by Ginger Scott
Cass
The tingling is familiar. It was there when I woke up this morning. Faint, but there. A sensation in my legs—my nerve endings firing a reminder that something is not right in my body. It went away, but I’ve spent the rest of the day waiting for it to come back, terrified of a flare-up.
MS relapses are like traffic pileups that happen in my nervous system; my body gets hit with one or more of the symptoms for a long period of time. The flare-ups usually don’t go away without a few days of an IV steroid treatment, and sometimes that doesn’t even do the trick. I know my current symptoms are because of how hard I’ve been pushing myself. I’m more than fatigued. But Ty has me believing that I can do this—not just try out for, but actually make the McConnell women’s soccer team. At first, I just liked having him believe in me. But somewhere along the way, I started to want this for myself—to believe I could do it.
I still haven’t told my parents about the soccer tryouts. I’m not officially signed up. I haven’t even spoken to Paige about it. I’m not ready to hear all of the reasons it’s a bad idea—all valid points, but I don’t want to penetrate my daydream just yet. There are a few weeks left before I have to face the facts, before I have to fight those who won’t want me to do this. So for now, I’m just going to enjoy the possibility. That is, unless the damned MS decides otherwise.
I’ve been flare-up-free for several months—since the oral meds, really. But I’m playing with fire—all of this running and lifting that I’ve been doing. Exercise is good. In fact, it’s something my doctors want me to do more of. But this kind of exercise—it sort of crosses the boundaries. The tingling this morning—that was hard to ignore. But it went away, and I try to focus on that.
It went away.
“This is your fault that I’m in this situation,” Rowe says, spinning in front of me in another outfit option from her closet. Nate finally asked her to join us at the game tonight. I’m glad, because I didn’t want to meet Ty’s parents alone. I’m glad to have an ally.
“Stop giving me shit, and get in there and try another dress on,” I say, spinning her around and pointing her back to the closet. Rowe and I are so much alike. As much as I have confidence on the surface, I’m still a tangled mess of self-doubt on the inside. I think maybe I’ve just gotten farther along in the process of knowing my worth than she has.
“This one looks ridiculous,” she says, coming out in another dress—this one short, falling above the knee. There’s nothing wrong with the dress, but Rowe…she just looks uncomfortable in her own skin, and I am the last person on earth who knows how to fix that. I can barely keep my own fire lit, let alone light someone else’s.
“Something’s not right. Why don’t you just wear jeans and a shirt, like you always do?” Rowe shoots me a pained look, and I know immediately that was the wrong thing to say. Honestly, I just meant that she looks great every day, but I get the sense that tonight—going to the game with the boys and meeting parents—is as important to her as it is to me. And it’s one of those occasions that call for something better than a T-shirt and jeans, something better than looking nice.
“I’m not good at this,” she says, her entire posture simply defeated. Shit…I think I did that.
“What do you mean? Paige would kill to be the one to get Nate’s attention,” I say, trying to boost her confidence with a last-ditch effort. My shoulders cringe the second I hear my sister walk in. I know she picked up on her name. She’d never miss a mention.
Cue the Paige Owens show…
“Paige would kill for what? For you two chickadees to get your asses off my bed?” And there it is, the subtle shift that is about to make Rowe’s discomfort all about Paige.
Rowe is looking at me with a face full of panic. I’ve got this one handled though. I lie back and spread my arms on Paige’s bed, wrinkling her bedspread just enough that I know it’s going to irritate her. “Your bed is always so much more comfortable than mine,” I say, rolling to the side and smelling her blankets. They actually are nicer than mine. “And your sheets are softer. What the hell?”
“Mom and Dad like me better,” Paige says, pushing me out of her way so she can straighten the wrinkles I made. Rowe doesn’t know this, but I took a bullet for her there. It’s all about the art of distraction with Paige.
My sister is stationed at the small vanity mirror and counter in our closet, working on her makeup. She’s good at makeup. And clothes. And confidence. Oh god, we need her.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring at her in the reflection.
