#Score (19 page)

It’s a short-lived celebration when Boyega comes running up from behind me. “Yo, let’s go, man. Coach is calling for everyone in the locker room.”

“Good luck, Espinoza. I’ll make sure to give the trophy a nice big kiss for you,” I joke, thwacking Joshua in the chest before turning to follow Boyega.

“The only thing you’re going to be kissing is that trophy goodbye, player,” he yells back, laughing and nodding at me before we go our separate ways.

It’s the last thing he says that sticks in my head the moment I realize we’re about to lose the fucking Cup. Portland keeps stealing the ball from us, and we’re tripping over our own feet trying to get it back. Even though Joshua is my best friend, I try to take advantage of the fact that I know pretty much every move he’s going to make, but he’s better at anticipating my moves and knows where to pass the ball to keep it away from me. Motherfucker is too damn smart at this game.

It’s like watching a car crash is slow-motion, you’re unable to look away even though you know there’s about to be a fucking catastrophe. The Timbers’ wings are fucking killing it and make a quick pass between them, completely bypassing our defensive line. I see the moment they get it to their striker, and I know it’s all over for us. They score the goal with only fifteen seconds left in the game.

After, when the crowds have died down, I look for her, shaking my head as soon as her beautiful freckled face stands out from the rest of the people standing around. She holds her arms out for me and I collide with her, letting her stroke my hair. I refuse to let this get to me. At least in front of everyone else . . .

She’s extra attentive to me hours later when I’m desperately trying to drown myself in whiskey. “Benji, baby, you need to slow down. I don’t exactly want to spend the night cleaning up your puke, you know.”

Everything sinks to the bottom of my brain, all the piled-on thoughts about losing the Cup, making the big move to London, and all things Ramona-related. My drunk ass keeps blabbering on about making things right with her, but she waves me off, telling me there’s nothing to fix.

I’m half-asleep when I hear it, softly at first. I hold still, straining my ears, and I realize I’m right. Ramona’s in the other room, crying. I want to get up, I want to go tell her that it’s all going to be okay and there’s no need to cry. But in between feeling so damn sorry for myself, throwing my own pity party, and knowing I need things to work out the way I’ve planned them, I stay put.

I feel terrible for letting her go on like this, but I don’t move. It’s the only way I’ll be able to get her to see in the end.

R
amona

E
liza's been bugging
me on and off all week about when I'm coming up to San Francisco to check out the art show, telling me that Geo Boutique is not the same without my lovely face. I really appreciate the sentiment from her, especially since she's gone big-time ever since those metal sculptures took off by that one guy, but I can't bring myself to focus my energy on getting into her gallery anymore.

Even still, I opened my closet doors looking around for the three smaller canvases I plan on sending to her when I get the chance. Now, my closet isn't exactly big, not in this tiny-ass apartment for sure. So when I look at the bottom of it and see zero paintings, I have to wonder just what the hell was going on.

"Where are they?" I mumble to myself, lifting up piles of pants and hoodies, sorting through the mess that is the bottom of my closet with no luck. I sit back on my knees, confused. They were right here, I know they were.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, desperately trying to go over in my mind where I could've placed that. It's not like my room is that big, and where else would they go? I haven't taken any over to Benji's place, and unless there is a magic painting ceiling fairy living among us now, I moved them without even realizing it.

As if on cue, my phone starts to buzz my pocket, jolting me from the fog. "Hello?"

"Hey babe," Eliza's throaty voice croons through the phone. "How ya been?"

Speak of the devil . . . "Hi there. I, I've been all right. What about you? How's the showcase going this week?"

