Love and Other Secrets

by Christina Mandelski

  “Wow, Mr. Guru, that was very decent of you,” I’d said.

  He’d stuck out his chest and grinned. “Hey, if I see two people I think belong together, I’m gonna try to make it happen. After that, they’re free to screw it up on their own.”

  At this point, we’d only hung out a few times, and I wasn’t 100 percent convinced that he wasn’t interested in me or that I wasn’t interested in him.

  “So your services aren’t guaranteed? That doesn’t sound very guru-ish,” I’d said.

  “What? I want people to be happy. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s worth a try,” he’d said. “The game clock’s ticking, and you only have so much time to take a shot. Plus love makes people happy. I want my friends to be happy, even if there’s a good chance it’ll all go to hell.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t think Eli and Nora will last?” I’d asked him.

  He’d pushed back his hair and grinned. “I’m saying they’re happy, they’re in love, and I’m happy for them, but I mean really, how many high school relationships actually work out?”

  I shook my head and laughed. “My parents’ did.”

  He blinked a few times and then nodded. “Cool. There are always exceptions.”

  I remember pushing the macaroni around my plate, trying to figure out the best way to word what I’d wanted to know. “Is that why you don’t have a girlfriend?” I’d known I was stepping into dangerous territory—into learning things about him that I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  “I have girlfriends.”

  I’d rolled my eyes at that one, well aware of his reputation. “No, I mean, is that why you don’t have a real girlfriend? Because you’re afraid it’ll go to hell? Everyone else is supposed to pay attention to the game clock, except you?”

  He’d stared at me, eyebrows lifted, mouth slightly upturned into an unsure smile.

  I’d waved away the seriousness of it, but in that moment, I saw what we were, clearly, in black and white. “Don’t even try to come up with a comeback for that one, Love Guru. You’re so busted,” I’d said.

  He’d smiled bigger, then laughed and went back to his mac and cheese.

  That was the day I knew we would be friends—maybe even good friends—but that’s all. Alex Koviak the Love Guru was not in the market for a love story of his own.

  The other night, when I woke up in his arms on his sofa, I forgot that. Or I convinced myself that things had changed between us. Then I was possessed by the spirit of some kissing bandit, apparently, and I lost my mind.

  Now, face made up and hair in two cowgirl braids, I smooth down the front of my shirt, breathe deep from my toes, and smile. That spirit has been exorcised. I’m ready to go for this thing with Caleb.

  I’m not stupid, I know there’s a small chance he’ll reject me, but I’m going to whack the crap out of that mole, too. The odds are in my favor, and as much as I hate to admit Alex is right, the game clock is ticking, literally.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alex

  The game doesn’t start until seven, but when I got home, I sat in my room staring at that Reese’s and Sprite for a long fucking time. I started fifty thousand texts to her.

  Finally, I settled on, Good luck to you too.

  Which wasn’t even close to what I wanted to say, but you can’t take back a text. I spent the next couple of hours flipping through TV and playing Call of Duty. I even took out the trash.

  The whole time, I thought about her, and what she was doing, and going totally insane. Finally, I went upstairs and fell asleep, and just to make my life even more perfect, I forgot to set an alarm.

  Now I’ll get to school late, and I know Coach will be pissed. Already I’m blowing this game, but when I pull into a parking spot, I check my phone and my spirits rise a little. There’s a text from Bailey.

  Thanks.

  My heart pounds through my chest. I’m so damn happy about that one word. Why? I don’t know. Maybe I’m still letting myself think things—like that she’ll change her mind, show up at the locker room after the game and say she couldn’t go through with it, throw her arms around me, and then we’ll be kissing again.

  I’ve got to send something back, but before I can think, another text pops up from her.

  It’s that fucking cow emoji.

  I turn off the engine, grip the steering wheel, and growl. I guess growling is my main form of communication now. I hope the world can handle it.

  It’s okay, I tell myself, you’ve only completely lost your mind, asshole.

  When I get in the locker room, I’m greeted by Coach Johnston’s glare.

