by Nancy N. Rue
“Why do you have to?” I said. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?”
“I don’t have a choice. She’s my sister.”
“Oh.” Really?
“If she gets messed up in something, my old man blames me.”
I had to roll my eyes. “Do all fathers go to some school to learn how to be jerks?”
“Huh?”
“Look, tell Uma whatever you want, but there is nothing going on between Rafe and me, and there never was.”
Tank looked at me for so long I almost snapped my fingers in front of his face.
“You’re still lyin’,” he said at long last. “But I’ll tell her. You just gotta stop lookin’ at Rafe like that.”
“Like what?”
He pointed into my face. “Like that.”
*
I did better than that. I didn’t look at Rafe at all.
It was stupid anyway.
We’d had one afternoon when he didn’t call me Roid and try to gross me out with his eyebrows. We had a couple of decent conversations.
Like you don’t have every day.
And he carried me. On his shoulders.
So I got a peek at the light under his hood—no big deal.
Okay, it could have been a big deal. But the minute he thought I didn’t want Dad to see who I was with, it was over. He got the wrong idea. He shut down.
I didn’t need it.
What I needed was to focus on getting back in the game. And maybe my Tuesday session with Ben would make that easier.
But when I took off my brace in the dressing room, what I saw sent me out into the workout area screaming for him.
He caught me halfway across the floor. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Boss. What’s going on?”
“Look at my knee, Ben! It looks like a grapefruit!”
I wasn’t exaggerating. My knee was almost swollen back to its presurgery size. And so were the Frenemy quills in my spine. My whole body shook as Ben ushered me into a cubicle and hiked me up onto the table.
“What’s happening?” I said.
“We’re going to find out. Just try to calm down—”
“Tell me I’m not going to need another operation. Please—”
“I doubt that very seriously. Come on now, breathe with me—deep breaths.”
My first few were ragged, but I somehow pulled back from the edge of hyperventilation. Ben felt around my knee and moved my leg and watched my face.
“Any more pain than you’ve been having?”
“No.”
“That’s a good sign. Have you done anything differently with it over the last couple of days?” He coaxed me with a grin. “You haven’t been out playing pick-up games or anything?”
I hooked my eyes into his.
“Boss?” he said. “Talk to me.”
I shook my head. “I showed this guy how to do a layup, but only with my hands. I was sitting down. I didn’t even shoot—”
“Okay. Anything else? Did you try to run on it?” He looked at me closely. “I’m not going to yell at you. I just need to know.”
“I didn’t run. I told him I couldn’t. So he picked me up and put me over his shoulder and carried me to his truck.”
Ben didn’t ask me who or why or what on earth I was thinking. He actually looked almost relieved.
“And when he set you down?”
I closed my eyes. “He didn’t put me down hard. Honest.”
“Cassidy. Look at me.”
I did. He was tilting his head at me.
“I believe you,” he said.
I burst into tears. Big, embarrassing sobs that I couldn’t have stopped if I’d tried. Which I didn’t.
Ben squeezed my shoulder and told me to lie down. His hands wrapped around my leg above my knee and pressed gently while I cried. And cried.
“This is called a milk massage,” he said. “It’s going to help move the swelling down and out.”
“Did I mess it up?”
“No, you just set yourself back a little bit. I think you might have twisted it funky when you were in a position you’re not usually in. Like hanging over somebody’s shoulder.” He grinned. “Did you at least enjoy the ride?”
I felt my face crumple again.
“I’m hitting all kinds of nerves today, aren’t I?” Ben kept massaging. “Anything you want to say about those?”
“I want to say thank you,” I basically blubbered out.
“For?”
“For believing me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He let his hands go still. “Because of the steroid thing?”
“You knew?” I cried even harder. “Is it in my medical records for every doctor I ever go to my entire life to see?”
“No, Boss.” Ben drew the curtain closed and pulled his stool up to the table. “I don’t know if it’s in your records or not. I found out from your father.”
A sob caught in my chest, and only by the grace of God did it not explode.
“He called me right after we started working together. He asked me to keep an eye out for signs that you were using again.”
“You’re not gonna see any!”
“I know that. I knew the minute he told me.”
The sob let go and I cried some more. “I can’t believe he did that. I make one mistake and it’s like I’m some junkie who can’t ever be trusted again.”
“I don’t think it’s so much that.” Ben went back to the milk massage. “I got the sense—and I could be wrong about this—but I got the sense that he’s more afraid somebody else is going to take advantage of you the way the med student did.”
I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. “Did he mention that she was my brother’s fiancée—now ex-fiancée?”
“Ouch. No, he didn’t share that with me.”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what, Boss?”
“That this is never going to be over. I’m trying so hard, but … I’m scared.”
Ben pulled an ice pack out of the freezer and settled it around my knee.
“I think people suffer more over what might happen than over what definitely will happen,” he said. “So let me tell you what I know is going to happen.”
