When Our Worlds Stand Still

by Lindsey Iler

  Violet lurches off the bed and stomps to the door. When she spins around to face me, her eyes begin to water. She jerks away when I run over to grab her hand.

  “What’s going on?” My head spins from the sudden mood change.

  “I know you’ve had a few hard years, and I’ve always been sensitive about everything. I’ve been by your side through it all, held your hand, and dried your tears, but you can’t even take two minutes to listen to me. You turned it back around to your life and what you’re going through.” She lets out a loud gust of air. Her eyes dart around my face, but she never looks me in the eyes. “For once, it would’ve been nice if you’d listen to me and my problems.”

  The door bangs against the drywall as she storms out my room. I’m on her heels, but she slams her bedroom door in my face.

  “Violet.” I twist the knob to find it locked. “Violet, open up.” I knock until my knuckles ache. When I lean against the door, Will and Amanda are staring at me. My eyes slam shut. Her words settle into the deepest part of my soul, weaving their way to my heart.

  I’m a shitty friend.

  How has it gone unbeknownst to me that my friend is going through a hardship and I’m none the wiser? That is the definition of a shitty friend.

  “Everything okay?” Will’s worried voice breaks me from my pity party.

  See, even now, I manage to turn it back to myself.

  “No, everything’s not okay,” I answer before slamming my bedroom door behind me and crawling on my bed.

  Everything Violet and I have been through, every conversation, our entire friendship, plays through my head. Since freshman year, I can’t recall her indulging in a serious conversation. Not one problem at home or in the few relationships she’s had. Nothing. Her worries have never seemed greater than Saturday night parties and what she plans to wear to dances. To the outside world, at least to me, her life appears pristine.

  Even when my cell phone rings from somewhere in the apartment, I don’t budge from my memories. The annoying tone stops, but starts again. After several rounds of my ringtone, the door swings open and bangs against the drywall … again. Amanda holds my phone above her head.

  “Y’all are going to fix my wall when there’s a giant hole in it,” I say.

  “I’m not your secretary. Answer your own damn phone,” she barks, clearly irritated from listening to my phone ringing instead of sucking face with my brother.

  She tosses it, and when I catch it, Graham’s name is flashing on the screen. I mouth ‘thank you,’ but Amanda walks out without acknowledging me.

  Without saying hello, I answer. “Am I a shitty friend?”

  “What?” The confusion in his voice would be funny if I wasn’t so worried about Violet.

  “Am I a shitty friend? Am I the type of friend who ignores others’ problems because mine seem much more important?” I rush out the question, impatient for an answer.

  “Ken, you aren’t a shitty friend. Maybe a bit distracted, but only because you’ve been dealt a poor hand. You had no choice. You had to come first.”

  “Oh my god.” With tears streaming down my cheeks, I shuffle to the window and press my face against the glass. “She’s done so much for me, and I’ve discounted her along the way.”

  “Who?” Graham asks.

  “Violet.” The picture of Violet and me from our first summer in the city catches my attention.

  “Ken, that’s how friendship works. You hold each other up, and she’s done her fair share. Now, it appears it’s your turn to do the holding.”

  I don’t say anything. Instead, I grab the photo and stare at Violet. Her bright, loud smile. Wavy, untamable red hair. Twinkling eyes. Is it a mask? Underneath all of the happiness, is she screaming for help?

  “I have to go.” I set the frame down.

  “Go be the girl you’ve always been.” Graham’s way of fixing the situation for me is always perfect.

  “You know I love you, right?”

  “I love you, too.” His breath lets me know he’s still on the line.

  “Graham?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “This weekend was what I’ve been needing.”

  “They’ll be plenty more. Now, go be with her.” He hangs up and I toss the phone on my bed.

  Amanda and Will are making out, and when she shifts to straddle his lap, I’m tempted to throw cold water on them, but convince myself to leave that issue in my back pocket for later.

