Chapter 17

17

I never anticipated how mundane the healing process would be. My next few weeks are filled with helping Mom in the garden, learning knitting with Daphne, and bussing tables for Thora at The Chimney. I wash dishes, practice free throws, and rank my favorite films on a list that my sisters argue over later. I help Danielle return Christmas presents and talk about my feelings without her prompting me. There is nothing glamorous about any of it, but I tell myself to keep going.

School becomes an absolute hellhole. Word has gotten around about Charlotte’s accusation in the gym, and while no one has seen the picture she showed Irene, everyone has put the pieces together about us “breaking up” because I hung out with Tally. People are either giving me a wide berth or tossing me dirty looks in the hallways. My own teammates refuse to pass me the ball in practice. Only the Cleveland triplets are willing to hover nearby, but that’s because they want quotes for the paper. It’s a very sober, clarifying experience, to see how quickly people can go from adoring you to abhorring you.

Irene herself is cordial but distant, and I take my cues from her. We smile politely to each other in the hallways but otherwise keep to ourselves. Charlotte, of course, is happy to fuel the rumors about what went wrong between us. She plants more seeds about Irene’s “fake” sexuality, but Irene stays above it all. I don’t know whether that’s because she doesn’t care, or because she’s extra focused on SAOY now that we’re getting closer to nominations. I pray I haven’t ruined her chances.

Danielle and the boys are unfailingly loyal. We sit in my car one afternoon and I tell them everything. Danielle already knows, of course, but it’s a relief to finally explain myself to Gunther and Kevin. I confess the whole truth about the last few months, even though I’m still ashamed. I’ve told this story so many times now, but it doesn’t get any easier. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” I say, forcing myself to keep eye contact. “I’m sorry for getting so caught up in my ex. I feel like it took away from our senior year experience.” I dab at my eyes. Danielle passes me a napkin from the glove compartment. “You guys are my best friends. I wanna make the most of our last semester.”

Kevin leans forward and threads his fingers together. “None of us is perfect, Scottie. Well … except Danielle.” He grins earnestly; she narrows her eyes playfully. “Thanks for telling us the truth. I’m sorry you were hurting so bad. I love you and I want you to be happy.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Gunther chimes in. “Besides, I got to know Honey-Belle through this whole thing, so how can I be mad?”

Danielle swats at him, and the laughter that follows is exactly what I need.

The four of us spend every Saturday at the Chuck Munny. On the night we plan to see Love & Basketball, Gunther brings Honey-Belle along and kisses her in the concession line. I turn to Danielle and Kevin to exchange glances, but they’re not paying attention; they’re laughing at something on Kevin’s phone. When Danielle reaches forward to hit his arm with a flirtatious little punch, Kevin’s eyes light up. I pretend not to notice when he insists on buying Danielle’s root beer. I’m okay with being a fifth wheel tonight.

When we’re off from school in honor of MLK Day, I sit cross-legged on my bedroom floor and read every letter Tally ever gave me. Some of them make me cry. I let the tears come and tell myself it’s okay that my heart is hurting. Once I’ve gone through them all, Thora and Daphne help me burn them in the backyard. I breathe in, breathe out, and watch the sparks of them drift away.

---

Spring sports begin near the end of January, because apparently January qualifies as spring. Each evening as I leave practice, I watch the soccer girls sprinting down the field, their lungs surely burning in the cold. The start of their season signals the closing of mine, which is hard to believe. It means we’re nearing the end of my high school sports career. It also means we’re only weeks away from the district championship, and based on Grandma Earl’s winning record, it looks like we’ll definitely be playing in it—and that Candlehawk, who remain undefeated except for their loss to us in the Christmas Classic, will be our opponent.

Danielle and I stay late after practice one night, passing the ball around while she works through a new play she wants to try with our team. We haven’t seen Coach Fernandez in two weeks; Danielle has been leading the charge entirely on her own. Tonight she alternates between consulting the play on her phone, directing me through the steps, and disappearing behind Danielle Vision. I watch her with new eyes, in awe of the way her brain works.

