by Seven Steps
I close my eyes, and the joystick shakes in my hand. An ogre has just hit me, but I can’t bring myself to focus. My insides are rioting.
“Do you want me to go first?” he asks.
My chest tightens.
If he says what I think he’s going to say, it will change everything. And I want it to. So badly.
Something hisses in the background.
No. Not a hiss.
A whisper.
A dark feeling settles on the back of my neck.
“Is that Purity?” I ask.
I swear, if it is, I’m going to punch something. This girl has become the bane of my life.
“Hi, Ariel.”
Jealous anger fills me, tinted with disappointment. The fact that his girlfriend is there, living with him and listening to our conversations makes me feel stupid.
Is this some sort of game to them?
I put down the controller, wondering how I’ve come to this point in my life.
“I was thinking we could catch a movie on Friday. There’s a new Marvel movie out. Maybe we can go after school?”
“I don’t think so,” I reply shortly. I don’t want to talk to Purity anymore. Nor Eric. At the end of this game, I’m going to put my headphones away permanently. We can play silently from now on.
“Oh.” She sounds hurt. Why doesn’t this girl get the hint that I don’t like her? “Well, maybe we can get our hair done together. I found this great stylist on 6th Avenue—”
“I’m busy.”
Her voice turns tight.
“I didn’t even say a date.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
An uncomfortable silence hangs over the phone. I want them to hang up. I want this conversation to be over. Why do I do this to myself every night? Why do I torment myself with things I can never have? After Sunday, I’m deleting my account for this game. Team Lightning is officially on the outs.
“So, I tried out Turtles and Soup today. You know, that restaurant down by the docks. I hear it’s one of your favorite places. Any recommendations?”
My entire body goes still.
“Eric says he took you there for your first date.”
“He told you that, huh?”
She perks up a bit. “He did. He said it was amazing. Maybe we can get together and go one day.”
I close my eyes.
Yes, it’s official.
This is a game, and they’re playing me.
Eric wants to torment me with his new girlfriend. He knows I still like him, and he’s rubbing it in my face.
Well, two can play this game.
“Sure. Can Michael come?”
“Michael?” Eric has finally decided to speak up again, and I’m glad for it.
“Yes. Michael Fish. You met him the other day by the car.”
His voice is like ice. Good. I want him to know what I’ve been feeling these last few days.
“I know who he is. Why would you want him to come?”
“We’ve been hanging out.”
“What does that mean, hanging out? Like you’re going out with him?”
His voice rises an octave, and my entire body relaxes. I pick back up my controller and move away from the ogre patrol, trying to find a healing potion before I die again.
“Not yet.” My voice is so cheery now. So light. What’s that saying about revenge being sweet?
“But you want to?”
“Maybe.”
“Why? He’s not right for you. He’s a joke.”
“Jealous, much?”
“No. I’m just trying to warn you. As a friend. He’s not right for you.”
“I’ll be the judge of who’s right for me.”
“Then judge better.”
Purity’s sing-song voice cuts in. “Maybe we won’t go to Turtles and Soup. We can find another place by the convention center when we hang out on Sunday.”
My anger goes in orbit.
“You’re coming to the gamers convention?”
“Well… uh… Eric had an extra ticket. He said you wouldn’t mind.”
I chew on my inner cheek.
“Fine! If she’s going, then I want Michael to come to.”
“Definitely not,” Eric argued. “I’m not spending the day with that douche.”
“Either he goes, or I don’t.”
“Are you serious? We’ve been planning this for months.”
“Final offer,” I growl. “Either he goes, or Team Lightning is done.”
I practically hear him grinding his teeth together.
“Fine,” he spits out, and I can almost see him seething. “But I’m not getting him into the tournament.”
“Great. I’ll let him know.”
“Why are you doing this?” he demands. “You can’t possibly like this guy. You barely know him.”
“Well, it seems we’re all making questionable choices lately.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I put the controller on my lap and cross my arms over my chest.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow.”
I thump the button on the headphones, ending the call, and turn off the game without saving it. I lean back in my chair and stare at the blank television screen for a long time.
Revenge may have started sweet, but it turned bitter very, very quickly.
20
My sisters’ party is in five days, and the girls are in full freak out mode. It’s eleven o’clock when the twins knock on my door, list in hand, and whine until I agree to go over it with them.
Fine.
I leave my room and my brooding behind and lie on Alana’s bed.
Alana’s room is pink. Pink wallpaper, pink carpet, a pink chandelier. Her white four-post canopy bed even has pink chiffon hanging around it. In my opinion, it’s too much. It looks like a pink unicorn threw up Pepto Bismol in here. But it’s her room and she can do what she wants with it. Even if all of the pink gives me a headache.
I place the list of items on the bed next to me and read them off.
“Item number one. Allergens.”
“We can’t have peanut anything,” Alana says, sitting cross-legged on her bed. “What if someone has an allergy? I don’t want anyone to pass out at our party.”
