#Score (36 page)

I
know
it’s the lack of sleep that’s making me feel like utter shit. That has to be it. It’s not a physical manifestation of my failed attempts at trying to call Elijah and speak with him, text him, even email him. No, it’s none of that. It’s just the sleep I lose because I know he’s not speaking to me.

After the second day of trying to figure out where it all went wrong, what I said that was the wrong thing to say, I have to give up. And I was so close, so close to finally having it all. Having the rug pulled out from underneath me shouldn’t be anything new, but it still stings every time it happens.

My phone rings over and over again. Stacey tries to call me, and she even has Rafael trying to call me. But there’s no use. I don’t feel like talking to anyone, and even though I should be way more worried about the fact that I’ve already just bailed on two appointments today at work, I don’t. I’m not. What’s the point of going into work and trying to take someone else’s pain away when I can’t even manage my own?

I swallow against the lump in my throat when my phone rings for the third time in a row. If I don’t answer, maybe they’ll all go away. Maybe this whole thing will just have been a dream, and tomorrow, I’ll be back to my normal life, starting the business, maybe even trying to finally work on the exercise clothing line, without having fallen deeply in love with my best friend. Maybe none of that will happen, but I know what won’t happen, and that’s Elijah talking to me again.

It’s funny, because you would think it would take a lot more to throw my entire life sideways than just a simple ignoring of my phone call. My phone calls, rather. But that’s all it takes, that one simple little thing. And now, today, I’m sitting here in my apartment, eating day-old gas station snacks because I just don’t have the motivation to walk into the kitchen and cook for myself. Especially when it feels like that’s all I’ll ever do for the rest of my life. Being alone is a lot harder than it looks from the outside.

“How did my life come to this?” I say the words out loud. I’m crying when I say them, but they’re loud, watery words that only show a fraction of the confusion and hurt behind them. How
did
my life come to be like this? I thought I had it all figured out. I went to school, dropped out, went back to school, dropped out again, but the third time was the charm, right? Now, I have my own business, which I’m basically failing at. I had a boyfriend who was the best thing that’s ever happened to my life, which I somehow fucked up. My mother’s in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s, and my sister is . . . well, at least Stacey’s happy.

I think about how she’s been sending me pictures of cute baby-themed items, from little hair bows for girls to little suspenders and ties for boys. I’ve been awful to her, not responding to any of them, not trying to enjoy the madness that is my sister’s pregnancy. She’s been waiting for so long, and here I am, moping about my own goddamn life, too upset to deal with the happiness of hers.

And yet it’s not enough to get me up out of the bed like it should be, and thus, it sends me into a deeper hole than before. God, how does anyone survive a breakup? Now I understand why I didn’t put as much time or effort into my other few relationships. I knew that I would get hurt like this. Yeah, no. It’s a wonder that people don’t go absolutely insane after each breakup because of the hurt, the pain.

Yep, I’m supposed to be a better version of myself now, but clearly, that went awry. I don’t know how I’m supposed to piece my life back together again, but I know I’m going to have to do something soon. I can’t just let myself fail because of what Elijah does or does not do.

I pull my legs over the side of the bed, the first real movement I’ve had aside from going to the bathroom in days. They’re sore, and I hysterically giggle, thinking just how ironic it is that my body is sore and tight and needs to be rubbed out in order for me to feel comfortable again. That’s not gonna happen, so I opt for a hot shower instead.

The water doesn’t do much to help my soul, but it does help release some of the tension in my muscles as I brace myself against the shower wall. It’s only then that I let myself cry, the hot, salty tears mixing with the heat and steam, evaporating quickly from my face until the water gets cold and I’m cold and my bones feel chilled.

I don’t bother to even dry my hair. I lie back in bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out if I want to watch TV or read a book. I have to do something to get my mind off everything, at some point.

When I flip on the TV, it goes instantly to a made-for-TV movie involving a mystery at a bakery, and a ridiculously good-looking couple who are trying to solve said mystery at said bakery. I groan to myself but can’t find it in me to turn the channel.

I know Elijah and I are soulmates. It may have taken me forever to figure it out, and now that I know, there’s no way to erase it from my mind. It’s like trying to tell someone the sky is green and the grass is blue after they’ve seen the soft blues of the sky and the bright greens of the grass day in and day out. You just can’t do it.

