All In (Changing Hearts Book 2)

by Yesenia Vargas

  The point guard makes a point of glancing at Philip, on his other side, instead of at me. Hopefully, he’ll throw them off because he needs to get the pass to me.

  He throws to Nate. And then the ball goes to me. I don’t know if I can make the shot, though. I have one defender on me, now two. They know I need to shoot or else, and they’re not gonna let me.

  I dribble the ball behind me, fake this way. Then that. I lose one. Then I drive in because that’s all there’s time for. I’m too far away, though.

  I push the ball into the air, using my arms to propel the ball towards the net, even though I’m at a weird angle because of the defender on me.

  I land on the floor, and the buzzer sounds. And I’m not sure if I should be cheering or walking off the floor in frustration. I turn to the net, but the ball’s already coming down. I don’t think it went in.

  I see the defender that was on me jump, and I cover my face. They won.

  They actually won.

  Then everyone on my team is on me, even the guys from the bench. The coach. He has tears in his eyes, and now I’m pushing mine back. And they’re surrounding me. Patting me, smiling, and I’m wondering why the heck they’re smiling right now. We just lost the freakin’ championship for Pete’s sake.

  I’m being punched and pushed again. Are they mad now? Is that it? I did my best. What more do they want?

  I’m about to tell one of the guys off.

  “That was amazing, man!” Then I see their actual faces for the first time. Happiness. Excitement. The coach has happy tears. They’re happy tears.

  I look at the clock. The scoreboard. And I do a double take because according to the scoreboard, we just won by a single point. A point.

  The ball went in?

  Oh my…God.

  We won. We just won.

  I hear a scream, and don’t realize until after that it was me. I screamed. I’m screaming. And I’m jumping up and down. Jumping on people like a squirrel and screaming like a hyena.

  WE WON.

  On the ride home on the bus, before we stop for dinner on the two-hour long ride, I text Mayra.

  I love you. I promise I’m gonna make it all up to you.

  I don’t know what else to say after that, so I put in my earbuds and start listening to “Young Girls” by Bruno Mars.

  At first, we acted like crazy monkeys when we got on the bus, still buzzed up from the trophy ceremony. We yelled at perfect strangers on the freeway, showing off our trophy. That lasted about five minutes, until the bus driver told us to sit down and shut our trap holes or get off the bus and hitchhike it home.

  The coach just chuckled and shook his head and went back to taking his nap at the front of the bus. I’m a few seats behind him.

  Then everyone had suddenly conked out. Now, everyone’s either napping or listening to music with their eyes closed. There are only ten of us, so we each have a seat to ourselves. It’s like the exhaustion from playing the intense game today with hardly a full meal, just breakfast, is finally hitting us.

  I feel like someone just kicked my ass. Literally. I think I landed on it during the second quarter. And my ribs on the left side hurt from being elbowed during the third quarter. My arms are sore. I just want to sleep. And eat.

  I start thinking about how Ryan should be sitting with me right now, having won with us. It’s not fair. I wish he’d made different choices because we lost our senior basketball season together.

  I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, we’re hitting a huge speed bump and I’m trying to catch myself in midair, my eyes still closed.

  Then BAM. And I’m groaning and holding the side of my head because it just slammed into the window.

  Damn bus driver.

  I don’t even say thanks as we get off the bus, and I ignore the smirk on his face.

  Forty-five minutes later, there’s a huge plate of food in front me. I’ve had like a dozen rolls and three helpings of salad. We’re gonna eat this place out of business.

  But then I remember what I’m going home to. I ignore the taste of cardboard in my mouth as I fill my mouth with the food I know I need and I push the gnawing thoughts out of my mind, the voice that keeps asking me if all of this was worth it in exchange for losing Mayra.

  I’m looking at Mayra for the first time in who knows how long. She’s at her front door, which I guess she’s opened before realizing it might be me.

  It’s two months since I’ve seen her.

  I can’t help but give her a small smile.

  She doesn’t smile back.

  “Hey,” I say.

  After a second, she rolls her eyes and starts walking to her kitchen, and I guess that’s my cue that I’m actually allowed to come inside her house right now. Progress.

  “Is your mom at work?” I ask. My voice sounds so loud in her house. I feel like I’m talking to myself, and judging from her lack of response, I think I am.

  “Mayra?” I’m standing right behind her. She’s at the counter, using it for support, like she’s out of breath or something.

  I want to touch her so bad. Hug her, but I’m afraid to. I promised myself a long time ago that I would never, ever touch her without her permission. So I pull my hand back.

  “She’s at work,” she finally says.

  And I release my breath.

  “How have you been?”

  No reply again. We both know I need to say something else first.

  “Mayra?” I wish I could at least see her face right now. “I am so sorry.”

  I see her shoulders give the slightest heave, and I have to keep my hands from going to her.

  “Babe, please don’t cry.” I’m beside her. I finally catch a glimpse of her face, but she turns away. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her hand is right in front of mine, and after a couple of minutes of hearing her cry, I finally lay my hand over hers.

