Authors: Emily Hainsworth
“You sure he doesn’t need to go to the hospital or anything?” I ask.
Nina shakes her head and rises to stand at the end of his bed. “He’ll be okay.”
Owen crosses his arms and frowns. “I’m never going to be okay.”
“Do you feel worse again?” I ask, eyeing the blood-sugar meter.
He glances at me, but then fixes his eyes on the goal posts dotting his comforter. “I can’t play football if I’m sick all the time.”
“This wasn’t your fault, O,” Nina says.
I sit down on the edge of the bed. “People play sports with a lot worse problems. You just have to take care of yourself.”
He doesn’t look up.
“Football is
not
about being perfect, Owen.” I swallow, trying not to think too much about what I’m saying. “The best players are the ones that want it the most, try the hardest.” I pick up a football he’s got sitting on a shelf, surprised at how good it feels in my hands. He catches it when I pass it to him. “It’d be sad if the Rams never got a quarterback as awesome as you’re going to be.”
He looks at me skeptically, but the scowl is gone.
“Isn’t that right, Nina?”
She doesn’t answer. I glance where she’d been standing, but she’s gone.
I turn back to Owen.
“You going to be all right for a little while?” I ask.
He lies back and sighs. “Yeah … thanks, Cam.”
Nina’s not in her room, though the door is open. I glance briefly at the picture on the bookcase again. There’s no mistaking it now—it’s her as a little girl, scrunching her freckles and smiling with her mom, dad, and baby brother. I wonder if Owen was always sick. I wonder how old Nina was when they died.
I find her in the kitchen, wiping orange juice off the counter with a wad of paper towels.
“You okay?” I ask. It’s a stupid question.
“I’m fine.”
Her eyes are dry, if red-rimmed. She scrubs hard at something I can’t see on the counter, but doesn’t look up. I move closer, not sure what to say. It seems like Owen was easier to comfort.
“He’s going to be okay,” I say. “You said so yourself.”
“I know.” Her voice is short, annoyed.
“Then what’s the matter?”
She balls the soggy paper towels up and launches them right past me into the sink.
“He wouldn’t have gotten sick at all if I’d been paying better attention!”
“Whoa.” I hold up my hands. “Nina, this wasn’t your fault.”
She makes a dismissive noise and crosses to the sink. I hesitate, trying to find the right words, and put my hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” I say. “Taking care of your brother shouldn’t be
your
responsibility.”
She stands still for a moment when I touch her. Then she pulls out the paper towel mess and starts scrubbing at the sink, avoiding my eyes. I let my hand fall away.
“Thanks, but who else is going to do it? Aunt Car never remembers.”
“Well, maybe you should talk to her—
she’s
the adult. It’s just not fair—”
“Life isn’t fair, Cam!” she snaps.
I stare at her.
“There isn’t a day I don’t wish I could go back to my old school, my old house—where my parents worried instead of me
or
Owen. But when they died, all of that changed.” She turns away, letting her hair screen her face. “I guess I can’t expect you to understand.”
I grit my teeth. Doesn’t she remember who she’s talking to?
“In case you’ve forgotten, I have a gimp leg, my dad walked out, and my girlfriend died—”
“And now look, you’ve got her back,” Nina finishes for me.
My jaw drops, but I keep my cool. I can’t expect her to understand that the universe owes me and Viv. It’s just making things right.
“I still had to live through it.”
“This isn’t the way things are supposed to work. My parents died, and they’re gone forever.”
“Look, I’m sorry about your parents. I really wish you could have them back too—”
“People die, Cam.” Her tone is icy and calm. She looks me straight in the eye. “As much as I want them back, I’ve accepted that’s never going to happen, and
I’m
the one who has to be here for my brother.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Don’t blame me just because I happen to be lucky.”
“You think this was all meant to be or something?” She snorts. “What’s happening with you and Viv—it’s dangerous and it’s wrong.”
I open my mouth to reply, but her words make me hesitate. How can she say it’s wrong? It’s fucking wonderful! Still, it seems cruel to rub her misfortune in her face. I lower my voice.
“I can’t lose her again, Nina.”
Her face falls, and now I do feel sorry for her. I’m willing to bet the Nina back home still has both her parents.
“Just … be careful, Cam.”
“I will.” I touch her hand. “I really am sorry....”
She stares down where our fingers overlap, then she pulls away. “I am too.”
VIV ISN
’
T HOME WHEN I FINALLY MAKE IT TO HER HOUSE. THE
window is open, but the light in her room is off. I call softly outside, but there’s no response from the shadows or the tree. I circle the house carefully, but the only light I see comes from the den, where her dad has nodded off in front of the TV. The glowing kitchen clock makes me realize I was at Nina’s longer than I thought.
She might have gone to look for me, but if I go searching for her we could miss each other completely. I lean against the tree, hidden under the willow branches, and wait for her to come back. The longer I sit alone, the harder it is to fight fatigue. Everything that’s happened tonight has been so intense, all I want to do is lie in Viv’s arms and listen to the soothing sound of her voice. She might’ve just gone for a walk … but after a while I get this nagging feeling. What if she thinks I just didn’t come? What would she do? I remind myself that Viv
has
other friends here. Wouldn’t any girl who thinks she’s been stood up go cry about it to other girls? Except I can’t really see Viv explaining to Tash Clemons how her dead boyfriend didn’t show up when he said he would.
The TV light finally goes out. Mr. Hayward is off to bed. I stand up to stretch, exhausted, and sore from sitting on knobby roots. If I had my phone with me, I could try to call her, but I’m not sure my calling plan covers interdimensional roaming. I glance at Viv’s darkened window one last time and reluctantly head home, planning all the way to the utility pole how I’ll make it up to her tomorrow—how I’ll beg forgiveness in tiny kisses all over her body.