Our problem must be with bad timing. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. We had bad timing as kids, and bad timing as adults too. It sort of goes hand-in-hand with the soulmates and fate and destiny kind of stuff. There are forces in this world that bring people together and force them apart, and although we may never know why, when you are dealt a hand like this and you deal with it face-to-face like I have, you just know these things are true.

Maybe the bad timing is a good thing, though. Perhaps I was just getting ready to be in a world of heartache, no matter what I did. Even if Elijah had come back and forgiven everything—not that there was really much to forgive, if you ask me—he would’ve only had to turn right around three weeks later and go back to Texas. I mean, his rehabilitation was going to be up soon, and then what was I going to be left with? It’s a fact of reality I wasn’t willing to face, even though it was coming at me like a freight train.

At one point, when we were talking about his football career and how he got to where he was, he said something to me that threw me for a loop. He said, “It doesn’t matter where my life goes from here, because even when I’m old and retired and can’t do shit, I’ll always be married to football.”

And if he’s married to football, then where would that leave me? Second place? How would that have been fair?

It could be that Elijah’s not answering me is a blessing in disguise, and that eventually, I’ll get over it with time and work my way back into the real world again. But until I do, I’ll be sitting here in my bed, wondering why some good people have all the worst luck.

“
G
oddamn
, man. That’s . . . that’s some straight fucked up nonsense right there.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Kevon shakes his head to himself before taking a sip of his beer. “I know at least half of it. I saw the way he was with you. I just thought that’s how y’all rolled, so I didn’t pay it no mind. So what are you going to do now?”

I look down at the way the pool water distorts my hand, a tanned blur under dark blue water bubbling around us inside the grotto. Kevon’s new natural-looking pool is like walking around the Playboy mansion, I swear. “I don’t know. What would you do?”

“Pssh, I would say I’d beat his ass, but I’m pretty sure my mama would kill me if I did. So I don’t know.”

“Exactly the same here. My mom’s not even around any more. But something was holding me back there. It was like she was telling me don’t screw up your life for this piece of shit. Don’t do it. So I didn’t. That’s why left, so I could get a better gain on what’s going on. I tell you what, though, man. When I thought you were in a coma, I was getting ready to put someone else in a coma,” I say, smiling at how he starts shaking with laughter.

“Yeah, I bet you were. I don’t put no shit past you and yo sly ass. But I appreciate it, though.”

–

A
fter putting
in some time with Kevon and making sure he really, truly was uninjured and not about to die in some hospital, I had some time to think about how I was going to handle shit with my dad. It took me a couple of days to figure it out, but I did it. And although I know it’s going to be hard not to kick his old sorry ass, I know what I’ve got to do.

When he opens the door this time, he’s hesitant, and I can tell there is a small trace of fear in his eyes. He has no idea what I’m about to do, and that satisfies a very small part of me.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” His voice is tired, but I don’t feel sorry for him. I never will again.

“Can I come in?”

He gestures for me to move past him, and I do, not wanting to walk too far inside because I want to make this as quick as possible.

“I won’t be here for long. Let me just get right to the point with you. When I told Paige that I was going to have to leave quickly without much warning and see my friend who could be dying, she was immediately worried for me and totally understood. But then she thought about it, because she’s smart like that. She thought it was strange the way you called me and nobody else did. She suspected you right off the bat. And I had the fucking balls to tell her off about it. Clearly, I was in the wrong. You’re fucking psycho, in so many ways that it scares me. It scares me that I have lived with you for most of my life now, and it scares me that I never saw through your bullshit enough to realize the truth. I get it now. My eyes are wide fucking open.

“You know I put up with you turning me into somebody I really wasn’t. I wasn’t okay with the fact that you signed me up for football that first year here in Texas. I was actually thinking about joining a band, because I wanted to play music. You never asked me about that because you didn’t give a shit about me and my interests. All
you
were concerned about was making me into this younger version of yourself. I went along with it because I was a fucking kid and I didn’t know any better. Then you made me change my name. Mom specifically named me Elijah
Simmons
because that was
her
name. You let her down, you divorced her, and she took her name back when she was still pregnant with me. Even still, you made me take your name after you had been away and out of my life the entire time. I didn’t say anything about it, and I went along with it because I was a fucking kid and I didn’t know any better. In high school, I had to work twice as hard to keep my grades up because of football with not one ounce of help from you. Ever. I spent every night working on homework until it was practically time to get up for school again. I did everything you told me to do. I worked through it. I did it all myself. I did it to please you. I went along with it because I had to be the best. I had to win.