“Did you ever finish your Common App essay?” I ask when we’re walking to the parking lot. It’s freezing cold outside; my breath clouds the air when I speak.

“Yeah, it’s finished, but I haven’t submitted it yet. Why?”

“What did you end up writing about?”

“This anecdote about my family visiting the Museum of Bad Art and how Teddy went off on the tour guide about this octopus painting—what? What’s that look?”

“Danielle, you have to write about coaching our team.”

“I told you, I don’t wanna brag. I don’t wanna be all me-me-me.”

I stop walking. So does she. We face off near our cars.

“What?” Danielle prompts, teeth chattering.

“I love you,” I tell her firmly. “You’re a force to be reckoned with. I think you should stop hiding from people.”

She blinks. She looks completely dazed. “What?”

“You do realize that stepping up to coach your peers through a winning season is pretty extraordinary, right? Especially when you’re still maintaining straight As? You should tell the college admissions people that. You should let them see you. The real, genuine you. Authenticity, remember?”

Danielle swallows and looks away, embarrassed.

“Try it,” I plead, my arms shaking in the cold. “Just try the essay. I promise I’ll tell you if it’s too braggy. But, like, imagine if me or Kevin or Gunther wrote it! We’d brag about you the whole fucking time.”

“You think Kevin would brag about me?”

I roll my eyes. “You tell me.”

She gives me a crooked smile. “Yeah. He would.”

“So you’ll try it?”

She takes a deep breath. “I’ll try it. I’ll probably hate you the whole time, but I’ll do it.”

“Happy to be hated. It’s kinda my thing lately—”

We’re interrupted by a loud beeping over my shoulder. Someone is remote unlocking their car. We turn to see Irene pulling her duffel bag off her shoulder. She’s wearing a ridiculously long parka.

I look back to Danielle. “I think I’m gonna—”

“Yes. Go.”

She doesn’t need to tell me twice. I hurry across the parking lot, my duffel bag bouncing over my coat. “Hey! Irene!”

Irene looks around. Her expression turns softer than I could have hoped for. “Hi. What are you still doing here?”

“Helping Danielle. It’s getting pretty intense with the Candlehawk game coming up.”

Irene stiffens, and I feel like an idiot for saying the C-word.

“Intense because it’s the end of our season,” I clarify. “Not because I care about winning anymore.”

She tips her head, studying me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I smile at her. “So … nice coat. Aren’t those for people in, like, Minnesota?”

She narrows her eyes. “They’re for cold weather, asshole.”

“Arctic weather, Georgia girl.”

“I guess there’s no chance of fixing your dumb sense of humor during this healing process?”

“Unfortunately, that wasn’t part of the deal.” I grin until she rolls her eyes. It warms me to my bones. “Hey, so how are you? Are you ready for SAOY?”

“Yeah, I am.” Her eyes have that familiar spark in them. “I was just making more posters with Honey-Belle.”

“I’ve loved your posters so far.”

“Suck-up.” Her mouth twitches. “I guess you’ve heard Charlotte is back on her bullshit with all these rumors about me?”

I have to fight hard not to say something nasty about her. That’s not what Irene needs. “Yeah. I’m sorry you have to deal with that. It’s hard enough coming out. You shouldn’t have to prove it to anyone.”

“It’s not your fault. She’d find another angle if she had to.”

“Irene, can I ask you something?” I pause, letting the question formulate. It’s something I’ve been wondering for weeks, but it’s a delicate thing to ask. “That picture you have on your phone—the one of you and Charlotte kissing last year—why have you never showed it to her? To anyone? One look at that photo and Charlotte could never torture you again.”

Irene stares at me. Her expression is very serious. “Is that what you think I should do?”

I search her eyes. It’s clear she’s had this idea before. Maybe even considered it.

“No,” I say firmly. “I don’t think you should do that. Do you?”

“No. I haven’t and I never will.”

I swallow down the lump in my throat. I look at her and wonder, is this how it feels to love someone for who they really are? Their core being, their compass, their resolve?

“Irene—you’re a pretty incredible person.” My voice is quivering with emotion. What is it with me gushing to people tonight?

