“Maybe I grew a conscious since I wrote it. I can’t do that to him. I can’t do that to anyone.”
He blows out a long breath and runs his hands through his hair. “It’s out of my hands, Tatum. I turned it over to Mr. Lawrence and he loved it. He’s expecting four more just like that one from you.”
“So talk to him.”
He shakes his head then goes over to Mr. Lawrence, talking to him for a moment before they both come back to me. Mr. Lawrence crosses his arms and looks at me expectantly.
“I want to rewrite the Eastman profile. I took his words out of context and I’m not okay with that,” I tell him outright.
He takes a seat on the end of his desk and tilts his head. “Every quote in your article was taken verbatim from your interview.”
“Right, but he was obviously being sarcastic.”
He ponders that for a moment then tells me, “I don’t necessarily agree with that, Tatum. Yes, his tone was sarcastic but what he said was true and there is obviously a part of him that knows that. Let me ask you something; what was the message you were trying to convey when you wrote that piece?”
“Was it not clear? We are living in the middle of a town that places football above everything else. A town that gives special treatment to guys like Brandon because he knows how to throw a ball. In this town where the per person church capita is two hundred to one, it’s not God that Carver worships, it’s football and the kids who play it.”
“And you did an excellent job of conveying that message. You supported it with facts and with testimony from the person who receives the lion’s share of that worship. Which is impressive considering you’ve never taken a journalism class and haven’t studied the components of a great article which also include being objective and coming up with an attention grabbing title. You nailed it, Tatum. I’m proud of you. I would feel like we would be losing an important piece if you rewrote it.”
I stare at Mr. Lawrence, dumfounded.
“I think you have a real talent, Tatum, and if you let your personal opinions get in the way of the truth I think you’ll be cheating, not only this town, but yourself. You deserve this.” He pats me on the shoulder before walking away.
I look at Angel and he’s giving me an I told you so look. “It really is a kick ass article. I hate to admit it, but I’m jealous. It’s right up there with my best. And I’m a genius.”
I stand and sling my bag over my arm. “Do I need some kind of slip to get August out of class?”
He jumps up and rushes over to Mr. Lawrence’s desk to grab it for me. I take it and head out of the room. As soon as I’m alone in the hall I smile hugely and even let out a little squeal. As I walk down the hall I stand a little taller and my strides are more confident. For the first time since… I have no idea when… I feel like I’m worth something. There is hope inside of me telling me I’m more that I thought I was. That I can do something with my life. That I have a talent outside of being a bitch and serving people food. I feel alive, and damn happy.
As I turn the corner I hit a brick wall that is the solid body of Brandon Eastman. “Shit,” I mutter to myself as I immediately feel my doubts start to creep back in.
“Whoa, slow down, Austin. Whatever you’re hurrying to get away from, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” he tells me with a laugh, his hands still planted firmly on my shoulders. His warm chocolate colored eyes are hypnotizing me with their familiarity and sincerity and suddenly my mind is filling with regret and guilt – two things I make damn sure to never feel. “Hey… you okay? You look like you’re about to get sick.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, grabbing onto his biceps that are strong and hard from all of the hours he puts into throwing that ball. Jesus, all the hours he’s dedicated to being the best quarterback he can be and I’m prepared to turn it into harsh commentary on an entire town. I push his arms away and then step around him but he stops me, grabbing a hold of my wrist.
“Listen, Tatum, I know I’m freaking you out with all the stupid things I’ve been saying to you lately, but I have a feeling I’m gonna keep acting like an idiot until I actually say the things I need to say to you. If you have some time this week maybe I could come over and get some of it off my chest.”
“That’s not necessary, Brandon. I get it, okay. You feel bad about the way you ended our friendship but really, I’m okay with it. You don’t have to feel bad. I got over that shit about the same time I got over Zac Efron.”
“You don’t get it, Tatum, and I’m tired of feeling like the asshole in this situation. Just, please. Half an hour. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“If I talk to you you’ll stop with all this rehashing bullshit?”
“Promise.”
I let out a long breath. “I’m working the early shift tomorrow. Why don’t you stop by at three when I get off and we can talk then.”
“Good. Yeah, I’ll be there.”
I give him a tight smile and then ask him, “Can I go now?” looking down at his hand that he still has wrapped around my wrist.
“Sorry,” he says, letting me go. And I do. I go as fast as possible.
11
By the time I’m changed out of my Cougar’s jersey- that’s made to fit a malnourished five-year-old- and my shiny spandex football pants, I’m exhaling huge breaths of relief. Brandon was supposed to be here a half hour ago which probably means he isn’t coming at all.
I tell Corey goodbye and head out to the parking lot but just as I get the door to my truck open I hear him calling my name. I contemplate ignoring him, pretending like I don’t hear him, but the sound of his footsteps is quickly approaching. I climb into my truck but leave the door open.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. Some things came up at home and I couldn’t get out the door.”
“That’s okay. I just got out of there.”
“Mind if I join you?”
“Climb on in,” I tell him, my nerves coming back to me full force.