She laughs into the phone, making me feel lonely for some reason. I've been making sure to spend all my time with Benji lately and haven't really seen anyone else very much at all. "You wouldn't believe it, trust me. I've got these guys flying in from all over the place, some of them wanting to buy the sculptures, some of them wanting to buy my own paintings, some of them I don't know what they're thinking, to tell you the truth. One of the guys, I'm pretty sure he's one of those billionaires that own half the planet, comes in unannounced, deeply criticizing half of the work on my abstract on the back, you know? He's saying all this critical shit, mumbling to himself, shaking his head like a weirdo. He gets ready to walk out and then turns around to me and says I'll buy that wall. Like what in the actual fuck, right? I swear, one of these days I'm going to get rich like that and just act so fucking bonkers people won't know what to think. It's going to be so much fun."

"I'm pretty sure you act fucking bonkers without all the extra money, Eliza," I'm quick to quip back at her. She knows I'm just joking around though.

"True, very true. But I'd give my left tit just to have that kind of money. I could swim around in a vault of it like Scrooge McDuck, you know what I mean? Anyway . . . I did actually have reason for calling you."

I'm still scanning through the rest of my room, looking under my bed, behind my dresser. Not that my paintings would suddenly be there, but if they're not in the closet, I have absolutely no idea where they could be. As though I'm not panicking on the inside, I play it off like it's no big deal. "And how may I be of service to you?"

"Oh, I just wanted to let you know that I've got the painting on my main wall, the big one? I'm going to reveal it when you come up, and not a minute before. So now you absolutely have to come, no excuses."

I slink down against the wall. I'm not exactly in the mood for an art gallery show or anything, really. "Okay. Thank you for putting it up, though. I know you have a lot of other art pieces you could've put up instead of that one." Hopefully I sound at least half as grateful as I truly am.

"It's all good, girl. I put yours up because it's really good, you know that. Oh, and by the way, thanks for the other ones, too. Those were like an extra nice little treat for me. Were you wanting me to put them up on the showcase ball, or maybe—"

I rock back on my knees, actually toppling over. "What? What are you talking about?"

She pauses for a moment, and I hear her unwrapping something. "These other paintings you sent me. The three smaller ones? What did you want me to do with them?"

My jaw drops open. When did I send her those? "Oh, well yeah. You can do whatever you want with them. Whatever makes the money, I guess . . . Eliza, when did you get those exactly?"

"You sent them to me with the big one, remember?"

Okay, clearly I have been in such a fucking daze that I'm actually losing my mind now. This can't be good.

I get off the phone with Eliza after a little while longer, still kind of spooked over not remembering how I sent a whole package to her without knowing it. I have to chalk it up to my recent mental state. I've been having to take a higher dosage of medicine just to get through my anxiety lately. It's something I haven't even told Benji about, because I really don't need him worrying over me when he's going to be thousands of miles away.

I think about all the posts and comments I’ve seen online about him moving to London. All the sad face emojis, all the smiley faces . . . posts about how he dumped me for someone in London . . .

Oh yeah. After months of being the curious kitty, I ended up typing in #dirtytrinity just to see what it was all about. Turns out Jas was right—I should’ve stayed away.

All those posts. Random pictures of Benji while he was on the soccer pitch, or even scarily enough, a few of us holding hands and walking around. Some of us even kissing. And that was just us . . . there were plenty of Cal and their older cousin, EZ, too. Both seen with various women, although I saw one in particular that kept popping up. Poor girl has been tarred and feathered online just like me. Whether it was from a bunch of jealous teenage girls or what, some of that shit still hurt to read.

It’s no wonder I don’t want to try and ‘make it work’ long distance. I can’t even imagine how fast other girls would try and hop on him knowing our physical separation.

But West Turkey United is what he wants, it's what he needs. If I have to shove it all down deep inside me just so he doesn't worry, then so be it.

I look back at my wall, the large empty space my painting had been covering for months and months, reminding me of the giant space of nothingness I've been feeling. Sure, I can tell myself not to be emo about everything, to accept what's going to happen between Benji and I and get over it, but it's one thing to say something and an entirely different thing to do it. I don't know how to deal, quite honestly. I worry that if I tell Jasmine, my parents, or even Brie and Michael, they'll really start to worry about me then.