Irene blinks. Her steely gaze settles. “I’m not, Scottie. I just try to do better than I’ve done before.” She pauses. “Same as you.”

We smile at each other. I don’t want to end the conversation, but my body is numb with cold, yearning for the heat of my car. Besides, I have more healing to do.

“Good luck with SAOY,” I say, backing away from her. “I’ll be cheering for you.”

---

In the first week of February, our principal finally makes the announcement: Nominations for Student Athlete of the Year will be announced at the end of the day.

“Holy shit,” Danielle says as we’re sitting in morning homeroom. “I wonder how Irene’s feeling.”

I look up from the final version of her Common App essay, which she submitted last week, where I’ve been reading about how nervous Danielle was before our season opener. She has somehow managed to write about coaching our team in a way that is both powerful and humble. I’ve only counted one self-deprecating remark, and she’d written it in parentheses, so I count that as progress.

“She probably feels the way she does before a routine,” I say. “Anxious but excited.”

Danielle taps one of her color-coding highlighters on the desk. “God, I hope she gets it.”

“Me too.” I run through the list of possible candidates in my head, trying to see who could knock her out of the running. She has to be nominated with everything she does for both squads, right?

At lunch, the nominations are all anyone can talk about. Gunther and Danielle confirm they voted for Irene during preliminary ballots last week, but Kevin refuses to say who he voted for. We bug him over and over, but it’s no use; he keeps repeating “A man’s conscience is his own private terrain,” until Gunther squirts a ketchup packet at him.

By the time I get to Senior Horizons that afternoon, my stomach is in knots. I’m so nervous for Irene that I feel like it’s my nomination on the line. But when I glance across the room at her, she is poised and steely as ever. It’s not until we briefly meet each other’s eyes that I recognize her nerves. I nod encouragingly until she nods back.

When the end-of-day announcements finally come on, our principal prattles on about useless minutiae, plus another empty warning about messing with the marquee, before he clears his throat and announces the SAOY candidates.

“Darius Hart … Michael Lottke…,” he reads in his nasally voice. “Charlotte Pascal…”

There’s a surge of applause from half the people in the room. Charlotte smiles and tries to look demure, but to me she looks like a deranged sociopath. I hold my breath, pleading for Irene’s name.

“Irene Abraham…,” our principal drones.

“YES!” I shout, pounding my fist on the desk. My face flushes red, but it doesn’t matter: There’s enough noise from the rest of the classroom to cover up my outburst. Half my classmates are shouting some variation of “What? She’s a cheerleader!” while the other half are falling all over themselves to hug Irene. I forget myself and stand up to get a better look at her. She’s beaming, her smile radiant, her eyes as joyful as the old school picture on her Christmas tree.

“And, lastly, with a record number of write-in votes … Danielle Zander.”

Time freezes. My heart explodes in my chest. One fragile millisecond of silence—Danielle’s jaw falling open, her eyes wide and disbelieving—and then a roar of sound. People are shouting so loud my eardrums could burst. I’m wrapped around my best friend before I even realize it, and I’m squeezing her hands and yelling “You’re nominated! You’re nominated!” More people rush over to hug her—band kids and theater kids and every type of average kid—and when it finally hits her, she shines like a goddamn star.

The classroom is absolute chaos, people running to Charlotte or Irene or Danielle—or sometimes all three—while Mrs. Scuttlebaum yells in vain for us to sit down. Our principal is still talking on the intercom, but he’s nothing more than fuzzy white noise. And in the middle of the ruckus, in one lightning-hot moment, Irene meets my eyes and winks.

---

Later that day, after practice, the parking lot is rife with SAOY gossip. It’s unseasonably warm for February, and people are using the opportunity to hang out by their cars. Music streams across the lot, courtesy of the baseball team celebrating Darius Hart’s nomination. The soccer girls, fresh from practice, stretch on the grass near the marquee, which someone tweaked just this morning to read HAPPY VALENTITTIES DAY. Gunther and I sit on the trunk of my car, talking with Kevin, who just left the band room, and Danielle, who’s so hyper she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet. Again and again, we recap the moment her name was announced over the intercom. I’m bursting to go home and tell my family about it.