“We can’t not have peanut butter cookies. They’re my favorites.” Dell is sitting across the room in a computer chair, throwing a softball in the air and catching it with one hand.
“Dell, I know it’s hard to believe, but this party isn’t all about you.”
“How? It’s half my party.”
Alana huffs. “Fine. We can have the cookies, but I want them at a separate allergen table.”
“That’s dumb.”
“You’re dumb.”
I put up my hands to halt the arguing. My sisters do nothing but argue. They must be the only identical twins who never agree on anything.
“Chill out, please. We’ll have an allergy warning at the dessert table, along with extra lighting and a nurse with an EpiPen on standby. Fair enough?”
Alana makes a face. “Ew, I don’t want some old nurse walking around at my party.”
Dell corrects her. “Our party.”
I roll my eyes and pick a piece of lint off my Pokémon pajama pants.
“She’ll be on call, in the back, where no one can see her. Next item.” I cross food allergens off the list and move down to the next thing.
“Limo or party bus.”
The two girls look at each other, then at me.
“Party bus.”
I let out a relieved breath. It’s the first thing they’ve agreed on all day.
The front door slams shut, interrupting our impromptu meeting, and I sat up.
Duckie’s late again. She’s been late a lot lately, and I plan to get to the bottom of it.
I hand the list to Alana, tell her to keep going through it, and walk out into the hallway. I quickly find Duckie darting toward her room. That’s a
nother thing about my sister. She speaks to everyone in the house the second she comes home. Now, it looks like she’s trying to make it to her room before anyone spots her.
What’s that about?
Plus, she looks weird. Her hair’s in a messy bun, her cheeks are red, and her eyes look tired.
I lean against the wall next to her room and cross my arms. I put on a brave face, even though I’m nervous to confront her.
“You’re home late.”
Her eyes widen when she sees me, as if she’s been caught sneaking into the house. Duckie’s thirty with no curfew. She doesn’t have to sneak anywhere.
Something’s definitely going on.
“Yeah, um...” Her voice is breathy, as if she’s been running. “The office got busy.”
“Mrs. Grim wrapped some dinner up for you. It’s in the fridge.”
“Thanks.”
She pushes a nonexistent piece of hair behind her ear and looks anywhere but at me.
“You okay?” I ask. “You seem more stressed than usual.”
She swallows, and I watch the lies form in her eyes.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Are you sure?” I step forward and put my hand on her arm. “You know you can talk to me if you need to. I may be young, but I’m still your sister. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”
Duckie’s eyes rise to mine. They’re full of sadness and fear.
But what could she possibly be afraid of?
“Duckie,” I say, wrapping her in a hug. “Talk to me. Is something going on?”
She squeezes me tight before letting go and putting a hand on the doorknob to her room.
“Just…” Her voice starts to break, and I watch her struggle to keep herself together. “Just promise me you’ll always be here to take care of Daddy.”
There it is again. The cryptic promise to take care of my father.
My shoulders tense and my hand goes to Duckie’s shoulder.
“Why do you keep saying that? What’s going on? Please, tell me.”
She shakes her head and a single tear spills down her cheeks.
“Just promise me, okay?” she says.
With those last words hanging between us, she hurriedly opens and closes the door, shutting me out of her life.
I sigh and put my hands on my hips.
Something’s going on with Duckie. Something bad. And I’m determined to find out what it is.
She’s my sister. I love her. I’d walk through fire for her. I can’t shake the feeling that that’s exactly what I’m going to have to do.
21
“Who knows what the most important aspect of being a successful business owner is?”
Mrs. Fleck ambles to the classroom door, sharply turns, and walks toward the window. Her orbit around the front of the classroom is both dizzying and annoying, so I focus on tracing odd shapes in my mermaid binder instead. I hate this class and Mrs. Fleck. That alone is stopping me from focusing.
Larry Grainger raises his hand.
“Leadership.”
“Very good, Mr. Grainger. Leadership. Good businessmen are usually good leaders. Some of you, unfortunately, are not very good leaders.”
My binder is suddenly ripped from my hands, and my papers go flying through the air like square snowflakes.
I look straight into Mrs. Fleck ’s eagle eyes. She’s daring me to give her an excuse to call my father.
I close my mouth tight, not playing her game.
She seems to accept this for the moment, as she stuffs the binder under one arm and returns to the front of the room, leaving me to seethe.
“Imagine two students. One goes to class, follows the rules, does the work, and passes. The other student is a dreamer. They dream about games, about boys, and about all the great things they’re going to do in their life.”
Wait, is she talking about me? Have I become the class’s cautionary tale?
My blood boils and my hands curled into fists. I despised Mrs. Fleck and her stupid suit dresses and her sandpaper thighs.
“Both students go on to achieve their dreams. One becomes the CEO of a powerful company, while the other is a famous sports figure. But, times get hard. The sports figure gets into an accident and is unable to perform. Endorsements dry up. Money gets short. Left with nothing, the sports figure ends up digging ditches on the side of the road, while the CEO continues to thrive.”