I don't want that, it shouldn't be like this after all. I'm a strong woman, I don't need some man to sustain me and confirm my worth. It's just that . . . dammit, I love Benji so much.

And I know he loves me, too. But being adults, these things happen. It's what I've been trying to tell myself the past week and a half. Already, half of our time left flew by, leaving me in the dust.

* * *

I
love
the way he rubs his thumb across my hand as we hold hands across the car bench seat. He keeps his hand that way the entire time he drives us out to the Hollywood Hills. Benji swears up and down he has to visit every single touristy place before he leaves, regretting that he never did the entire time he's been living here in L.A. If that's what he wants to do, then that's what he wants to do. And I'll do whatever he wants to do as long as I can be by his side the entire time. Now that the soccer season is over, I even managed to take a break from work for a few days just so we can have that little bit of extra time. It's not much in the grand scheme of things, but I try and enjoy it while it lasts.

W
e lie back
on the black hood of the car, snuggled close. "I wonder why they never let anyone up there," Benji says, covering his eyes as we both look up the mountain, the huge white Hollywood sign gleaming in the sunlight. "Has that always been a thing, or what?"

I lean my head on his shoulder, the heat of the warm sun making me sleepy. "Lots of people try to commit suicide up there. I think a few actually have. It's really dangerous to go up through the trees and stuff, plus lots of people say that it's haunted."

Benji just snorts, shaking his head and jostling me around. "That's ridiculous. I mean I get it, but it's so ridiculous. They could make so much money doing little tours and shit going up and down the side of the mountain. They're missing out, I'm telling you."

I'm only half aware as I drift in and out of it, so comfortable lying next to him. Benji's going on about the places he's wanting to check out over in England, and I can't help but wonder if he'll see the true beauty in the old history behind the buildings he's talking about. I love Benji to death, of course, but history buff he is not.

"And I'm definitely gonna check out Loch Ness. You can't go over there and not check it out, you know?"

"Yeah, I've heard Scotland is beautiful."

He looks at me funny. "That place is in Scotland? Damn . . . I really need a brush up on my geography, don't I?" he says, winking at me. Well, at least he's honest with himself.

"Maybe just a little bit," I concede. "You’re going to have so much fun over there. I’m kind of jealous." I say this lightly, not wanting to seem like a Debbie downer or anything, but I can't help it. Not only is he leaving me and everything here behind, but he is going to travel the world like I've always wanted to do. If I really ever have had a dream as big as his, it's to do just that.

Benji catches the way my tone changes in an instant. "You say that like you're not to be coming along with me when you visit."

We've been going back and forth on this, me telling him there's no point of us trying to keep up with a relationship only to be so far away from each other. With his schedule alone, even if I wasn't working, I'd rarely see him.

"Benji . . ." I warn him. "Do we really have to start arguing again?"

I can see him chewing on his lip even though I'm shading my eyes with my hand.

"You can tell me all day if you'd like, but I don't see why we should break up. If something happens down the road, then I understand. But right now? You mean too much to me, I can't even imagine . . ."

"But you're completely missing the point. I don't want it to get to that point where we both know it's over. At least we can end on a good note, because these things rarely ever do."

A
guy like Benji
? He'll find someone in Europe easily, I'm sure of it. I know he's a good guy, and he would never lie or cheat on me, so what he would do is break things off right when I feel like everything's going okay. That's how my luck would go. And I can't say that I would react very well to that kind of situation, so why put ourselves there in the first place?

But then I remind myself I’d never find someone like him, not in a million years. It sucks to say this, but he's pretty much ruined me for anyone else that might eventually come around down the road. I will always love him. That's never going to change.

W
e lie there
for what feels like forever, letting the sun warm our skin, with our fingers still laced together. It's a silent agreement between us to stop thinking about the bad stuff and to keep going on as if my world isn’t about to be blown apart.