Moment of Truth

by Kasie West

  A horrified expression came onto his face. “Why?”

  “It helps me swim better.”

  “Wow” was his only response, and I couldn’t tell if it was an impressed wow or a patronizing one.

  I gripped the cup a little tighter. The heat seeping into my palms felt good.

  “Don’t you want to know something about me now?” he asked. When I only lowered my brows, he said, “I found out something about you. Now you ask me something. It’s what friends do.”

  “I found out about your cider preference. That was a friendship deal breaker for me.”

  He smiled, but I could tell my indifference was really bugging him. He was used to everyone liking him, and I didn’t. Was this why he couldn’t just walk away from me: He really was determined to make me his friend? To prove he could? I almost laughed out loud at this realization. He needed everyone to like him. I could ask him one question about himself. That wouldn’t be hard. I stared at him for a moment.

  His brown hair was a curly mop on his head. It was short on the sides and longer on top. Did his dad have curly hair? His mom? Had he ever grown it out long? No, those weren’t questions I could really ask, so I continued down to his face. Like I’d noted before, he had green eyes. But he was lucky: instead of having my pale skin, he had an olive undertone to his. His lashes were thick and curled up. Did guys curl their lashes or was that natural? My hand reached into my pocket only to find it empty. I’d left my earphones at home. Not that I was going to put them in right now, but just feeling them in my pocket helped me relax.

  His lips were on the thin side and his teeth were very white. I could tell that because he was smiling big right now. “Did you have braces?” I finally decided on.

  “Yes, I did.”

  There. I’d asked him a question. My eyes were on the leaderboard again, seeing his name and the distance he’d jumped. “Why don’t you do any sports, Holt?” I emphasized his last name with my question. He was obviously athletic. He beat me out at the lake. Sure, he’d cheated, but even if he hadn’t, he’d held his own pretty well. And his name occupied space number three on the leaderboard here and had for months now.

  “Waste of my talent,” he said. “I’d rather do student council.”

  “What do you do on student council?”

  “Not much.”

  “You could do both student council and sports.”

  “And sacrifice my C average? I don’t think so.”

  “Do you even try?”

  “At what?”

  “At anything?”

  “Trying sounds like work.” With that, he flashed me a smile and walked away.

  Amelia joined me a few minutes later. “You managed to shake Jackson? How’d you do that?”

  “I think I might have offended him.”

  “I don’t think Jackson gets offended.”

  Either way, it’s what I’d wanted—for him to walk away. Wasn’t it?

  “You want this?” I asked, holding up my hot chocolate.

  “Of course.” She snatched the drink from me, and we watched a couple more people jump off the platform.

  “Where is DJ?” I asked.

  “He’s going to come join us in a minute. He’s right there.”

  I looked where she’d indicated and didn’t see him anywhere. “Where?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Well, he was. He’ll be right back or I will hunt him down.”

  “Does he know what he’s gotten himself into with you?”

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “He will soon enough.”

  A new person stepped up to the jumping platform. “It’s him,” I said.

  “You see DJ?”

  “No, Heath Hall.” I grabbed Amelia by the arm and worked my way forward, through onlookers now focused on him, until we were to the front where he could see me. For whatever reason, I wanted him to know I was here.

  A low murmur rippled through the crowd. He turned, a harness on, his mask firmly in place. I thought back to our chat earlier about fear and wondered if he was scared right now. I stood on my tiptoes to try and see him better. His gaze went over the crowd. I waited for it to stop on me. It didn’t. He held his arms out to the sides.

  “Suck it, fear!” he said, and then fell backward.

  Amelia laughed.

  My lip curled. “‘Suck it, fear’? That was his big speech? ‘Suck it’?”

  She laughed again. “It was awesome.”

  I was disappointed and couldn’t figure out why. I didn’t need him to acknowledge me in any way. This wasn’t about me. He obviously didn’t need my help facing his fear.

  Amelia grabbed my arm. “Call Robert!”

  “Oh! Right!” I whipped out my phone and quickly dialed as Heath Hall dangled on the end of the rope. It rang and rang until finally it spit me out into his voice mail.

  “Anything?” Amelia asked when I hung up.

  “He didn’t answer.”

  “So technically . . .” She tilted her head toward the bridge.

  “I guess.”

  “‘Suck it, fear,’” Amelia said. “That’s going to be my go-to line from now on when I’m scared to do something.”

  “Please, no.”

  “‘Suck it, fear,’” she said again through a laugh. “Come on, let’s go find DJ.”

  She turned on her heel and walked away. I stayed two beats longer and watched Heath Hall being lowered into the waiting boat below, not wanting to admit to myself that of the words he uttered before jumping, two were words Robert had used all the time.

  Nineteen

  The next week went by slowly. I had taken a step back from the whole Heath Hall thing. I hadn’t even checked my messages all week. The bungee jumping night left me with a bad taste in my mouth. He had seemed more thoughtful when we chatted online. Even though I hadn’t divulged too much to him, there was something about the chats that made me think. That made me analyze myself. He knew how to ask the right questions. Which was very un-Robert-like. But even if he wasn’t Robert, I was beginning to wonder if he chatted with everyone online. If that was another part of his need for attention. Maybe I didn’t know him in real life, after all.