“Hey, Danielle, congratulations!” one of the band guys says as he passes by. He shifts his trumpet case and points to Kevin. “This guy has the best ideas. The second he told us he was writing you in, we all went for it. Anyway, good luck!”

Kevin flushes where he stands. Danielle blinks like she’s not sure what she heard.

“You wrote me in?” she asks. Her voice is tender. It’s such an intimate moment that I wish they could share it alone. Gunther and I trade awkward glances.

“Is that okay?” Kevin asks croakily. “I know I should’ve asked for your blessing, but I thought no one deserves it more than you—”

“Hey! Danielle!” Irene and Honey-Belle burst onto the scene. They smother Danielle with hugs; it takes her a moment to register they’re there. “Congratulations! This is incredible!”

Irene’s face is alight; she’s genuinely thrilled. Honey-Belle is so happy that she looks ready to float away from the earth.

“Oh—yeah—thanks!” Danielle says, hugging them back. “Congratulations to you, Irene!”

“I never thought I’d have two friends nominated!” Honey-Belle squeals. She spins over to Gunther and smushes his face between her hands. “Can you believe it? It’s like Christmas!”

Gunther grins like a total doof. “Coming from you, that really means something.”

I don’t realize I’m smiling so hard until my cheeks literally start to ache. I glance across the circle at Irene, who catches my eye and grins. It’s already occurred to me that I’m going to have to pick between her and Danielle on the voting form, but right now, I don’t care. There’s too much to be happy about.

Which, go figure, is the exact thing I’m thinking when Charlotte Pascal slithers up with her cronies.

“Oh god,” Danielle says, forgetting herself. “Come back later, Pascal, we’re closed to bullshit right now.”

My group snickers with laughter. Charlotte’s cheeks color pink, but her vicious eyes stay planted on us. “I just wanted to congratulate you, Danielle. It’s nice to see another hardworking female athlete nominated.”

My classmates, sensing a bloodbath, start to gather round. The parking lot quiets. Our circle of onlookers grows.

“You can stop baiting me with that word now,” Irene says in a bored voice. “We’re celebrating, Char. You should be doing the same thing. Go have fun.”

“I can’t believe you got a nomination,” Charlotte says in a slippery voice. “Especially when it’s clear you were trying to leverage gay points for the sympathy vote.”

A hush falls over the crowd. My pulse quickens warningly.

“I’m not interested in your opinion of my sexuality,” Irene says smoothly. “I know who I am and how I feel.”

“Yeah, see, that’s just not adding up for me. I think you were using Zajac. We all remember the tow truck incident, Irene. How do you go from terrorizing the poor girl to showing her off like arm candy? But I know how calculating you can be. You’re savvy enough to spin a story for your own gain. You took an underdog—an obviously gay underdog—and used her like an accessory to show that you learned your lesson, you could relate to everyone, you were a poor closeted gay girl—”

“That’s a complete lie!” I say, losing my temper. “God, Charlotte, why are you so hell-bent on torturing her?”

Charlotte narrows her eyes like I’m an insect that has suddenly become interesting to her. “I’m hell-bent on proving she’s a fraud. And so are you. I don’t know what’s in it for you with this whole scheme, but I do know you’re faking it. You don’t care about Irene. You’re in it for something else entirely. And I can prove it.”

She whips out her phone. Irene and I lock eyes. An infinite conversation passes between us.

“Yep, there we go,” Charlotte says. “Let me just post this little development to Instagram…”

There’s a heavy, protracted silence as everyone waits. Then one of the soccer girls looks at her phone and says, “Oh shit…”

In a flash, everyone is on their phone except for me, Irene, and our friends. We stay resolute as our peers gawk at their screens. The soccer girls roar with glee. The football guys elbow each other and laugh. The cheerleaders are silent as stone.

“Is that really true?” one of them asks Irene, thrusting her phone at her. Irene tries to look away, but the girl practically forces her to look. Irene’s jaw tightens. She digs a hand through her hair.

