by Emma Doherty
A throat is cleared behind me, and I turn to see Mr. Michaels looking at me. “Nice to meet you, Izzy.” He claps his hands together robustly. “Now, we’re playing soccer today, non-contact. I’ll quickly explain the rules to you while the others get into teams.”
Ethan cuts him off. “She knows the rules.” We both turn to face him, along with the watching class. “She was brought up on it,” he mutters. He’s right; I do know the rules. I’ve been going to football games—as it’s known in the UK—since I was a little kid. My mum’s best friend used to be a die-hard West Ham fan, and I’d go with him to watch.
Mr. Michaels looks between Ethan and me then claps his hands together again. “Okay, so pick your teams.” Ethan and Finn automatically move to stand farther back, and I’m not sure if they were nominated captains or if it’s just the way it works around here, that if Ethan and Finn are about, they choose.
Ethan glares at me whilst I move to stand with the rest of the waiting students. Then he turns and looks at a short guy with brownish hair. “Peter,” he says, picking him. The short guy goes to stand behind him, and I know he must be pretty good if he got picked first.
Finn’s eyes scan the crowd, looking for his first selection, his eyes moving over Logan, Matty, and some of their other teammates then settling on me. “Let’s go, Kavanagh.” I look up at my name and see Finn smirking. Ethan turns towards him and scowls, but Finn doesn’t look away from me. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I roll my eyes but go stand behind him anyway as the rest of the class get split up into teams and we get into place.
The truth is I used to be pretty competitive in gym classes back home, and despite me thinking I’ll try to stay out of the way of the ball, my competitive nature kicks in when Finn sends it in my direction. I stop it with my foot, sidestep a defender on the other team, and pass it on towards goal.
I watch as the girl I passed it to fumbles her first attempt and then easily has it taken off her. Finn runs back towards our goal, trying to catch up with the Peter guy, who has it at his feet, and makes a sliding tackle that dislodges the ball, which Matty in turn collects. I look around and no one’s marking me, so I give Matty a shout. He passes it over then I start running at the opposition goal, dribbling the ball at my feet.
I’m suddenly side-checked so hard I hit the ground, and when I look up, I see Ethan take the ball and boot it downfield.
“Carlington, what the hell was that?” Finn demands, coming over to us, offering me his hand, and pulling me up.
“What?” Ethan replies, not bothering to look at me. “It was a fair tackle.”
There was nothing fair about it and my jaw clenches, but I don’t argue with him and get back into position.
Another couple of minutes and I find myself near the goal as my team has won a corner kick. I glance at the small brunette who’s been given the task of marking me, and as soon as the ball is kicked towards goal, I run away from her and leap into the air, aiming to head the ball into the corner of the net, but it doesn’t quite work like that. The second I’m airborne, a body slams into me and I go crashing to the ground. I land flat on my back, knocking the wind out of me.
Holy crap, that hurts.
Surprise, surprise—when I look up, it’s Ethan who’s standing over me.
The whistle blows and the teacher comes rushing over to me whilst Finn pulls Ethan away and starts berating him in his ear. Matty and the rest of my team crouch down around me whilst I try to catch my breath. That definitely, definitely hurt.
“What happened?” Coach Michaels asks warily. I’m not surprised; he’s probably not used to having to reprimand the school’s golden child.
I sit up, stretch out my neck, and look over at Ethan. He’s not even pretending to listen to Finn, who is clearly pissed off with him. Instead he’s intent on glaring at me. Obviously he’s not forgotten our conversation about our mum over the weekend. “Nothing,” I say, not breaking Ethan’s stare. “I tripped.”
Matty helps me up and then turns to Ethan the second the teacher has retreated back to the centre circle. “Cut it out, Ethan. You could really hurt her.”
Five minutes later, Ethan has the ball at his feet and I’m at the other end of the pitch. He has space in front of him and kicks the ball forward, dribbling it and making a run for goal. I move over so I’m closer to where he’ll be running, and just as he’s about to pass me, I stick my foot out and trip him. He goes tumbling to the ground.
He’s stood up and in my face in a second, swiping at his face and pushing me backwards. “What the hell?”
I just laugh at him as the whistle blows again and the teacher runs over. “Okay, what is going on?” he demands.
Ethan takes a purposeful step away from me. “I tripped,” he states whilst Logan coughs from his place beside him.
The coach obviously doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t argue as he orders us to play on. Play continues for a couple of minutes, but the second the ball is at my feet and I start running towards the goal, I get tackled so hard my feet are taken out from under me and I clatter to the ground, jarring my whole body all the way to my bones.
I should have expected it, really, but I’m still livid.
That’s it.
I jump up and launch myself at Ethan, grabbing at his hair and kneeing my legs into him as hard as I can, and he doesn’t hold back with me either. I take a blow to the face that nearly knocks the wind out of me and will almost certainly bruise as I feel firm hands grip me by the waist and pull me back whilst Ethan is held back by some of the other students.
“What the hell is your problem?” I demand, trying to struggle out of Finn’s grasp.
“You are!” Ethan throws straight back at me, trying to detach himself from the students restraining him. “You are my fucking problem.”
