was simple: she was my mom, regardless of everything she’d ever done. Regardless of everything she’d continue to do, as long as we lived and breathed, we were always going to be a part of each other.

  “You better take care of her. You better give her every tiny thing she demands because she deserves the world, and you owe her that.”

  Mom nodded. “Stay in touch, okay?”

  “I’ll be in touch with Bailey,” I said, looking to her again. She and Dad were no longer holding onto each other. He was wiping her tears away with his thumb, telling her how much he was going to miss her. “Have a safe flight.”

  I started toward Dad and Bailey, wanting to get one last moment alone with my sister before she took off, and Mom called out my name again.

  “Mandy.” I turned back instantly at the sound of my name, my heart stopping for a beat. Mandy, not Amanda. “Even after everything, even after all the time and years, after everything that happened, I never stopped loving you.”

  I nodded.