  “Violet, open up the goddamn door,” I yell. “NOW!” My clenched fist rattles it within the jam. “If you don’t open up this door and talk to me, I’m going to kick it down.”

  “I don’t think she wants to talk to you,” Amanda says.

  With a scowl etched on my face, I confront her. “Mind your own business and keep doing whatever the hell,” a shudder rolls through my body, “you two are doing.”

  When I pound on the door again, it flies open, but Violet’s nowhere to be found. The running faucet tells me she’s in the bathroom. I sit on the end of her bed, my foot tapping at the speed of my rising anxiety.

  “What do you want?” Violet’s usual tender voice is replaced with annoyance and contempt.

  “I’m a shitty friend.” My head hangs low.

  “You aren’t a shitty friend, Kennedy. That’s not why I said what I said.”

  “No, I am.” My chest aches from fighting back the sobs begging to be set free. “You’ve stood by my side, and picked me up, time and time again.” My cheeks are wet, thirsty for my tears. “You always seem so put together, like nothing in the world can touch you. Perhaps your confidence and the way you look at the world is what clouded me from what’s really going on beneath the surface.”

  Violet shrugs, her resolve slithering away. “I’m not strong. I’m fake strong, Kennedy. Do you know that, when everything happened to you, I cried myself to sleep every night? I was thankful it didn’t happen to me, and then I actually found myself being jealous of all the attention you got. What kind of friend has those thoughts?”

  “You didn’t wish all the bad things in my life upon me, Vi. You aren’t the only one who walked those halls and thanked their lucky stars they weren’t in his war path. As for the jealousy part, you might want to talk to Jackie about that.” I laugh through my tears. Violet rests her forehead on my shoulder, mimicking my motion to dry the tears.

  “My parents are getting a divorce,” Violet blurts.

  “What?”

  “It’s like one day they loved each other, and all of a sudden, they didn’t.”

  “Is that what’s going on?”

  “That’s not all.” Violet grabs one of Dan’s sweatshirts off the floor, brings it to her face, and takes a deep breath. “I think I need to break up with Dan.”

  “What do you mean Violet’s going to break up with Dan?” I ask Kennedy. Her fear and reluctance to tell me is evident when her eyebrows scrunch together. “The guy’s a teddy bear, for crying out loud. If I had a vagina, I’d be all over that.”

  Kennedy laughs as she plugs in her headphones to keep our conversation between the two of us. At least my end.

  “I don’t understand it either. She keeps saying things about her parents’ divorce and how it makes her rethink a lot of things. Which, by the way, is out of left field.” She glances at her door, afraid Violet will overhear her. “As far as I knew, her parents were madly in love with each other.”

  “You can’t exactly judge a relationship from the outside, though, can you?” I hold my phone a foot from my face.

  “I know, but Graham, I’m worried about her. She’s being irrational, and I think it all stems from her parents’ divorce.” She shakes her head, her brown hair spreading out around her.

  “Maybe, but what’re you going to do? Force her to stay with Dan when she doesn’t want to?” I flash a sympathetic smile. “Come on, Ken. It’s going to happen whether you want it to or not.”

  “She’s going to fuck it all up.” Kennedy lets out a l
oud huff as she struggles to find comfort on her pillow.

  “Maybe, or maybe they aren’t meant for each other. Maybe they were only meant to be in each other’s lives for this short amount of time.”

  “How can you say something like that? If those two aren’t meant for each other, then how can we be?” The worry in Kennedy’s eyes throws a hundred nails into my heart.

  “Okay, listen. For one,” I smile, “you and I are meant for each other. Whether or not they stay together doesn’t lessen or give value to our relationship.”

  “And two?”

  “Let her make her own decisions, but be there for her when she makes them.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Kennedy, she’s going to fall. Just make sure she doesn’t fall in a hole so deep she can’t get out of it.”

  “When did you become so smart, Mr. Black?” She grins and shakes her head.

  “Somewhere between graduating high school and the first week of college.” I lean against my headboard.