“You are such a—”
“You have no right to say anything to me, Biz, not after what you said to me over the weekend and not after what I saw you do this morning.” He pushes himself away from Matty and Logan. “Are you that determined to destroy yourself?”
“What on earth is going on?” Mr. Michaels appears in front of us, looking completely bewildered.
“Nothing,” we both say instantly.
“This behaviour is not acceptable. Both of you get inside to the office and the principal can deal with you.”
“Why?” Ethan demands, stepping away from the students holding on to him. “What the hell is the point in sending us to the office? Are you going to call our parents and have them discipline us?” he asks angrily, and it’s so unlike him to lose his cool like this and challenge a teacher that I can’t rip my eyes away from him. “Our dad is out of Texas, just like he always is, and even if he were in town, he wouldn’t come down here to the school if we needed him. And guess what? Our mum is dead. So really, what is the point in sending us to the office?”
Complete and utter silence settles around us.
Finn takes a step towards Ethan, but my brother throws his arm out, stopping his friend from coming any nearer. “No, I’m being serious. What is the point of sending us to the office? Seriously, I want to know. We both know the school will just contact my dad’s assistant, she’ll arrange a donation, and then this will all be forgotten about, because my dad’s money solves every problem, right?”
He’s breathing heavily as Mr. Michaels stares back at him, completely dumbfounded.
“And do you know what will happen after the cheque has been written? We’ll go home to an empty house and our housekeeper—a paid member of staff—will hopefully still be there cooking us dinner before she returns home to her own family. And you know what? I really hope she is there, because she’s the closest thing I have to family at the minute. Then unless I go meet up with friends, I’ll be on my own for the rest of the night because my sister—my twin sister—will disappear to God knows where because she’d rather be anywhere than in that house with me.”
My heart starts hammering
in my chest. He’s never said any of this stuff to me before. I didn’t know he felt like this about our dad and our whole family situation. I had no idea.
“So please, Mr. Michaels, tell me—tell me if me and Biz going to the office is going to fix any of that.”
He stares at the open-mouthed teacher for at least a solid minute whilst I try to control the warring emotions inside me, and then he turns and trudges inside without another word, his friends trailing in behind him, leaving me staring after him.
He’s right about most of it. Nothing comes of it except a week of detentions for both of us and a bit of gossip that follows me around the school for a couple of days, but one thing that does change is that I stay in that night. Even though Ethan sits at the kitchen table doing his homework and I watch TV off in another room, I make an honest attempt to not go out every night of that week.
It’s finally Friday and I’m counting down the minutes until the end of the day. Today is dragging so badly that I actually start fantasising about getting up and walking out mid-lesson, but Ms. Joot’s threats put any thoughts of that happening to the back burner, and instead I listen—completely bored—as Rachel once again dominates our math class.
The teacher has gone back to algebra for a minute and has asked us to look at our textbooks.
Question 7:
If In (3x - 2) = 1, then x =
Rachel’s hand is immediately in the air, and Mr. Evans sighs out loud. He’s getting sick of her being the only one to ever answer.
“Anyone else?” he asks.
No one volunteers.
“Pippa?”
She glances down at her book and then looks up, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
“Paul?”
Paul looks up from his scribbling in his notebook. “E/3?”
Mr. Evans shakes his head. “Good guess.”
“Mr. Evans? I know the answer,” Rachel states obnoxiously. She turns to Paul. “Don’t worry, Paul. We all make mistakes sometimes. I can break it down for you later on.”
He shrinks lower into his seat and his face turns red. I feel a pang of sympathy for him. Paul is supposed to be her friend, and even if she doesn’t mean it, her patronising tone is just as deflating as a straight-up insult would be.
Who even is this girl? Does she really not have any idea how full of it she sounds?
Rachel jumps up—without being asked—and rushes straight to the board. She starts working out the equation, explaining to everyone (who I guarantee don’t care) how she got there. “So that’s the answer then,” she finishes smugly with a flourish. “3/2.”
She’s got it wrong.
“Um, actually, Rachel—” Mr. Evans starts.
“It’s fine, sir. I can show everyone how to break it down again if you need me to.”
He blinks at her, completely startled.
She turns and waltzes back to her desk, a real spring in her step.
“You got it wrong.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I feel the whole class turn to look at me. “The answer is (2+e)/3.”
She pulls a face and looks back at me. “I don’t think—”
“Am I wrong?” I look over at Mr. Evans.
“Actually, Rachel,” he says almost apologetically, “you got a little confused. Izzy’s right.”
Rachel’s jaw drops and then she swivels in her seat to face me, a mixture of contempt and horror on her face. “How did you get that?”
I shrug, feigning complete disinterest. “Don’t worry, Rachel.” I smile sweetly and repeat her own words back at her. “We all make mistakes sometimes. I can help break it down for you later.”
There’s a murmur throughout the class, and I swear a burst of laughter comes from Ethan’s direction before he covers it with a cough.
I don’t care if I’ve just played my hand. Serves her right for making Paul feel so crap.
“You know, I think you might be getting it, Izzy.”