“Okay,” I said.
“You’re going to continue to work hard, and work right, and give yourself the best chance.”
I blinked. “That’s it?”
“That’s all I know. Look, Boss, I can’t guarantee that if you do everything you’re supposed to do and then some, you won’t get hurt again, and I can’t promise you’ll go all the way to the WNBA.”
“This isn’t helping me that much,” I said.
Ben gave me a soft grin. “Look at how far you’ve come in a short time. You came in here shattered in more ways than one, and yet between you, me, God, and whoever else is out there helping you, you’re coming back together.” He glanced at my knee. “With a few minor setbacks.”
“Maybe I just shouldn’t do anything but work out until I’m all healed.”
“No,” Ben said gently. “Maybe you should have a life. If you only focus on this, your knee will heal, but I don’t know about the rest of you.”
I tried to let that sink in, but the Frenemy was blocking the way. I was suddenly sick of her.
“Can you not tell my dad about this?” I said, nodding at the ice pack.
“I don’t have conversations with your father. Enough said on that?”
I nodded.
“Listen, Boss, let me just say this one more thing and then we’ll put your brace back on and get you out of here so you can rest.”
“Okay.”
“We don’t know exactly how this is all going to turn out. There are too many unexpected things that could happen. That’s just life.”
“I hate that,” I said.
“You can’t predict any of it, but you can practice for it.”
“I can practice for what I don’t know is going to happen?”
“Do you ever read the
Bible?”
I was startled—and yet I thought right away of RL.
“Yeah—sort of. I mean, it’s a long story. But yeah.”
“Okay, that’s how you practice. Jesus tells stories of hard situations, and then he shows us how to work with them. It’s like your coach making you practice free throws, in case you get fouled. Or rebounds, in case you don’t make the shot.”
There was that feeling again, where voices that had never met were practically talking in unison. The Frenemy collected her quills and slipped away.
“So what do you say, Boss?” Ben said. “Shall we accept the unknown and focus on what we can do to get ready for it?”
“How do we do that exactly?”
“We keep our minds on the process. Not what you did wrong last time or whether you can do perfectly next time, but how you’re going to do what needs to be done. It’s all about saying ‘what can I think about to make this better in this moment?’”
“And ‘please,’” I said. “And ‘thank you.’”
Ben grinned. “Now you’re talkin’, Boss. Now you’re talkin’.”
*
Even through white hot chocolate at Pike’s Perk with Mom, I was itching to get home to RL. Although while we were splitting one of their homemade brownies—which Mom said would be a sin to resist—she did tell me that Dad was going ahead with the appeal. Apparently he’d decided what my decision was going to be.
Even after we got home there was my Scarlet Letter final draft to finish, and supper before Mom left for the late news. The moon was already up and glimmering through my window when I finally made it to my beanbag. I hoped RL would let me look back at the stories I’d read so far.
It did.
And this time, I tried to think of them as “practices.”
There’s more of a celebration at my house over one loser being rescued than there is over the ninety-nine who already get it. I like a celebration.
He was talking sheep and coins. I was thinking Ruthie passing out Three Musketeers miniatures, and Ms. Edelstein taking us on a “field trip.”
Let all the stuff you’re coming up against get you thinking, let it teach you how to survive, how to get back what you really need so you can live.
I’d thought that was all about basketball before. And Coach and Kara and the team and a scholarship … But what about being up against my brother, and my father? What about surviving a potential catfight with Uma? What about getting back those moments with Rafe when I felt like there might be more to him—and me?
I’m telling you stories so you’ll understand your own journey.
Wow. Wasn’t that what Ben said?
Do the work you’ve been given to do. Do it the best you can—
Ben said that too.
But don’t expect everybody to be telling you how wonderful you are for doing your job. It’s not all about you.
It used to be. With Coach. With the team. With my father. Even Aaron, because I was the one who messed everything up. And now? Now it was Rafe and me and the whole Loser Hall doing an art project. Boz and Ruthie helping me write my paper. Mom and I turning into allies.
And then—
How can you think God won’t come in and help you if you keep asking? Even if nobody else pays any attention to you—even if you’ve lost all credibility—God will be there for you.
Say please. Say thank you.
I couldn’t say either one at the moment because my breath had been sucked away. When lights flashed through the window behind me, I thought for an insane second it was God sending me a message. Closer inspection revealed it was a vehicle in the driveway. Not Dad’s Escalade.
Rafe’s truck.
Forcing myself not to try to run, I got to the front door as fast as I could and let myself out. Rafe still had the motor running when I got in, which was good because it was early-April-Colorado-cold, and I was barefoot and in flannel sleep pants and a sweatshirt. And that wasn’t the only reason I was trembling.
“Hey, Roid,” Rafe said.
“Hey,” I said.
“Is your old man home?”