  Her wide smile reassures me I don’t have to explain. “Smart and sweet. How did I get so lucky?”

  An incoming text pings. The top of my screen shows a photo attachment symbol next to Ashlee’s name. Forgetting I’m on video chat with Kennedy, I groan and roll my eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” she questions.

  Unsure how to broach this specific topic with her, I’ve put it off. From my end, it doesn’t matter, but from hers, this could cause a great deal of hurt and discomfort.

  “Graham, who texted you?” she asks again.

  “Ashlee.”

  “Ashlee, like Sandy’s slutty friend, Ashlee?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does she want?”

  “Honestly?”

  “No, please lie to me.” Kennedy rolls her eyes. “What does she want?”

  “Me.”

  “Of course she does.” Kennedy props her phone on her dresser, unplugging the headphones. She prances around her room, looking through her drawers. She dips down and her face pops back onto the screen. “Babe, she’d be crazy not to want you.”

  “So, you’re not mad?” I question, surprised.

  A sinister laugh makes me lean further from the phone.

  “Oh, I’m furious, because I can only imagine what the little slut sent in that text.”

  My eyes widen in discomfort. I was hoping we could avoid discussing details, but it wouldn’t be Kennedy without digging a little deeper.

  “You better delete it if it involves nipples or what I can only imagine is her blown-out nether regions.”

  An uncontrollable rip of laughter breaks through my lips. “Did you just say blown-out nether regions?”

  “It’s not funny, Graham. Some skank is sending you grotesque, obscene photos.”

  “Maybe you should send me one of your own.”

  “I don’t do grotesque, so if that’s what you’re looking for, then you’ve swooped up the wrong girl.” A wide smile spreads across her face as she backs away from the dresser. She pulls her shirt over her head and drops it to the floor. “I can do one better.”

  With a held breath, I devour Kennedy with my eyes. Her slow precision when she pops the button on her jeans and loops her thumbs into the waist band makes me want to jump through the phone and be in her room. The denim makes a slow descent down her trim, strong legs. She bites her lip as she steps out, kicking it to the side. The muscles in her arms strain as she reaches behind her to unclasp her bra. The silk material slides down and hooks on the end of her fingers. I let out a deep breath when she finally allows it to fall.

  “Fuck.” I know she hears me because her eyes flash back to the dresser. “I don’t deserve you.”

  Her hips sway from side to side. “I think that’s up to me.” Her middle fingers swoop through the strings holding her panties on her body. Her eyes drop to the floor, as if she’s shy, but she has no reason to be. It’s just me and her.

  A loud thud startles both of us. Kennedy’s eyes widen and she dives beside her mattress, hidden from her bedroom door. She screams.

  “What are you doing in here?” Kennedy jerks the blanket off the bed. “Get out. Now.”

  Will comes into view, and his eyes dart to the dresser when she glances in my direction.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.” He jabs the phone, where I’m thankful I’m hundreds of miles away, and not there for him to kick my ass.

  “Will, you wanna do me a favor, and leave the room for a second? Your sister would probably like to get dressed,” I ask, earnestly, indicating Kennedy who cowers behind her comforter.

  After threatening my life, Will leaves us alone. I smile and wave before turning my attention to Kennedy. Her eyes are still wide when her door slams behind him. She clutches the blanket, to my utter disappointment, and promises to call me back later after she deals with the wrath of her brother. I wish her luck through my laughter and press the end button.

  Will’s tomato-colored face is funny enough, but Kennedy’s bewildered stare from under the blanket was totally hilarious.

  When I hit the bottom step, Rico’s in the living room with textbooks spread all over the tables and chairs. He lifts his chin in my direction. “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s nothing. What’s going on down here?” I wave at the mess.

  “I’m cramming because I’m a fucking idiot,” he answers, but never looks up from the book in his hand. “Why didn’t you all tell me I’ve been partying too hard?”

  “Because that’s all of a sudden our responsibility?” Griffin says as he passes through to the kitchen.