He jogs over to the passenger side and climbs in. “You want to take a ride?”
“No, not really. I kind of reserve my gas for necessary driving.”
“You mind at least starting it up and getting the heat going?” I notice then that he doesn’t have his letterman jacket or even a sweatshirt on – just a plain white undershirt that looks like it’s been stretched all to hell.
I decide not to ask him about it and instead crank my engine which causes my radio to blare. I had been using it on the way to work to try and drown out my thoughts. I reach over and turn it down and the heat up.
“Nash said you’re not really into music anymore,” he comments.
“Nash would be right. The only time I have to listen to music is when I’m in my truck and most of the time Nash is here with me and, for some reason, he thinks he gets to pick the station.”
“That’s too bad,” he says solemnly.
“You know what, Brandon, I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you this week, but I’m just about fed up with you acting like you know a damn thing about me. It’s too bad that I don’t have time to obsess over music like I did when I was twelve? Really? I mean, Jesus, can we just agree that you don’t have the right to judge, or even comment on, my life anymore?”
“This is what I’m talking about, Tatum. I can’t say anything to you without you jumping down my throat. I didn’t mean anything by that comment except that the last time I knew you music was a pretty damn important part of your life and personally, I think it’s too bad that you had to give that up.”
“Well unlike you, I don’t have the privilege of escaping reality so I find it a little condescending when you pity me for not having the luxury of wasting my time on some pointless form of entertainment.”
He shakes his head and smiles at me. “You’re distracting, you know that? I always come to you with the best of intentions and you always manage to derail me and get me pissed off.”
“Maybe you should just get to the point the
n, Brandon. I don’t have time to reschedule this heart to heart.”
He stares at me for a moment. “You know what, Tatum? I’ve missed you. Nothing, not even football, manages to get my adrenaline pumping quite like you have always managed to do.”
“Well great. I’m here to please but if you don’t start talking I’m gonna have to start charging by the minute.”
He stutters a laugh and turns his eyes away from mine. “You know, this is the first time I’ve been in your truck.”
“For God’s sake. Where the hell are you going with this?”
“Nowhere. That thought just occurred to me and for some reason I felt the need to vocalize it.”
“If you don’t mind, edit your thoughts. Sitting in a parking lot is not really how I want to spend my one night off.”
“I introduced you to Nash,” he says abruptly. “He was the first friend I made besides you and I remember the first day he walked the four blocks to get to our street. I couldn’t wait for him to meet you. You were like my prized possession and I couldn’t wait to show you off to him. And when I walked him to your front door and you flung it open I looked at you and I knew that I was going to be the kid everyone in kindergarten wanted to be. Your hair was white as snow and it hung down to the bottom of your Led Zeppelin t-shirt. You were wearing a pair of cut off shorts and converse hi-tops. You were a good foot taller than either of us. I didn’t say a word, I knew just the sight of you was confirmation that I was the coolest kid in Georgia. But you,” he pauses to laugh. “You looked at Nash and asked him what the hell he was doing on your front porch. You were five.”
Despite myself I laugh at that memory. “I thought he was gonna take you away from me.”
“I’m pretty sure he fell in love with you that day.”
“I thought he was pretty hot. For a five year old,” I say, turning to Brandon and smiling.
“Jesus,” he says, shaking his head. “Maybe I was blind. Maybe I just didn’t want to see what was right in front of my eyes.”
“What are you talking about Brandon?”
“It hurt me. I took it personally and I shouldn’t have.”
“Took what personally?”
“You and Nash. You were always supposed to be mine. I mean not mine but it had always been my window you would knock on in the middle of the night when your mom and her boyfriends were fighting. It was my living room your groggy little head would come walking into on Saturday mornings because you wanted to watch cartoons and you didn’t have a T.V. at your house. I was the one you told your secrets to. I was the one that gave you the music you lost yourself in.
“Nash was just my friend. He was there with us sometimes, but just because he was my friend. So when I saw the two of you on your couch - you in your bra and him with his hands all over you and his tongue down your throat…. You, the girl that I had put on a pedestal, too perfect and special to be treated the same way that made her cry when she caught her mom or sister being treated the same way, I felt betrayed. By both of you, but mostly by you.”
Slowly, I turn my eyes to his. The pain staring back at me is real. “I didn’t know. I mean, neither of us knew that you knew what was going on with us.”
“We were just kids, Tatum, and yet both of you knew enough to keep your relationship from me. Both of you understood that it would hurt me to know that you had something with Nash that you didn’t have with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at Brandon, but if you’re suggesting that you would have liked to have been the one getting it on with my twelve year old ass… you never gave me that impression. The only reason I didn’t want you to know was because I was ashamed. I had enough sense to know that I was just as weak and stupid as my mom and sister when I was around Nash. I forgot about all the hard lessons I had learned and all that mattered was that Nash Carter thought I was desirable. And if there was one opinion I cared about in my life, it was yours. And I knew what you would think of me.”