“Not yet. He doesn’t usually get home ‘til after nine. Look, Rafe, about that—when I told you to go the other day, it wasn’t because—”
“Did you get busted?”
“I’m sorry?”
“When you showed up with me. Did he bust you?”
“No. Well—okay, sort of, but that wasn’t why I told you to—”
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing. He actually didn’t even yell. He just—pointed.”
Rafe pulled his chin in.
“It’s just this thing he does,” I said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But it was because of me.”
“Only because you’re not a basketball. He and I are just—not getting along.”
He nodded, as if he completely understood that, even though I wasn’t even sure I did.
“You looked like you got kicked under a bus today or somethin’,” he said. “If he busted you, I was gonna tell him you weren’t doin’ anything—y’know, with the ‘loser kid.’”
I didn’t even know which piece of that to pick up first. I went with, “You were going to talk to him?”
“What would you expect me to do, punch him in the face?”
“No! Although, there are times when you could be my guest.”
“I hear that.”
The hood came down and he glowered at the steering wheel. I took in a breath.
“Did you have a fight with your dad? Is that why you were all in a funk today?”
Rafe shook his head.
“Then you were thinking I was afraid for my dad to see you. I hope now you—”
“The old man died.”
“Mr. Stutz?” I said.
He nodded. I’d never seen anybody swallow with that much pain.
“Rafe, I am so sorry. I really am.”
“I don’t know what’s gonna happen now.”
“To your wall?”
“No. To me.”
“I don’t—”
I stopped, because Rafe was staring over my shoulder toward the street, eyes glinting.
“What?” I whispered.
“Car coming.”
“Is it an SUV?”
“No. Dude!”
He shot his hand up to his eyes as lights blasted over his face. Just as quickly they were gone, and the car peeled off with a squeal.
“What was that?” I said.
“Just somebody being an—” He wiped at his lips with his hand like something tasted off. “You better go in before your old man gets home.”
“Are you gonna be okay?” I said.
“I’m always okay,” he said.
I nodded. But I knew it was the biggest lie I’d ever heard.
*
I never thought I would want to turn in an English paper to Mr. Josephson. Or that I would look forward to lunch with Boz and Ruthie so I could read them my copy. Or that I’d get a will-he-be-there-oh-I-hope-he’s-there squirmation in my stomach when I walked into art class.
He was, of course, and he called me Roid and was basically as obnoxious as ever, despite the grief I could see lurking in his eyes. We started to talk about it again on the way to Loser Hall, but Uma met us outside the door. My stomach then did worse than squirm. How had I forgotten about her for the last hour? And how had I not asked him whether they were still together?
Not that I wanted us to be together. But us even being friends was going to be a problem if they were together. What was it Tank had told me? If Uma was “mobilizin’” for something, that was never a good thing. Her sucked-in face told me he was absolutely right.
Please, please, please, somebody’s voice said in my head. I was pretty sure it was mine.
“Hey, Uma,” I said. “We should talk. Would you tell Ms. Edelstein we’re in the restroom?” I said to Rafe.
Coach Deetz always said that if you had the element of surpris
e on your side, even for a second, you should take advantage of it. I started talking on the way to the bathroom while Uma struggled to get her eyes back into their sockets.
“Y’know what? I was wrong before,” I said. “I can totally see how you’d like Rafe. He’s so funny and talented and all that. You are way lucky to be going out with him.”
I led the way into the restroom with her practically running to keep up with me. Even with a brace on my leg, I could take one step to her ten.
“And I think I’m lucky to be his friend. I mean, here at school, working on projects and stuff. It’s not like we’re gonna hang out anyplace else—”
“Oh, really?”
Uma jumped in front of me, barely missing a collision with the sink, and tilted her head back so that, in theory at least, she could get in my face. She wasn’t icy today. There were invisible flames coming out of her nose.
“If you’re not going to hang outside of school, what were you doing sitting in his truck at your house last night?”
“How did you—was that you flashing your lights in his face?”
“No. It was somebody I sent.”
Like that let her off the hook.
“You had him followed?”
“I didn’t have to have him followed. I knew where he was going.”
“So he told you he was coming over. He didn’t tell me—”
“No, I just knew. Do you think I’m stupid?”
No, not stupid. Insane maybe.
“Well, so what, Uma?” I said. “He was upset about Mr. Stutz dying, and—”
“Who’s Mr. Stutz?”
“The old man who—”
“Just shut up and listen to me.”
I did, only because shock paralyzed my lips. She was pushing me against the sink with her chest—and I could feel the heat coming out of her eyes.
“You think because you’re, like, the Savior of Study Hall, you can ‘save’ Rafe. But I’ve got that handled. You either back off, or I will kick. Your. Tail. Am I clear?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She nearly threw out a hip getting out of there, and she hadn’t cleared the exit when a stall door opened and Kara stepped out.
“What is it with you?” I said. “Do you just hide in here waiting for me to have it out with Uma?”