  I hate seeing her like this. I hate myself for doing this to her.

  I bite down on my lip as I try to think of what to say, how to fix this. How to fix us.

  “Mayr—”

  “You should have just broken up with me. It would have been so much easier.”

  “Wha—what are you talkin’ about, babe? I don’t want to break up with you. Is that what you think I wanted?”

  “What do you think?” My hand isn’t holding hers anymore. She’s yanked it to her side. And now she’s staring me dead in the face. I never imagined it was possible for Mayra to look at me like that. With actual hatred.

  Mayra hates me.

  In this moment, I start doubting that we’ll get back together. Because in my mind, I thought we still were.

  “You don’t talk to me for days. Weeks.” Tears are streaming down her face now, and she’s shaking. Her eyes are red, and even though there’s anger in her voice, so much anger, her eyes are sad.

  So sad.

  Without realizing it, I’ve backed away from her by a couple of steps.

  “You don’t bother to even—” She turns away again. “I get that basketball is important to you, but what you did…” She’s shaking her head, her arms crossed over her chest. “I wasn’t important to you anymore.”

  She heaves again, and this time her tears are nonstop, and there’s a huge lump in my throat, and I just want this to be over. Gone. To have never happened. Because she’s so hurt right now, and it’s my fault.

  “I’m so sorry.” I want her to at least look at me again. But all she does is point at the door.

  “Get out.”

  Eleven

  Instead of walking home like I should, I walk to Ryan’s house. The chill in the air bites at my cheeks, but even that’s better than the ache I’m feeling inside my chest. Halfway there, I realize maybe I could have taken my car. That would have been the smart thing to do because then I could just drive.

  Drive away and not think.

  I think about my parents and how they’re at home, probably wishing I was actually there. />
  Just the other day, my mom started crying about how I’ll be going off to college soon, and that I’m gonna forget about her.

  “No way I’d ever forget about you,” I told her as I pulled her into a hug.

  I don’t think either of us felt any better, though.

  I thought senior year was gonna be about having fun, getting ready for next year. Spending time with Mayra.

  And so far, this year has pretty much sucked.

  Without thinking about it, I reach for my ankle. Then this injury. Still not sure if I’ll be recruited. No word. And right now, things aren’t looking so good for me and Mayra, either. And Ryan and I hardly talk anymore.

  A few minutes later, I’m at his house.

  I cut through the yard to get to their door. It’s Sunday. I wonder if he’s home. I don’t know what I’ll say if he is. I kinda just wish we could go back to old times, and he’d come back to my house, and just play video games all day. Or basketball.

  I knock at his door.

  I’m surprised when it swings open two seconds later.

  I take a step back. It’s his dad. Does he look like hell. His hair is greasy, his clothes are full of stains. And his breath reeks.

  “I’m looking for Ryan?”

  “Beth, don’t I keep telling Ryan to stop inviting his friends over?” He’s not even looking at me. He’s looking behind him.

  “He didn’t invite me over—” I try.

  He turns back to me. “I don’t care what he said. This is private property.”

  I get the hint and walk away. Ryan’s dad is so stupid. Why doesn’t he just get out of his life? Maybe then Ryan and his mom would have a chance at being happy.

  I keep walking in the opposite direction of my house. For no good reason.

  Two minutes later, I change my mind and start walking back home.

  I want to scream, let out this big hole inside my chest in some way.

  All I want is my girlfriend and best friend back in my life. I just want my life back the way it was.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m finally in my bed. I’m completely under the covers.

  I get out my phone and text Ryan.

  Went to look for you at your house. Your dad was real glad to see me.

  I’m surprised when I get a reply a minute later.

  Now you see why I don’t spend time there anymore.

  I text back. Where do you go then? You used to come here.

  Just hanging out.

  I shake my head. We both know what that means.

  I wanted to tell you we won the state championship game. Finally.

  I sigh and close my eyes until he responds.

  I heard. Must be nice.

  I fight back that damn lump in my throat again.

  You were supposed to be there. We needed you.

  I stare at the screen until his text appears.

  You obviously didn’t. You won.

  I text right back. No. You’re wrong. You worked just as hard as the rest of us. It’s your victory too. No matter what you think.

  I can see the smirk he must have on his face right now. He doesn’t reply after that.

  I pretty much feel like crap, even worse than I was. I think about texting Mayra, but maybe I’d be making things worse with her hating my guts and all right now.

  I sigh and decide it’s time to take a nap.

  Maybe, just maybe, I’ll feel a little better when I wake up.

  Just as I’m about to fall asleep, and I’m in that delicious slumber where I’m more asleep than awake and I’m finally starting to forget the crappy day I’ve had, I’m jolted awake when I hear someone walk into my room.

  I rub away the sleep from my eyes, but my head hurts.

  I blink a few times until my vision clears up.

  “Dad,” I say in Spanish. My voice cracks, and I sit up a little, wondering what’s up. He hardly ever comes in here.