“I wish you would have told me is all. For me, at that time in my life, it was a major betrayal. I decided then and there that I was done with both or you. I mean, you chose him… over me.
“And then my parents bought that house and moved me away from both of you and it just kind of felt like an omen. I was never meant to be part of your life. I was never gonna be good enough for you.
“So, yeah, I avoided you guys the rest of that summer. When football practice started back up in the fall, Nash and I fell back into our friendship which no longer included you. And on that first day of school when I looked at you and had to face the fact that the best thing in my life was gone, I knew that I had to move on. I was young and stupid and the pain that just looking at you caused inside of me was not something I was prepared to deal with. I just wanted it gone.
“So I get it, Tatum, why you think I chose a better life and North side kids over you, but that was never the case. And it kills me to know that you think I ever thought there was anyone in this world, much less this shitty little town, that was better than you.”
I’m pretty sure my jaw is hanging open. Among at least a dozen other emotions, I’m pissed. It takes me a few moments to find my words, but when I do, they are just lining up to get spewed at his pity party throwing ass. “You wish I would have told you? You wish I would have told you? God, Brandon, you are the biggest self-involved asshole I know. At least when I started messing around with Nash I didn’t let it change anything between us. I still chose to spend just about every free moment I had with you. If you were jealous of what I had with Nash, if you were wishing it was you who had the balls to make a move on me, you could have admitted that to yourself and to me but you know what you gave me? Nothing. You left me. You moved to the other side of town and you cut me out of your life. And you know what I remember? I remember talking to Nash before the first day of school. I remember crying to him because I missed you and I was terrified that you were going to pretend like you didn’t know me when you saw me. And you know what Nash told me? He told me you would never do that to me. I was sick for the first two hours of school and then I walked into my science class and I saw you sitting there. I was so happy to see you I practically ran to you. And you know what you did? You rolled your eyes at me and turned in the other direction and then you wrapped your arm around Summer who, I might add, was my friend and who was forced to choose sides when you created this a war between us, and she chose yours.
“So, yeah, Brandon, maybe at one time in our lives I was yours and you were mine, but when it really mattered, it wasn’t you and it wasn’t Summer who stood by my side, it was Nash. Despite the fact that I was a leper in that school thanks to you, he never cared, he never left me. If I was some trophy to be shown off to his kindergarten friend, Nash was the one who deserved to win me because, not only was he the best player, but he was also the best man and the best friend.
“I hope to God you didn’t come here in search of self-redemption because all you did was prove to me that every bad thought I’ve had about you and every bad thing I’ve said and done to you over these past few years was justified.”
I reach over and open his door before propping my feet against his jean clad thigh and attempting to force him out of my tuck. It pisses me off to no end that tears are streaming down my face. I promised myself years ago that this asshole would never make me cry again.
Despite my effort, he manages to lean into me and wrap his arms around my back. He pulls me tight to his chest and I fight him off for a as long as I can but eventually all my energy is spent and all I can do is lean my soaked face against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers when my sobs have finally stopped. “Nothing, not football or Nash or Summer or even my family has ever meant as much to me as you did. I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t know how to deal with the way I felt about you.”
I lay in his arms, trying hard not to remember the hours I spent leaned up against his formerly scrawny chest, clinging to him like the life pres
erver he was to me.
When I find my strength I sit up. I stare into his eyes that have always looked dangerous yet comforting to me. There has always been something severe lying under the warm, chocolate surface. His eyes are the one thing on him that has never changed. His pronounced cheek bones and jaw line used to be masked by baby fat. His thick, black hair use to be streaked by the dirty blonde hue he was born with. His frame that used to feel bony now just feels strong and consoling.
I feel all of this, I let myself remember us for a moment. But then I shut it all down. I grab onto his hand that I was letting him run over my arm and remove it. He clings, for a moment, to my fingers before letting me go. “No matter who we used to be, Brandon, we were clearly meant to walk separate paths. Whatever we had, whatever memories we have of the past, none of that matters now. I’m letting it all go once and for all and you need to do the same thing.”
“That’s a depressing idea. If I let all of my memories of you go then I don’t have a childhood. Those were the best years of my life: living in the old neighborhood in that crammed house with you as my neighbor. No, Tatum. I don’t want to do that. I can’t do that. I’m gonna hold onto every memory I have of us for as long as I can. I miss what the four of us used to have and I know Nash and Summer do too. And I’m pretty sure I’m the reason we no longer have it. I’m not gonna forget about us, but if you’re able to forget our past then can we just start over? Can we be friends again?”
“I know I give you a hard time, but I don’t hate you. If I walk into Nash’s house and you’re there I won’t turn around and leave anymore. I promise.”
“Thanks. But I was thinking that we could voluntarily choose to hang out together: the four of us. Tonight.”
“Don’t you think you’re moving a little fast, Eastman? I mean maybe we should take baby steps.”
“I think we need to do this before you have a chance to think too hard on it and end up changing your mind. What do you say? Cards at your house, just like the old days?”
A God in Carver (Carver High #1) Page 7