“College came and went, and suddenly, I was thrown into the Pro League. I was happy with where I was and knowing I was finally getting paid for doing the shit that made me happy. I’ll give you that. But then came the sponsorships and kissing Johnny Maine’s ass every time I turned around. I went along with it, even though I wasn’t a kid any more, even though I’m not a kid any more. I think you fail to realize that, Dad.

“There were so many days that I would cry myself to sleep at night, and I’m sure you probably heard me too, but you didn’t do anything about it. Do you know what I was thinking those nights? I was thinking about how all I wanted to do was go back in time and see Mom one last time. There were even a few rare nights where I was so upset that I wished I had been in the car with her. Because anything would’ve been better than living the bullshit life you were expecting of me.”

He’s quiet, not saying much except looking at me and then looking up at the ceiling every now and then. I don’t know what he’s expecting to see up there, so I wait.

“I see. So I guess you’re going to completely forget the fact that you wouldn’t be where you are today if it weren’t for me pushing you like I’ve always done. But kids these days, they don’t fucking get it. So why should you, right? You’re not any different than anyone else. You’re not special—you’re not some special little snowflake like everyone else makes you out to be. I’m the
only
reason you made it this far. I’m the one pulling the ropes, not you. But I guess the question now is where does that leave us?”

At this, I have to laugh, because really? Fuck that, there is no
us
any more, and I make sure to enunciate that clearly for him.

“But of course. Of course, you’re going to react that way, and I’m almost a little proud of you for finally having the balls to stand up to me. It took you long enough, but I digress. You were always a little shit. You’ll always be a little shit, except now, you’ve got bigger shit behind you willing to back you, no matter what. Hooray for you.”

My fists ball up, and I’m ready to hit. I’m ready to strike him out, Mom’s words be damned. But I see the look in his eyes, and I can see that’s what he wants me to do. To lash out and make him into a martyr. Nope, not going to happen.

“You know what? As much as I really,
really
want to hit you right in the God damn mouth right now, I’m not going to. And you know why? I can get my point across in a better way. I’m firing you. I’m cutting you completely off. All this here you have right now? Gone. I will make sure that you don’t work anywhere in this business ever again. You weren’t fit to do it in the first place, and now, no one will have to worry about your terrible judgment calls. So have fun trying to find a job that pays for this when all you are is a washed-up college dropout who put up such a big fucking fuss about not making it to the Pro League that you never bothered trying to do anything better with your life. Wow, when I put it that way out loud, it’s even sadder and more pathetic than in my head. I almost feel bad for you.
Almost
.”

When I walk out of my dad’s house for the last time, thank God, something new springs inside me. This invisible tether that’s kept me connected to him even more than the usual bonds kids have with their parents snaps, and I’m free.

Now to get to work.

“
Y
ou playing with Reba today
?”

I look out the window to see if she’s on her way yet. “Mom, we’re not playing. We’re not little kids any more.”

Mom laughs at me because she knows how much I hate it when she says that kind of stuff. “Excuse me. Is Reba coming over to hang out? Let me know if you guys need anything because I’m getting ready to go to the store.” She leans in to give me a quick kiss on my forehead before ruffling my hair. “Be good. Got it?”

I hold my two fingers together, just like I’ve seen the movies. “Scout’s honor.”

“Honey . . . you’re not a Boy Scout. So just keep the troublemaking to a minimum, all right?”

I smile back at her. “Yeah, you’re right. Boy Scouts are super lame anyway. We’re probably just going to go down to the creek. Or the park.”

I watch my mom take off in our old beat-up Chevy and immediately run back into my room, searching around for the book. It isn’t much, but I hope she likes it. Paige is always talking about how she can never read fast enough to get through her pile of books. I used to be mad when she talked about books all the time, but I’m kind of used to it now. It’s her favorite thing, just like I like to listen to some of my mom’s favorite old rock music. So I don’t joke on her too much about it.