  So when Amelia had told me that he’d given the information online this week about where he’d be, I wasn’t even upset that I’d have to miss it due to the charity dinner. Amelia was. Very upset. That’s why she was calling me again one hour before I had to leave for the dinner.

  “What if tonight is the night he chooses to unmask himself and swear the room to whatever secrecy pact they seem to have? What if we miss it because you’re at your brother’s thing and I’m at the stupid swim awards with my parents and brother? Maybe I can get out of it. What if I came up with a really good excuse? One of us needs to be there to see him take off the mask tonight.”

  “He’s not going to take off the mask,” I said, trying to curl my hair one-handed. It wasn’t a task I was fluent in two-handed, so it was going badly.

  “He might. Maybe he’ll do it just to make us mad when he sees we aren’t there.”

  “I don’t think he’ll notice we’re not there. I don’t think he cares that much about us,” I said, admitting out loud the thing I’d been feeling all week.

  “Ugh. I don’t feel good.”

  “You don’t?” Maybe Amelia was feeling the same disappointment I was.

  “Was that convincing? Would that convince Coach if I called him?”

  “Do you want to swim next year?”

  She sighed. “Fine. I’m going, but it’s going to be so boring without you.”

  I wished I could go. It wasn’t too late to go. I put down the curling iron. It was way too late.

  “Okay, I gotta go find my cutest outfit for DJ.”

  “You mean for the awards ceremony.”

  “Sure. That’s what I meant.”

  We hung up, and I finished curling my hair. My hair was usually pulled back into a messy bun or ponytail, so it took me awhile to analyze if it actually loo
ked good because it seemed so foreign at first. I wore the dress I wore to the museum like my mom had suggested. The dress wasn’t very comfortable. I had only bought it because Amelia insisted, so why was I wearing it again? Because my mom wanted me to. I went to my closet and pulled out a different dress that I changed into. I knew this was my passive-aggressive way of rebelling against tonight. I needed to find the courage now to do something a little less subtle. To actually say out loud to my parents that I was only doing this tonight for them and I wished Mom would support me more in my events.

  I could say that. I would say that.

  I shook my head and tried to concentrate on the speaker now up at the podium at the charity dinner. I felt guilty for letting my mind wander. My mom eyed my plate, which was still more than half full of food: chicken, rice, and vegetables. I wasn’t hungry. Which was rare because of how much I swam. But now that the season was over, I hadn’t swum all week. Maybe that was why I felt off. I thought the break would help my shoulders but they were stiffer than ever.

  When the speaker finished to a round of applause, the lights dimmed and a video came up on the big screen. It was a different video every year. My mom always helped put it together. It usually followed the story of a local family and their struggles with the illness, then it finished with a slideshow of the faces in the community of those we’d lost over the years. Eric’s face was up there every year, a different picture each time. I watched the faces flash on and off the screen. Some were getting as familiar to me as my own brother’s.

  “There he is,” my dad said in a soft voice when Eric’s picture came up. My dad smiled; my mom’s eyes glistened with tears. Me, nothing. No, actually, there was irritation. Instead of the pleasant feeling of fondness I’d had every other year, this year my dad had put a personality to my brother. Jackson’s personality. So seeing his smile up there made me imagine all the childish pranks he’d probably played on his friends and unsuspecting people. How much he needed people to like him. It made me think of how much my parents seemed to love that personality and not the hardworking one that I had.

  My mom gave me a soft smile. “So glad you came tonight.”

  Now was definitely not the time to say that I wished I could’ve gone to the awards banquet. I hadn’t even needed them to go with me.

  Wait. They hadn’t offered that. . . . They hadn’t offered to go with me.

  They only said it was my choice which one I wanted to go to. How come I hadn’t realized that before this moment? I looked down at my hands resting in my lap.

  Mom reached over and squeezed my hand. She probably thought I was sad about the video. I probably should’ve been sad about the video. About my brother. Crap. Here I was again having a one-track mind. Only thinking about something related to swimming. I’d made the choice to be here; now I needed to be all here.

  I refocused my energy up front, where a speaker was now talking about how important donations were and where the money from these donations went.

  After the ceremony our table was bombarded with people. My mom was somewhat famous in this little community. People loved her. Last year she had gotten some award for how much money she had helped raise for the cause over the years.

  A hand grabbed mine and shook it. I met the eyes of a kind older gentleman. “You must be so proud of your mother,” he said.

  “Always.” And that was true.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  It took me too long to realize he was talking about my brother. “Right. Thank you,” I replied.

  “What’s going on with you tonight?” Mom whispered when he walked away.

  “I don’t know. A lot on my mind, I guess.”

  She put her arm around my shoulders. “Can you be present tonight? It’s important. Today’s Eric’s day.”

  Every day seemed to be Eric’s day. “I’m trying.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We can get Froyo after this, right?” Dad asked, coming up behind us.

  “Don’t call it that,” Mom and I said at the same time.

  He laughed. “It’s so much easier, though.”