Her eyes blaze into mine.
I glare back at her.
“Tell me, by a show of hands, who wants to be the CEO?”
All hands in the classroom rise except for two. Mrs. Fleck looks at us as if we’re all her little puppets and she’s the grand puppet master.
“Now, who would like to be the sports figure?”
My hand shoots high in the air. Movement to my right catches my attention. Eric’s hand is up too. He looks at me and nods.
I mouth thank you to him and turn a defiant smile to Mrs. Fleck, who squeezes her lips in disapproval.
“Mrs. Swimworthy, please explain to the classroom why you, the daughter to the founding member of this very program, want to spend your life being a ditch digger.”
Chuckles skitter through the room, but I sit up straight and tall.
“In a hundred years, people will still say the names Michael Jordan, Brett Favre, Derek Jeter, and Michael Phelps. But no one will remember the CEO of Triton Industries. No one will remember who the CEO of the Ford Motor Company was. No one will remember the CEO of the Walt Disney Company. The way I see it, you can either burn your way into history, or you can fade away into oblivion. I’d rather burn than fade.”
“And yet, here you are, failing my class and no closer to the gold you so determinedly seek.” She shakes her head and clicks her tongue. “You are one day closer to your goal of digging a very large hole.”
I’ve had enough. I jump out of my chair, plant my hands on my desk, and send Mrs. Fleck a death glare.
“Something else to say, Ms. Swimworthy?”
I’m so angry my cheeks are shaking. If I open my mouth, the stream of curse words that will spew out of it will send me straight to the principal’s office, and possibly get me suspended. I won’t give Mrs. Fleck the satisfaction.
I grab my bookbag, march to the front of the class, snatch my binder from her desk, and storm out.
22
“Coach Fish, I’m begging you.”
Coach Fish sits back in his chair, hands steepled atop his chest, eyes deep in thought, lips pursed.
After I left Mrs. Fleck’s class, I went straight to Coach Fish’s.
I have to get back on the swim team. Back to where everything makes sense. At this point, it’s the only thing that matters. I’ll deal with the fallout later.
“Ariel, you’re an exceptional swimmer. Really, you are. With a little more work, you could go all the way to the Olympics. Truly.”
His chair squeaks as he sits up.
“But, if I let you back on the team, I could lose my job.” He leans forward on his desk, his eyes begging me to understand his predicament. “Not only that. Your father will bring a lawsuit against the school.”
I lean forward too, my eyes just as pleading.
“You don’t have to tell him. You don’t have to tell anyone. Just let me stay until Tri-State. Once I place there, my father will have to see that this is where I’m meant to be.”
My voice shakes. I want this so bad. I want it more than anything else in the world. He has to let me back on the team. He just has to.
“Ariel.” He says my name quietly. A whisper. I recognize that tone. It’s an apology. My heart sinks to my feet. “I’m sorry. I wish I could, but it’s not possible.”
My world shatters. A single tear runs down my face, and I lose the ability to speak. To breathe. To think. All I can do is sit frozen in my chair, staring out into nothingness.
It’s over. For real this time.
Coach Fish clears his throat and stands.
�
��I know it’s disappointing. Truly, I do. Stay here as long as you need.”
I vaguely hear the sound of feet walking across the floor, followed by the door closing.
I can’t move. My stubborn limbs won’t let me.
I vaguely wonder if this was what Mom felt like when she drowned. That’s what life has done to me. It’s drowned me until I can no longer breathe. Until I’m numb. Until there’s nothing left at all.
I stand up and walk out, trying to keep my tears at bay and salvage the little bit of dignity I have left. The girls are still swimming when I walk past them. They call out to me, but I ignore them. I don’t want them to see me as this weak, weepy mess I’ve become. I want them to remember me as I was. Strong. Confident. Ready to take on the world.
I push open the locker room door and step out into the hallway.
“Red.”
Before I know what’s happening, Eric’s arms are surrounding me, and I grab the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like a life raft in the ocean. And then, in the eggshell-colored hallway, I lose it. I soak his skin with my defeated tears. I weep until the bell rings, signaling the end of after school activities. Before the hallway can fill with curious students, he leads me into a dark classroom and pulls me close again.
“It’ll be all right, Red.”
“No, it won’t. I’ll never make it to the Olympics. It’s over. Everything is over.”
“It’s a bump in the road. You’ll get through it.”
I sniffle, still not letting go of him.
“What can I do? Coach Fish won’t let me back on the team unless my dad gives him permission.”
“Maybe you should talk to your dad.”
“I tried. He won’t listen to me. He won’t listen to anyone.”
“Then try again.” He puts one crooked finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You try and you try and you keep trying until he has no other choice but to hear you. If you want this as bad as you say you do, as bad as I know you do, then you won’t give up.”
“But Mrs. Fleck—”
“Forget Fleck. She’s never pursued anything in her life, let alone a dream. You’re different from her. You’re better.”
My shoulders relax a little.