  “Mijo.” He takes a deep breath and sits down on my bed. I swear this feels like a Disney channel show or something right now. I feel a talk coming.

  He takes a deep breath. “You’re gonna be eighteen in a few months. Un hombre. Just like Ariana became a young woman. You have a girlfriend already.”

  I look down and let him go on.

  “You’ve been talking about trying to get a scholarship for your basketball. Next year, you’ll be on your own. But right now, you’re having to make lots of adult decisions.”

  He looks me in the eye. “You’re a man already,” he says in Spanish.

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I just look down again. And nod.

  “Your whole life we’ve been good examples to you. We don’t have any addictions or vices. You’ve done well in school and with basketball and now, like your sister, it’s your ticket to a better life.”

  I had told them last night when they picked me up from school (I knew I was gonna be way too lazy to drive home after playing basketball all day) that we had won. I’d shown them team pictures, and they had looked really happy about it.

  I look back at my dad, almost wanting to smile. I tell him in Spanish. “I haven’t even gotten an offer, Pa. I don’t think I will at this point. I think it’s too late. All of the good schools have made their selections.”

  I don’t even want to go on.

  “No importa.”

  I look at him and scoff. Of course it matters.

  “I know it’s important to you. I understand. But I think you’re losing focus of the fact that you have this chance keep studying and improve yourself. Just like your sister. Your grades are good enough, and she told us that the state will pay for most of your education.”

  That is plan B. Going to school right here and finding something to major in. I’d be finding out if I got in pretty soon, in just a few weeks. I’m pretty sure I’ll get in. It’s not like UGA or anything, and at least I’ll be close to Mayra.

  My stomach turns into a knot. Wouldn’t it be ironic for me to end up going to school here with her and us not even be together?

  Talk about life getting even worse.

  My dad seems to sense what I’m thinking. “You know I don’t like to get into your business, especially when it comes to girls, because you’re old enough now and we’ve talked about it before and you know the difference between right and wrong now. How to protect yourself. How to be a gentleman.”

  Yep, I definitely remember that traumatizing talk when they found out I was going out with Mayra. It had been bad. With all kinds of mental images that would be impossible to forget.

  I just nod.

  “Your mother and I have noticed that you haven’t seen Mayra anymore. You don’t ask if she can come over. You don’t talk about her anymore.”

  He waits for me.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out for a second. “Going through some tough times, I guess.” I shrug.

  “That’s normal, especially at your age. Right now you may not think so, but you’re young. Both of you are. She’s your first girlfriend. You’re not even eighteen.”

  I think I know where this is headed. “A minute ago, you said I’m already a man. Doesn’t that mean I know who’s right for me?” No way am I gonna be with someone else.

  “Si, eres un hombre. But you still need more experience. Growth. To live.”

  “I don’t like other girls—“

  “That’s always a good thing when you have a girlfriend.”

  I finally laugh. Good old Dad.

  “I mean, I don’t care about having a bunch of girlfriends. I just want Mayra.”

  This time, he nods. “That’s a good thing. I just mean that you may think that this is it. She’s gonna be your future wife, but she’s your first. There will probably be others, mijo."

  “But dad, didn’t you get together with mom when you were like sixteen or something?”

  He smiles and shakes his head. “Those were different times.”

  I sigh. He always says that.

  “Like
I said, I don’t want to get involved—”

  “She’s mad at me. I kinda treated her bad.”

  “Hm. Well, then, she has a right to be mad at you.”

  “I know.” I get up and stretch my legs and lie back down, but I throw the covers to the side. “I just want to fix it. I still love her, and I don’t want to just not do anything about it even if she thinks that’s what I did and that we’re pretty much over.”

  It feels good to finally say all of this out loud, even if it feels like I’m mostly talking to myself.

  My dad finally gets up and makes his way to the door. “If you really do love her, then do what you can to get her back. But it’s her choice at the end of the day. And if she doesn’t want to get back together, as difficult as it is, you have to let her move on.”

  The next day at school, cheers erupt when I walk into the cafeteria in the morning. Most of the guys are already there, bragging about everything that happened Saturday.

  A guy from my stats class holds his hand up for a high five, and I give him one. I join the team but am not really into the conversation. I just focus on chowing down my usual two chicken biscuits and three orange juices.

  I’m still happy that we won and everything, but these guys are really juicing it for the ladies. I just want some peace and quiet. I’m kinda sad that the season is over. It really just hit me last night. I don’t think it’s hit the other guys just yet. No more basketball practice. No more basketball games.

  No reason to wear my basketball uniform anymore.

  Suddenly, the bite of chicken biscuit in my mouth tastes like sand. I swallow down with some juice and take my time getting to class when the first bell rings. Despite everything, I’m kinda glad Mayra and I don’t go to the same school anymore. It’d really suck to be mad at each other here, where we’d see each other all the time and not be able to walk her to class or ride home with her.

  But then again, if we were the same age, maybe things would have been easier. I’d see her more. Every day. Maybe she wouldn’t hate me right now.