  When my mom turned to greet more people, Dad nudged my shoulder with his. “You okay, kid?”

  “Yes, I think. Tired. You?”

  “Hungry. That chicken was dry. I think I’m going to suggest a different menu for next year. I have some pull with one of the organizers.” He winked at me.

  “Next year . . .” A future of endless charity events stretched out before me. If I couldn’t get out of it this year with a legitimate excuse, it was hopeless.

  I was tired when I got home, so I shouldn’t have turned on my laptop. I should’ve just gone to sleep. But curiosity got the better of me and I clicked on pictures from the Heath Hall event we’d missed tonight—a night trek through some orchard. My eyes drifted to the envelope icon in the corner. It showed eight notifications. I clicked on it. There were a couple from Amelia, but I went straight to the ones from Heath Hall. The first one thanked me for being at the bungee jumping night. I rolled my eyes. He didn’t seem to care at all when I was there.

  The next few asked how I was. Finally, the last one asked where I’d been. So he did notice when I wasn’t around.

  I sent him a message. Has that stupid mask ever failed you?

  After I hit Send, I realized the question came off a bit cranky. I wasn’t in the best mood. I probably shouldn’t have been sending him messages at all when I felt this way toward him, toward my parents.

  How so? he responded.

  I could’ve just dropped it, but I really did want to know. Have you ever set out to face a fear or reveal a truth or whatever it is you do and failed? Has your fear ever beat you?

  Yes.

  That was all he said. He didn’t expand or explain. But even just that simple confession calmed me a bit. I felt like I’d failed tonight. I wanted to tell my parents a truth and I let the truth be buried with their expectations.

  What about you?

  Every time. My finger hovered over the Send button, and I almost didn’t push it but realized how ironic that would be if, once again, I couldn’t admit a truth because of fear. So I hit Send and waited.

  A few moments later this message came back. You just have to put shoes on and step on them.

  What kind of unhelpful metaphor was that? I stared at the words, feeling stupid I had confided in him if that was his advice, when another message popped up.

  Spiders, right? That’s what you said you were afraid of.

  I laughed. That’s right. I had told him the only fear I had was of spiders and now he was calling me on my BS. You’re right. How come I didn’t think of that all this time? I just need bigger shoes. Thanks.

  You’re welcome. Some call me the master advice giver.

  Really? Who calls you that?

  My dog, mostly. Well, he would if he could talk. We have this mental-telepathy thing going on. I know what he thinks.

  Wow. You have mental conversations with dogs. I’m not sure that’s something you should admit to.

  Hey, I’ve told you before. I can admit anything I want behind the anonymity of the mask.

  True.

  So I know your spiders confession wasn’t a confession at all. What is it you’re really afraid of?

  I sighed. Was it time to tell him something real? He hadn’t told anybody about our conversations so far. At least nobody had called me out on chatting with the fake Heath Hall. So I found myself typing some honesty. I’m not even sure, but I know I can never tell my parents what I’m thinking if what I am thinking will be something I know they don’t want to hear. Actually, I can’t tell anyone what I’m thinking if I know they don’t want to hear it.

  How do you know they don’t want to hear it?

  Because people only want to hear their own thoughts reflected back at them.

  And what do you think will happen if they hear something they don’t like?

  I don’t know.

  So you fear
unknown reactions?

  Maybe. What was I so afraid of? That my parents would yell at me? It’s not like I’d never been yelled at before. I don’t know. And admitting that was hard to this guy who seemed to not only know exactly what he feared but to embrace those fears and talk about them with everybody.

  It seems your mask helps other people reveal their truths too, I typed.

  Yes, it does.

  Now if only I could reveal mine to the right people, not the anonymous ones.

  Twenty

  The classroom phone rang midlecture and Mr. Kingston walked to the wall and picked it up. He met my eyes as he talked. He nodded at me like I should know what was being said on the other end. When he hung up, he said, “Hadley, please gather your things and meet your coach in his office.”

  I had only one coach, but I still said, “Coach Phillips?”

  “Yes.”

  As I shut my binder and stuffed it into my backpack, my heart picked up speed. I’d missed the awards banquet. Was this the time where I learned the consequences of that? Was he going to tell me I couldn’t swim next year? Take away a race from me? Lecture me about my irresponsibility? I had a good relationship with Coach but he was a coach—he expected a lot from us. I pushed myself to standing and slowly walked to the door.

  Maybe this wasn’t even about the banquet at all. Maybe this was about how awful I’d swum in the relay. He was finally going to talk to me about that. Tell me how disappointed he’d been. Or maybe he knew how much my shoulders had been bugging me. He was going to tell me I shouldn’t be swimming at all.

  I quickly retrieved my earbuds out of my pocket and turned on my music. It helped drown out my thoughts but didn’t seem to calm my heart.

  When I finally made it to his office, I was convinced I was going to die of a heart attack. I knocked on the glass. He looked up from his desk and waved me in. His face was stone, like always, giving away nothing.

  He pointed to the chair in front of his desk.

  I didn’t want to sit. If I sat, he would talk.

  I sat. Coach was tall, really tall. And sitting in front of him like this made him seem even taller.