The book is heavy in my hand, and the hard cover is cracked and really worn down. You can barely even see the gold letters on the side of it, reading ‘Shakespeare’s Book of Sonnets.’ I asked Mom what kind of book she thought Paige might like best, and she asked me some dumb question about how I felt about Paige. How am I supposed to know? She’s a girl and she’s my friend, and . . . okay, she’s a cute girl and she’s my friend. And I like her.

When Mom saw the weird look on my face, I think she felt sorry for me and laughed. “Okay then. Try this one—anything related to Shakespeare’s sonnets. You can probably go pick one of those old books up from the used book store in town. I can take you there tonight, if you’d like.”

So now I have the book, and I’m searching around the house for some extra newspaper to wrap it in. If I had the extra allowance money, I would’ve picked up some fancy happy birthday paper for her, but newspaper will have to do. I hate writing, probably even more than reading, so I don’t bother with a card. She’ll get why.

The only reason I know it’s Paige’s birthday next week is because I overheard Stacey, her crappy older sister, complaining to her weird boyfriend about how on her twelfth birthday, all she got was a homemade cake. Since Paige’s family is so poor, I know that’s a big deal, and I figured I’d try to do the good friend thing and get her something myself.

Plus, I like to see her smile. There are these lines on each side of her smile that make it look like she’s got parentheses on her face, and it’s kind of cool. And when she smiles, I can’t help but do the same thing. It’s like it’s a yawn or something, and I just can’t stop myself.

There’s a soft tapping on my window, and I pull back the curtains to see Paige’s straight red hair pulled back into a braid on her shoulder and her big blue eyes staring wide at me. She waves, and I meet her at the door.

“What do you want to do today?” is the first thing she says to me when I let her in. “Stacey has been such a brat to me today. I need to stay away for a little while. Hopefully, my Mama won’t say too much about it.” She looks at me funny when she sees that I’m holding my hands behind my back.

Crap. I totally forgot that I had the book still in my hand, and I only just finished slapping tape on the top of the newspaper to hold it together.

“What’s that behind your back?”

“What’s what?” I’ve got to stall her. I’ve got to find a way to get her attention away from what’s behind my back.

Paige pushes her lips together like she does when she’s not being fooled by something I’m saying, and she puts one hand on her hip. I don’t ever tell her this, but it’s kind of cute when she does that. “I’m not an idiot. You’re hiding something. What is it?”

I dance around her, trying to face her the whole time so she can’t peek behind me. She growls at me, and I laugh because she sounds like one of those furry dogs that live across the street from us. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say with a big smile on my face.

She makes a grab for it, but I’m too fast, and I hold it way over her head, laughing so hard that I nearly double over and make it easy for her to grab. She has me cornered in the kitchen, and even though I’m getting ready to lay it on top of the fridge, she distracts me just enough by doing something weird with her eyelashes that I forget what I’m doing, and she jumps up high enough to grab it out of my hands.

“Seriously, Paige? You’re so nosy sometimes.”

“It’s wrapped up. Is it . . . for me?”

I roll my eyes because I think it’s pretty obvious, at this point. “Duh. What do you think?” She bites her lip, and I look away because I feel weird when she does that. “Yes. It was supposed to be your birthday present.”

This makes her smile, and she takes it over to sit at the kitchen table without bothering to ask me if I’m gonna let her open it now. That’s Paige for you, though. She kind of does her own thing once you get to know her.

“I didn’t know you knew about my birthday.” She talks so softly that I can barely hear her, but the way she says it kind of makes me feel bad.

“No thanks to you. How come you didn’t tell me, anyway? I know it’s your birthday, so happy early birthday or whatever. Just go ahead and open it. You know you want to.” I sound kind of rude, but that’s just me for you. And I’m pretty sure Paige has gotten used to it.

She slowly opens the newspaper to the point where I’m ready to rip it open myself. Why do girls have to be so weird?

Paige doesn’t say anything when she sees the book, but she does look up at me, and her cheeks are really red. She likes it.

“I mean, I know you like to read older stuff. I don’t know why, but I thought maybe you’d like it. You can add it to your book pile, I guess. You don’t have that one already, do you?”

Paige opens the book, and I feel a little part of me ready to run. I see the black marker ink on the inside of the cover, remembering that I wrote her a note. I didn’t want her to open the book in front of me, but now it’s too late.

Her eyes scan the note, and I see the way she carefully closes the book, pushing it away from her on the table. “Thank you for the book, Elijah. It was very sweet.”