  “Yes, it’s your responsibility. We’re teammates. You’re supposed to tell me when I’m fucking up.” Rico stands from the couch and I follow him.

  “You’re fucking up,” Griffin and I say in unison.

  “I have a D in business ethics,” he explains his dilemma.

  “Shocker.” I slap my hand against Griffin’s in an overdramatic, eighties high-five.

  “I’m out of here.” Griffin pats us both on the back as he grabs a water before ducking out the back door.

  Ever since Griffin declared his intentions to Sandy, they’ve spent most of their time at her apartment. It’s only a matter of time before Sandy drags him out of here by his bootstraps and has him moving in with her.

  “How’s Kennedy?” Rico opens the fridge, tossing random things on the countertop.

  “She’s good. Having a little bit of trouble with Violet.” I open a Tupperware container I wasn’t aware we owned. “She’s thinking about breaking things off with Dan.” I pop a piece of cold turkey in my mouth.

  “What?” Rico stalls his sandwich making. “If I was a girl, I’d be all over that giant of a man.”

  “Oddly enough, I said the same thing.”

  “So, what’s going on then? Someone doesn’t just break up with perfection.”

  “Her parents are getting a divorce, and I think it’s knocked her for a loop.”

  “Man, that fucking sucks. I was eight when mine split up, then I was eleven when they got back together, and no surprise at all, I was seventeen when they divorced again.”

  “That’s rough.” I grimace.

  “Now you wonder why I don’t do relationships. I don’t know how you all do it. The same girl every day, checking up on where you’re at. The whole ritual sounds horrendous.”

  “It’s not so bad. One day a girl will come along and sweep you off your feet. When that happens, I pray I’m here to watch you turn into a little bitch in her presence.”

  “Never gonna happen, man,” he shouts to me as I walk out of the room.

  *****

  “Black, come see me when you’re all done out here,” Coach yells.

  My teammates watch me prepare to throw out my seventieth pitch, if my count is correct. I half expect them to stick their tongues out and sing, “You’re in trouble, you’re in trouble,” but instead they turn around to ground a few more balls.

  We
’re in the middle of our season. When you look around the field, a sense of pride and determination paints our faces. Baseball pumps through our veins, preparing us for the second half of our schedule. We’ve got anticipation on our side. No one loves baseball more than the guys around me now.

  Mark stands from behind home plate. “Try the pitch again. Your throw’s off.”

  I do as he says. Catchers are a pitcher’s greatest ally. They’re the only ones who witness the ball coming head on, and anticipate where it will go before the batter even knows to swing or let it fly by. So when Mark tells me to pitch again, I pitch again. We do this until I get the release damn near perfected.

  “What do you think he wants?” Mark nods to Coach who’s in the middle of a heated debate with Rico.

  “I don’t know, but hopefully he gets all his aggression out on Rico before he gets to me,” I answer, picking my phone up from my bat bag. One missed text. I groan when I open it, and Mark notices.

  “Ashlee still?” He motions to my phone.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I delete the text without opening it.

  “Good luck with all that.” Mark pats me on the back and I throw my phone back into my bag.

  When I find Coach, he has Rico running laps around the field.

  “Sir, you said you needed to talk to me.” We lean against the fence. “How many do you have him doing?” I press my chin toward Rico.

  “Fifty.” Coach lets out a laugh. “Maybe now he’ll take school a little more seriously.” He turns to me. “Now, I know it’s always been a dream of yours to go pro.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What if I told you I had a college friend who happens to recruit for the Yankees?”

  “I’d say you have friends in high places, Sir.”

  “He wants to come watch you pitch, Graham.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not a promise of anything. Now, with that being said, you know the draft rules, but this could be big. Especially if you keep slinging balls like you’ve been.”

  Coach is referring to the Major League Baseball rules. A player can enter the draft right out of high school. If he goes to college, he’s not eligible until his junior year or his twenty-first birthday. As a twenty-year-old sophomore, I’ll have to bide my time until next year, either way.