My thoughts are somewhere on her upper thigh when a light in front of me grabs my attention. I glance up in time to see Viv stumbling out of the green glow on the corner. She doubles over coughing, and I run to her.
“Viv!” I pull her up straight, holding her close while the energy leaves her body. She’s limp at first, but soon her fingers close around mine and she’s staring into my eyes.
“Cam?” she asks. “What are—I was looking for you!”
I lean into her. “I’m sorry, I’m here now.”
My lips caress hers, but she pulls away. “Where were you?”
I let go of her, and she steps further back.
“I … I’ve been here,” I say. “I mean, at your house waiting for you. I thought—”
“You were supposed to come hours ago—I was so worried!” She touches her lips uncertainly. “I thought something might’ve happened …”
“Don’t be upset,” I say. I want to reach for her, but I’m afraid she’ll pull away again. “It was a misunderstanding. I did come earlier, but Nina’s brother was sick and—”
“You were with
her
?”
I stop talking, cut by the sharpness of her voice.
“Why would you do that?”
“It’s not—I just … I was on my way to your house.”
She processes my words, and the way it makes me feel is so uncomfortably foreign. Viv has never been jealous before … it was one of the things about us. I knew I was all she ever wanted, and she knew I felt exactly the same way about her. But now Viv is clearly jealous of Nina and I don’t know how to deal. I wonder if the other me ever had to contend with this.
“Vivee,” I say, using a pet name I save for special occasions. “You don’t actually think I’d want to see Nina more than
you
?”
Her body stays stiff and closed, but the creases in her forehead smooth. I move close again, prying one of her hands loose.
“Nina’s nice, but you’re—” I pull her into my arms. “You’re
you
.”
She resists another second, searching deep in my eyes, but then she relents. Her lips are warm and needy, but the way they meet mine is so achingly familiar. My skin still prickles. I’ve been waiting for this all night, and with our kiss, I feel we’re whole again.
“
CAM
?
WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE
?”
I glance up from tying my sneaker. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”
“Um, are
you
?” Mike looks at my T-shirt and sweats, and shoves his bag in a locker. “I thought you got exempt from the gym requirement.”
I shut my locker and spin the combination. “I asked to be let in.”
“You
asked
for gym class?”
“I’m ready for it again.”
“But your—” Mike hesitates, glancing at my right leg. “You
do
know it’s Hernandez second period?”
I shrug. Hernandez is uniformly loathed by students—though mostly the girls—for requiring us to actually break a sweat in class. But that’s what I’m here for. I start stretching my shoulders. Mike pulls off his shirt and starts to say something else, but it’s muffled. I take one look at him and am relieved I already changed. My flat, pale torso looks sickly compared to someone who regularly lifts weights. I close my locker quietly and slip out to the gym.
Hernandez starts the class off running laps. Everyone groans, but everyone moves. If you don’t when he whistles, he fails you for the day. I’m keeping up with the back of the herd, trying to stay focused, when he calls my name.
“Pike, come here.”
I jog over.
“I’ll exempt you from running. Have a seat till they’re done.”
I glance at the group already halfway around the gym. There is no way I can sit still now that I’ve started.
“If it’s okay, sir, I’d like to participate.”
He glances automatically at my leg, just like Mike did. He may be the soccer coach, but the whole school knows what happened to me. I wore sweat pants on purpose, to cover the scar.
“I was told not to go too hard on you,” he grunts.
“I appreciate the concern, but I’d like to at least try.”
Hernandez considers this for fifteen whole seconds. “All right, Pike, it’s your call.” He directs me to the back of the group and barks, “Use it or lose it, people!”
I fall back in with the freshmen struggling to keep up.
When you haven’t attended a gym class in over two years, you tend to forget sports like dodge ball even exist. There’s an awkward moment after we finish running when I realize teams will be picked, but Hernandez doesn’t mess around with high-school hierarchies. He divides the class in half where we stand, and I end up spending most of the period trying to hit Mike for fun. Actually, I get a little annoyed when I realize he’s trying
not
to hit me, but plenty of other people are, so I don’t make it an issue.
By the time I head back to the locker room, I smell like sweat and basketball rubber, but I feel okay. I won’t say
good
yet. My head is heavy with lack of sleep, but my body feels different, like it’s starting to wake up. I take a minute after the bell rings to stretch my leg. It does ache, though not in the usual way. It’s stiff and weak from the workout, not throbbing with pain. Tomorrow will be harder … but I’m almost looking forward to it.
“Cam …” Mike comes up just as I’m about to leave for trig. His voice is barely audible under the din of guys shouting and slamming lockers. “I saw your Facebook this morning. What’s going on?”
I blink. “Facebook? Huh?”
He glances around and speaks under his breath.
“Don’t you think you’re taking it a little far?”
The sweaty locker room is too loud and too cold. Dread bubbles up inside me and I have to force my feet to stay where they are and not run straight home to my laptop.
“I haven’t been on Facebook,” I say slowly. “In months.”
Mike just looks at me. “Well, never mind, then. I guess it was a ghost.”
My skin goes clammy. It probably
is
Logan this time. That’s an easy enough prank for him to pull … but I can’t bring myself to ask Mike exactly what he saw. I close my locker and it jams; I pull it open again and slam it.
The second hand on the clock in my civics class doesn’t tick. It crawls around the dial in one agonizingly slow motion. I tried logging in to Facebook from the library, but the site is blocked. I’d skip the rest of today altogether, but the last thing I need now is to draw more attention. Hopefully anyone who might see it or care is stuck in the school too. I tap my pencil on the edge of my desk and hastily fill in the last four bubbles on my test—A, B, C, D. The bell rings. I bolt out of my seat, get halfway to the door, then have to double back and hand the exam to Mrs. Moore.