  My heart’s still doing it’s crazy beating thing. I’m trying to breathe through my toes, but I’m pretty sure that’s making me hyperventilate. “Sorry, Coach,” I manage not to growl, but I shout louder than I need to across the open space. “Car trouble!”

  “Yeah!” he yells back so everyone can hear. “Those brand new Jeeps are totally unreliable.”

  I swallow hard and go to my locker.

  The whole team is in here, which means Caleb is in here too, somewhere. His locker is on the next aisle, though, so it’s easy to avoid him. A few of the guys with lockers near me greet me with the usual grunts. I pull on my pads and my jersey and see Eli coming toward me on crutches, wearing a tie and jacket and dress pants. He’s dressed for Senior Night. Somehow, he also manages to carry a clipboard in his right hand.

  “Oh, look, it’s the team secretary,” I say and immediately regret it. It’s a shit thing to say. You don’t talk trash about your best friend’s season-ending injury. I can’t seem to shut up, though. First, I lie to Coach, now this. My mouth filter seems to be turned off.

  Fortunately, Eli knows me well enough not to care. “Shut up, asshole. Where the hell have you been? I texted you like four times.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I didn’t read any other texts that came through today. I was only waiting for one. “Yeah. Sorry about that. You need something?”

  “Dude.” He sorta gets in my face and whispers. “What’s up with you?”

  Heat rushes to my face. I glare at him. “Nothing. I’m here. Let’s do this.”

  He stares at me. “Don’t bullshit me, man.”

  I turn to my locker. “Whatever. There’s nothing up. Everything is perfect.”

  He closes in, as far as he can with those crutches. “Whatever it is, you need to focus it into killing it out there. We need to win this game.”

  I dig in my duffel. There’s nothing in there that I need, but I don’t want to look him in the eye. “I know that, Eli.”

  I sit down to put on my shoes. He’s quiet.

  “Yeah. Good.” He adjusts his crutches and clipboard and walks away.

  “Fuck off,” I say under my breath. To my best friend.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Do I wish that I had told him about Bailey at any point in the last two months? Yes. Does it even matter now?

  Tex, fully dressed for the game, walks down the center aisle and passes by my row of lockers. I can’t fault him. Dude hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s a good guy, the opposite of me. She deserves someone like him, I know that, but tonight, I don’t care about what’s right or what should be. I can’t stand the sight of him.

  When we get to the field, I scan the bleachers. They’re packed in for Senior Night. The parents all sit together in one section so they can come down during the ceremony at halftime. Each player will give their mom a rose and shake their father’s hand. There will be pictures and probably tears. The moms always break down.

  I see Miriam, smiling and waving. She holds up her iPad, and I’m guessing Mom and Dad are watching all of this via FaceTime.

  Miriam doesn’t care much for lacrosse and hates all technology and is probably only here to make sure I don’t go off the deep end because of my shit parents. She doesn’t realize how close I am to diving in, not just because of Mom and Dad, but because of a girl about to
be on a cow right outside the gates.

  My eyes scan the rest of the stands. There’s Nora, with her friend Abby. There’s Devon and her friends. I keep scanning for her, of course, because I’m an idiot. She might not come into the stadium. She’s got other things on her mind tonight and O’Dell to meet at halftime. She works so much that she’s not usually at our games.

  But tonight—wow. My heart does that thing again where it feels like it’s trying to beat me to death. She’s here. Talking to the girl next to her, smiling, laughing. God, she looks so good, that dark hair in two braids like a sexy farm girl, her red lipstick matched to her red plaid shirt. She looks so happy. She looks so beautiful.

  She turns my way, and I stand there staring at her for way too long before I realize she’s staring back.

  Her nose twitches like she’s wondering what the hell I’m doing, watching her like this, so I lift a hand and smile, and she waves and raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t smile back.

  It doesn’t matter. That look on her face—is she sad?—is almost as beautiful as Bailey smiling. That’s when my heart officially stops, and I am a walking dead man. Oh my God, why is she so pretty?