“Rowe, I’m afraid we’re going to need her help,” I say, looking at my friend whose eyes are so wide, I think they may actually fall out of her head.
“Help with what?” Paige asks, only semi interested. What I’m about to tell her will get all of her attention though. I’m sorry Rowe; I’ll make this up to you.
“First, you have to promise me you’re not going to get pissed,” I say, taking my time to watch my sister consider my offer. Her movements are sharp and calculated. She has the ability to make the simplest act—even putting the lid back on a tube of gloss—look threatening.
“Pretty sure I can’t promise that. Just a hunch,” she says, her eyes squarely on mine now. She probably thinks I’m about to get her into some pile of trouble, because historically, that’s been the case. But no, I’m actually just going to break her heart. And I kinda hate that more.
“Nate invited Rowe to come to the game with me and Ty tonight…to meet their parents. She doesn’t have anything nice to wear, and I’m not good at makeovers, so we’ve pretty much just been failing in our attempts for the last two hours—and we have to leave in like thirty minutes,” I say, all in one breath, because I feel like the more I can pack in, the less likely my words are to sting. I know they do anyhow—I can tell by the crushed face my sister makes at me, for just a fraction of a second. She looks at Rowe, not with jealousy, but with envy. There’s a difference between the two—however small it may be—and the fact that my sister’s face is full of envy means a part of her actually likes Rowe. And there’s also a part of her that sees what Nate sees in her. She just wishes he saw whatever it was in her, too.
“Stand up,” Paige says, jolting Rowe and me both to attention. She studies our roommate’s face, and then moves the garments left hanging in our closet. She holds a few things up, but nothing is the perfect fit. I can see the options dwindling, and there really is only one dress that works; I know it’s Paige’s favorite. It’s a simple, deep-blue cotton dress, and Rowe would look like a knockout in it.
“Come here,” Paige says, twirling Rowe around, and with a little force, pulling down the zipper of her dress. She’s still hostile, and I hate that. I’m about to call her on it, when Rowe’s dress suddenly falls to the floor. Our roommate stands in front of Paige and me with what I know—in an instant—is her worst nightmare bared to us.
Rowe’s body is riddled with scars. They are deep and pink, and a few are a dark red. They appear surgical, for the most part, but others…I don’t know. Something bad happened to her. In that moment, I find Paige’s eyes, and I make a silent plea to her. Paige, come on…you cannot mention this. Don’t say anything. Give her this—give her the safety of us.
I’m wishing so hard, I swear my lips are moving. But I see it in my sister’s eyes right away. Rowe and I—we are so similar. Her scars stayed, while mine disappeared. My welts from the MS shots faded in time—with massaging, and oil, and work. And I get to become just Cass. I have a choice, and I can choose not to tell anyone. When my sister looks at me again, I can see the recognition in her eyes. I know she’s also urging me to share. Rowe can be trusted; she wouldn’t sum me up as just the girl with MS.
But I’m not sharing tonight. This break—this moment that happened between the three of us—this is Rowe’s. It’s for Rowe and Paige. As I watch my sister drape her favorite dress over our roommate, squeezing her hand to give her courage to feel beautiful, I know that Rowe
has also earned herself a new warrior. Once Paige Owens is on your side, heaven help the person who tries to do you harm.
My story can wait. Tonight—right now—this is for Rowe.
Chapter 10
Ty
I’ve played the voicemail over at least a dozen times. I feel like a child, hiding in the hallway while I listen, like I’m doing something wrong. Maybe I am. But I don’t know. I just can’t figure out what this means.
It’s Kelly. She left the message late last night, probably while I was in Cass’s room—in Cass’s room, with Cass, where I want to be right now. Instead, I am here at the end of the hall, bent forward in my chair by the fire exit and laundry room, holding a finger to one ear and my phone to the other. I play it again—hoping to get one more clue into what’s going on.
“Hi, Ty. I know, it’s…it’s late. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t going to call, but…gosh.”
Kelly laughs nervously.
“Wow, your voice. I haven’t heard it in so long. It’s just always been text messages, emails, Facebook. You sound…good. You sound good.”