In spite of myself, I pull out my phone and look.

Just as Irene said, it’s a photo of Tally and me making out at the New Year’s Eve party, time-stamped with the date and location. It’s a little fuzzy from Charlotte zooming in on us, but there’s no doubt who it is. The caption overlaying the picture reads So Zajak was still hooking up with Gibson this whole time? I guess Irene really was just using her for show …

Everyone is staring when I look up. My friends’ faces are anxious. Everyone else’s is judgmental and wary. They look from me to Irene and back again. It’s dead silent until Irene finally speaks.

“You spelled Scottie’s name wrong,” she tells Charlotte, but her heart’s not in it. She turns and looks past me to Honey-Belle. “Come on, let’s hang those posters.”

“I wouldn’t bother,” Charlotte says triumphantly. “You’ve showed your true colors. I doubt anyone will vote for you now.”

There’s an outbreak of murmuring and laughter. Irene looks stricken. I feel ready to throw up. This whole fucked-up thing is my fault. I can deal with the consequences for my own life, but sabotaging Irene’s is something else entirely.

Gunther places his warm, stubby hand over mine. That’s when I realize I’m shaking. Irene and Honey-Belle retreat to their cars without a word, Charlotte and her entourage leave in triumph, and the rest of our classmates disperse. Then it’s just Danielle, Kevin, Gunther, and me, somber and silent by my car.

---

The next day, I seek out Charlotte after school. I literally chase her down the soccer field. I’ll be late for basketball practice, but Danielle will understand.

It’s just the two of us standing near midfield. Her teammates aren’t out of the changing rooms yet. Charlotte regards me, hands on her hips, almost like she expected me to come find her. I take a deep breath and say my piece.

“I want you to leave Irene alone,” I say without preamble. “Leave both of us alone.”

Charlotte smirks, confident that she has the upper hand. “Or what?”

I shrug. “Or nothing. I have nothing to hold over you. I’m simply asking you to stop. I get that losing her made you sad or bitter or whatever, but for fuck’s sake, find a healthier way to cope.”

She stares at me like I’ve gone insane. Her laugh is mechanical. “Losing her? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I stare at her. “Yes you do. You lost someone you loved, and you’re not even sure what kind of love it was in the first place, so now you’re turning into a manipulative narcissist who can’t stop craving Irene’s attention.”

Charlotte goes very, very still. “Whatever she told you, it’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” She looks ready to pounce, so I raise my hands. “And before you freak out, you should know that she told me in confidence and I’m not going to tell anyone else. But I get it: You’re hurting. You’re acting like a complete and utter asshole because you’re in pain. That’s not an excuse, but still. I know how it feels to be in love with someone and to lose her, and then make bad decisions because you miss her so much. I’ve been there. I get it. But I thought you should know it doesn’t have to be that way.”

Charlotte blinks. “I don’t understand your angle here. You hurt her. You’re no better than me.”

There’s the tiniest note of fragility in her voice. It nearly bowls me over. I just stand there, trying to figure out how to answer her. She’s not wrong, but we are not the same.

“Look, Scottie, whatever your deal is, I don’t know why you’re trying to explain it to me,” Charlotte says, shaking her head like she can shake off this entire conversation. “It’s the rest of the school you have to prove yourself to.”

“I don’t have to prove anything. My feelings are between Irene and me.”

She smiles almost pityingly, like she’s battle-worn and I’m naive. “Don’t be ridiculous. We have to prove everything. That’s what I do every time I step onto the field. That’s what you do every time you step onto the court. What we do when we walk these halls. What are we doing, if not proving ourselves?”

“Maybe we are,” I concede. “But I think we’d all be much happier if we just believed each other.”

Charlotte swallows. She looks like she wants to say something else, but instead she turns around and stalks off.

Her voice plays in my head all night. We have to prove everything. I think of Kevin trying to prove himself on guitar. Danielle trying to prove herself with test scores and leadership. Irene trying to prove herself to our whole school with one performance after another.

Irene on the sidelines, commanding attention, mirroring the crowd’s feelings back to them …

And that’s when it hits me.

I know what I have to do.