  A whistle blows, and Coach yells, and I turn my back to the stands so I can play these motherfuckers. I do what Eli said; I focus on the game—push all the want and need for her into my arms and legs and up into that ball. We march and I score, twice, before the end of the first quarter. I’m a warrior on the field, always, because I love to win, but tonight darker forces drive me. I don’t know if it’s seeing her in the stands or my frustration at the fact that someone else gets to go to prom with her, but whatever it is, it’s winning us the game.

  At halftime, all the Seniors take the field for the ceremony, escorted by their parents. The roses get handed out, one by one. Eli’s out here; Caleb is here.

  I walk out by myself, hands on my hips, not really giving a shit. I do get a big-ass cheer from the stands—they shout KOV! KOV! KOV! I raise my hands in time to the chant and try to enjoy it. I catch sight of Miriam still holding up the iPad so my virtual parents can witness this. Then I look for Bailey again. She’s gone.

  Gone to meet O’Dell, so that she can go to the prom with her dream dude.

  In that moment, with the crowd still on its feet with my name on their lips, something in me breaks.

  I can’t let this happen. I don’t want to say good-bye to us. I want to keep opening the door to her face. I love that. I love the way she calls me on my shit. I love watching that crazy movie list with her. I love that she eats more than I do. I love how there’s a depression the size of her butt on my sofa and how her broke-ass car rattles up the driveway so loud I can hear it from everywhere in the house. I love how that sound makes me feel. Which is: better than anything else in my life. It means Bailey is here.

  The faces in the stands blur, and this fire lights inside of me. Not a fire. A fucking conflagration. I don’t want this to be the end. I don’t want her to go to the prom with Tex. I don’t want to be a sail with a goddamn hole in it. I’m not ready to let go of her, and I want her to be more than a friend.

  In the locker room at halftime, Coach reams our asses even though we’re killing our opponent. I stare across the open space at Tex, who’s sitting on a bench watching Coach. There’s a reason someone came up with that phrase “the devil made me do it”—it’s what people say when they do something that is at best totally uncool and at worst just plain evil. Maybe sometimes a little evil can’t be helped, especially when there are zero other options to get what you want.

  And what I want, right now, is for Bailey’s promposal to fail.

  I want it to fail in the most spectacular fashion, so there’s no chance in hell that he gets to go to the prom with her. And I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make that happen.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Bailey

  Jiminy Christmas. My mother says that all the time, and oh my God, it fits right now. I have just been hoisted onto the back of a real live cow.

  I’m wearing the hat, a bandana around my neck, and the vest. Yes, he left the vest, and I put it on. All the while I’m trying to hang onto the two pieces of poster board that ask the question. O’Dell holds the rope that’s attached to the cow’s mouth, but I’m uncomfortable. I’m hot as hell in this flannel shirt, and I probably should have worn jeans because the inside of my legs are itching like crazy. I don’t think I’m allergic to cow, but I’ve never been this close to one, so how do I know?

  A wave of relief hits me as people start leaving the stadium. That wave is followed by a rush of extreme anxiety. My chest is tight. My throat is tight. My legs feel like rubber bands, trying to straddle this smelly beast that doesn’t seem too happy to have me sitting on it. The game is over. This is about to happen.

  Just as a few curious people start to wander over to us, O’Dell gets a phone call. I don’t know him, and he doesn’t talk much, but when he lets go of the rope, puts his finger over his exposed ear, and walks away, I’m feeling a little panicked. When I lean forward and try to grab said rope, the cow shuffles forward a few paces. I pray for the music to come on soon. That’s my cue that Caleb is on his way.

  “Whoa, Bessie,” I say. I don’t know really know her name, but that seems like a good guess. “Stop.” She sashays a foot to the left. “Halt,” I say. She moves forward a few feet. “Cow. Cease.”

  Now she takes a few steps backward so we’re essentially where we started. Dammit, I know he has to shake hands with the other team and all that, but Caleb better hurry up. I know nothing about how to control a cow. Obviously.