It’s the pause—this pause—in her message that worries me. She is crying. I’ve held that girl through tears before, and I recognize the hiccup in her breath. She’s hiding it, but I know it’s there. She has to know I’d know, that I’d recognize it. And then her mask goes up.
“You know what, it’s okay. I’m just probably being stupid. It’s late, and the baby’s been up a lot. So, you know what? How about maybe I see you over Thanksgiving? Yeah. Let’s plan on it. You can meet Jackson.”
She lets out a single, breathy laugh.
“I bet you’ll get a baseball in his hand. Okay, so…I’ll just talk to you then. Really, don’t worry.”
Thing is, I’m worried. I’ve been worried since I checked my messages at midnight. I woke up at three in the morning and listened to it again, and if I’m being honest, I never went back to sleep. Every time I listen, I worry.
“Shit wagon, where the hell are you?” Nate yells down the hallway. I told him I was looking for a shirt that I thought I left in the dryer. I’ve been gone longer than it takes to look for a shirt.
“I’m coming, I’m coming. Quit the damn fussy fuss,” I say, pushing my phone back into my pocket before our door comes into view.
“I found your stupid shirt. It was under your bed,” Nate says, throwing the gray McConnell T-shirt at my face.
“Of course it was,” I say, pulling the green shirt over my head and exchanging it, just to keep up my act. I check the watch and pause, re-clasping it to make sure it’s on tightly and running my finger along the sharp edges of the band. Kelly’s watch.
“Dude, what time is it?” Nate asks. Right, my watch…I was checking the time.
“We should go. You know Mom—if we’re not there when we say we’re going to be there, she calls for the flare guns,” I say.
“No kidding. And I don’t want them seeing this crap,” Nate says, throwing a pink Barbie pillow into the corner, on his bed.
“I don’t know…it’s all kinda growing on me,” I smirk. We went in town today—originally, to get ideas for ways to get the girls back for their painting stunt. But I’ve got to give them props; it was good, too good to top. So we decided to embrace the pink, go full sparkle and shit. Our room is now accented with Barbie blankets, ponies, fluffy pillows and rainbows. Mom will love that we blew the hundred bucks she sent in the card on teenage-girl shit at the Target. Well worth it, if you ask me.
Nate locks up the room and I push ahead. I can already see the girls walking toward us. Rowe is beautiful. She’s always wearing jeans or shorts and T-shirts, but she went full out for this, and her legs…damn. My brother is in trouble.
“Pick up your chin, bro. Your girl is smokin’,” I say, slapping him once on the back. He’s grinning like a fool.
At the elevator, I reach for Cass’s hand. As good as Rowe looks in her blue sundress, Cass is all I’m going to see for the rest of the night. She looks like sunshine—like real, actual sunshine—caught in a bottle for me, and me alone, to enjoy. She’s walking warmth; the gold of her hair is twisted in a braid on top of her head, small pieces tickling the nape of her neck. And god that skin, so golden, so soft…I can see tiny bumps rise on her flesh; I swear it’s because I’m staring at her like this.
When the elevator opens, I pull her onto my lap and wrap my arms around her tightly. “I had to see if you smelled as good as you look,” I say, my nose running along the inside of her neck. I let my lips suck in the bottom of her ear away from Rowe and Nate, and she takes in a sharp breath when I do. “You are lovely.”
“Lovely?” she giggles. “When did you drop into a Cary Grant movie?”
“The second you walked out of your door looking like sunshine,” I say, and she blushes.
“I like that. Sunshine,” she says, her lip finding its way in between her teeth as she tucks her head into the space near my shoulder and chin. My sunshine. Careful, Cass, or I’ll trap you in a bottle and keep you forever.
It doesn’t take us long to get to the stadium. That’s one of the best things about McConnell’s campus—everything is close. When you depend on your forearms to get you places on time, proximity is important.
Somehow, Cathy Preeter always finds a way to stand out. We’re more than two hundred yards away, but I can spot my parents’ tailgating setup within the sea of McConnell red and gold.