I manage to force a small smile in Marcus’s direction as I turn in my seat to look at him. We just pulled over to the side of the road. He’s kept his promise and has taken me out driving for an hour every night this week, and it’s starting to pay off.
“Have you registered for your test?”
It takes me a couple of seconds to realise he’s asked me a question. “Uh, yeah, been studying like mad.”
He nods, his eyes narrowing slightly on my face. “Are you okay? You’ve been quiet since I picked you up.”
I nod my head and try for my brightest smile as my phone beeps in my pocket. I pull it out.
Kristen: Hey, I know things are weird between us right now, but I’ve been thinking about you today. Miss you x
I stare at the message, fighting the urge to burst into tears. Even after everything I did to her after I found out my mum was sick, after I betrayed her and shut her out, she still remembers. She’s too good for me. Far too good for me.
Today would have been my mum’s 37th birthday.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask him, shoving my phone away.
I don’t think he’s going to respond at first as he stares at me, taking in my expression. Eventually he must decide not to persist with whatever he was going to say and instead answers my question. “Working.” He gives me his hardest glare. “And before you ask again, you’re not drinking in my bar. Come back when you’re twenty-one.”
Well that ruins that plan. I could really, really do with a drink tonight. The last couple of weeks haven’t been so bad over here. They’ve been uneventful, and Ethan and I have sort of come to an understanding after our fight at the soccer pitch. We’re nowhere near to being friends, let alone acting like proper siblings, but we’ve been giving each other a bit of space and haven’t had any more major arguments in a couple of weeks. Still, none of that changes the fact that today is my mum’s birthday and I should be able to celebrate with her but I can’t.
I turn back to Marcus. Tonight I want to forget everything. “I promise I’ll just sit in the corner and not talk to anyone.”
He snorts. “It’s still a no.”
“Well then can you just buy me some alcohol? I’ve left my fake ID at home.” The one I ordered online has surprisingly worked. “And I don’t want to have to go all the way back to get it.” I reach down into my bag and check out the bottle of vodka I have in there; it’s less than half full. “I don’t have much left.”
He frowns and leans over to look in my bag. “Are you being serious? You carry that around with you? Do you really want a drink that badly?”
“Don’t be a hypocrite. Don’t tell me you weren’t drinking in high school.”
He holds my gaze for a minute, and the look he’s sending me is too intense. I don’t want to get into this with him. I can’t. I’m not going to tell him why today of all days I want a drink or ten. I can’t handle talking about her, not today.
I shrug. “I’ll just find somewhere else that will serve me.”
He snorts. “That’s what bothers me.”
I know he’s not kidding either. He doesn’t like the fact that he won’t be there to watch over me if I’m off drinking, but he’ll just have to deal with it. I’m not going to sit in my house the whole time, hanging around and not getting out. I might have settled slightly more into life over here, but I’m not about to pretend I’m happy. I wouldn’t even say I was content. I’m just resigned to it.
“Izzy?”
“I’m fine, Marcus. Just leave it.”
“I’m here if you want to talk.”
I don’t look at him. What am I supposed to say? That it’s my mum’s birthday and I should be celebrating with her, but instead all I feel is this overwhelming sadness that I can’t and this crippling guilt that if only I’d seen the signs, she might have been diagnosed before it was too late.
Neither of us say anything for at least a minute, and I’m just waiting for him to say something else, to push me on this, but he doesn’t. I think that’s why
I like him so much. He just seems to get me, and right now he knows I don’t want to talk about it.
“Okay, switch,” he tells me, opening up his door and climbing out. I scoot over as he rounds his truck and climbs into the passenger seat. He glances down at his watch. “We have enough time to hit up the fundraiser and get some food before my shift starts.”
I blink. “The high school fundraiser?”
He smirks over at me. “Of course. Babe, you still don’t get how this town works. It’s huge.”
The second we arrive in the high school parking lot, I understand what he means. There are what seems to be hundreds of cars parked up, all gleaming and shimmering, and what looks like the entire football team and the whole cheerleading squad along with a bunch of other students are standing around with sponges and buckets of water, prepared to clean the cars. Then towards the school building are a ton of barbecues with lines of people waiting to get food.
My jaw drops. There are hundreds of people here—hundreds—and this is just right now at the end of the day. I have no idea how many people have come in total.
Marcus laughs at the look on my face. “This is the biggest fundraiser of the year. All the food is donated and they get to keep the profit, as well as the money for the cars that are washed. They raise thousands of dollars.”
Thousands? I had no idea it involved that kind of money and, unbelievably, today of all days, an actual smile crosses over my face. It really is great that it will be going to the smaller clubs at school who usually never get a look in.
“Pull in over there,” I tell him, indicating an area that is less populated but has Paul, Pippa, and the rest of the kids I’ve met from the math club. Marcus sends me a look but pulls over all the same.
Pippa smiles brightly as we climb out of the car, sending a sidelong glance at Marcus in interest. I clear my throat and her attention returns to me. “Izzy, today has been so much fun. I have no idea how much has been raised, but people have been coming in all day. It’s been crazy busy.”