  The crowd around us is growing. This thing, with me on it, is hard to miss, and I haven’t even held up my posters yet.

  Ashely from A/V appears in front of me. “Wow!” she yells.

  The cow doesn’t like it.

  “Shh,” I say, my voice nice and calm. I wonder if cows can smell fear, because I am freaking out right now. Ashley backs away and puts the camera to her eye.

  Oh my God, where did O’Dell go?

  “Whatcha doing on that cow?” some stranger asks from the gathered group. He’s an older guy, I’m guessing someone’s father.

  I’m fighting feelings of extreme humiliation, so I hold up the sign that says, “Cow about we go to prom?”

  Own it, Banfield. I have no other choice.

  The crowd laughs, which makes me feel a tiny bit better. As far as promposals go, Alex did a good job. It might not be the most epic—I’d say it falls somewhere in between pizza boxes and a hot air balloon—but this giant beast beneath me will be memorable, and it’ll mean something to Caleb. Hopefully it will remind him of home.

  If I can just stay on. Lots of people are holding up their phones now and I wonder if this the part where I go viral?

  A clutch of girls pushes its way to the front of the crowd. I recognize them as most of Table Three. I swallow hard. They’re the ones who got me thinking of a promposal in the first place. Devon is there, too. Great. Alex’s prom date gets to witness this madness. Their phones are all lifted, too, and they’re laughing. At me, I’m pretty sure, not with me, because I’m not laughing.

  I don’t see any of the lacrosse team yet—it’s dark and hard to make out faces, but I’m keeping an eye out and waiting for the music. I pat Bessie. This is excruciating, and I can tell she feels the same. O’Dell’s still standing by his trailer on the phone, and the cow is shuffling—nervously? I can’t tell. I’m too busy dealing with my own nerves.

  I hold the rope tight, as if that would help if this animal decides to bolt.

  I breathe and breathe again, and suddenly, Alex is there, pushing through the crowd, out of breath. His face instantly calms me, until I realize how freaked out he looks.

  “What? What is it?” I ask.

  “Abort, abort,” he says.

  The cow moos loudly. I don’t think she likes him.

  My eyes flit to all the phones pointed my direction. My face warms, all th
e muscles in my body tense. “What? No. Why?”

  “Just, come on, get down. It’s over,” he says in a raspy whisper.

  “Wait? Why?” I should listen to him; I should get down. Obviously, I should do what he says, but my body hasn’t caught up to my brain, and I’m very aware of the weight of the eyes on me. The sound of the Table Three girls laughing is a nonstop chorus in the background.

  “It’s fine, Alex, it’s fine,” I say.

  Something about the need to save face and get this on film is stopping me from thinking straight. I shoo him away, but he doesn’t go. Meanwhile this cow is getting real fidgety, and when Alex sidles up to it to try to help me down, it sidesteps out of his reach.

  “Okay, okay.” I lean forward, trying to breathe from my toes like never before, even though they’re numb from trying to stay on this stupid cow. I pat its neck. “Calm down,” I say, talking to both her and myself.

  Alex stays close and follows her as she shuffles. The crowd is laughing harder now. I drop one of the posters.

  “Alex, you’re scaring it,” I yell. “Stop! Stop it!”

  I probably shouldn’t have yelled because now the thing starts to do some weird trotting thing, and my legs, impossibly bowed around its body, can’t hold on. I drop the second poster and lay flat on my stomach, holding tight on the rope like my life depended on it, which it probably does. I can’t do it, though. I can’t tighten my thighs enough around its enormous middle. I start to slide sideways. I’m going to fall off this cow, in front of this crowd, get trampled, and die—in a bad cowgirl costume dusted with residual poster glitter.

  This was not the promposal I had in mind!

  The cow trots faster, toward the field behind the school. I’m falling, but I have enough wits about me to know I have to jettison myself out the path of the hooves. I thrust my body off of it and manage somehow to land on my feet.

  The crowd laughs hysterically as I pull up to full height.

  “You okay?” Alex is there. He touches my arm. I flinch.