“Why do they do that?” Nate asks, shaking his head at the overboard display of school pride my parents have set up.
“You know Mom. Doing something halfway is like getting an F. She’s an A student, bro. Besides, don’t worry. I’m bringing a girl, that should pretty much take up all of her focus for the rest of the night—and blow her freakin’ mind,” I say as we get close enough for my parents to finally recognize our approach.
As I suspected, Mom’s eyes laser in on Cass. I put my hand on her back, and she turns to look at me, swallowing her nerves. “They are going to love you,” I reassure her, and she nods once with big eyes. I love that she’s not sure they will. I’ve never been surer about anything though.
“What is all this?” Nate asks, breaking the ice right away. He gestures to all of the McConnell things my parents have set up—chairs, a tent, cups, plates. What’s funny is we have the same stuff in our room, only it’s ponies, and Barbies, and princess crap. The thought makes me chuckle.
“You know your mother. She just likes a reason to shop,” Dad says, shaking Nate’s hand, and then mine. He’s already curious about the two girls standing behind us, and when he raises an eyebrow at me, I shrug. I know, this is a big deal…but let’s not make it one, Pops.
“Mom, Dad, this is Rowe and Cass,” Nate says, taking care of the introductions. That’s probably a good thing, because I would probably screw this part up. Without even realizing it, I’ve brought my hand to my mouth and I’m actually biting my knuckle. What the hell? I’m nervous!
“Cass,” Dad starts. Thank the heavenly lord Dad’s the first one to talk to her. “We have heard absolutely nothing about you,” he says, and I want to punch him. Yes, it’s true. I’m not a sharing kind of person, but fuck, Dad? Seriously? Way to make me sound like an insensitive dick.
“That must mean you’re pretty special. We only hear the breakup stories, and we used to get one of those a week,” Dad continues. Okay, so that’s a little better.
Cass smirks at me quickly, like she just got some secret that she plans to use against me. “It was touch and go there for a while,” she says to my dad, giving me a wink. Ninja princess. “I painted his room pink.”
That’s right. She painted my room pink. And I may never change it back, because it reminds me of her. I look right into her eyes, my smile big, and shake my head while my dad laughs and looks to my mom, who’s also pretty impressed.
“It was Rowe’s idea,” Cass says, wanting to give her friend credit. This girl, she owns me, and I pull her into my lap without even thinki
ng. And when my mother’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline in shock, I hug Cass tightly, just to punctuate my point. That’s right mom—she owns me. And you’re going to love her.
My parents can be cool when they try. Nate and I sat near the front of the suite, the row making it easy for me to push between two of the sections. Our parents stayed near the back, at the food tables, giving us some space. There are a few people here from my dad’s office. He’s in accounting, which on the surface sounds about as sexy as working in cardboard. But my dad’s kind of high up with a big firm, and his accounting works in numbers with lots of zeroes, and that…that gets exciting. I get my business sense from him. So does Nate, though Nate’s more public relations.
The girls are sitting in front of us, their feet propped up on the bar at the front of the box, and their skirts tucked tightly around their legs. If I were a cameraman on the other side of the stadium, I know where I’d be focusing.
“Dude, there’s a lot of whispering going on up there,” I say to Nate, nudging him to look at Cass and Rowe, their heads close together. Every few seconds, Cass cups Rowe’s ear, then she pulls away again, crossing her arms. Rowe looks like she’s getting upset. Fuck me. Are they seriously fighting?
“Hey, mind if I get some time with my date?” I ask as I push in closer to their row. Cass climbs over to sit on the other side of me, and Rowe doesn’t flinch or bother to look our way. I cast a look to Nate, who takes a deep breath, then climbs over the seat to sit next to her.
“I made Rowe mad,” Cass admits. Shit. I hate girl fights. I have a brother, and I love that I have a brother. I’m also glad we don’t have a sister, because I wouldn’t know what the hell to do with all of her damn girl fights.
“Okay,” is all I say. I suck.
Cass turns to look at me swiftly, studying me for a few minutes with her brow pinched, trying to tell if I’m serious, so I shrug.
