14. Alex

14

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Must be nice being a pitcher.

I wondered how Brayden was going to handle logging the study hall hours he's short on for the month. Tiff has really cracked down on academics thanks to the goddamn basketball team's fake grades scandal last year, but based on the database, it looks like someone took care of it for him.

Probably one of the grad student coaches. They can get in here without leaving a record, and Coach wouldn't want to get his hands dirty. I don't put it past him to insinuate that someone else should, though, as long as there's no straight line to his office.

I clock in for my time and hover over Brayden's name for a second, entertaining for a second the fantasy of just hitting delete. I don't, though. And I won't say anything because that would be petty; it's for the good of the team that we keep Brayden eligible. His grades are fine. It's study hall.

Honestly, it's also probably good for me that he's not here to show his face because I'm still not sure I'm ready to handle seeing it. I hope that lip of his is fat as fuck.

I drag my backpack to my usual table and flop it in the center. I didn't bring my laptop today and I'm caught up on my reading. I literally have nothing to do, but I have to sit in here anyway and pass two hours of study time because some basketball player couldn't pass general math.

This idle time is bad for me. My mom left me a message this morning and I haven't been able to call her back yet. She's filing for divorce—officially. Well, they both are, but it's her decision. Everything gets to be her decision as far as I'm concerned.

When I pull my phone out to shoot my mom a text I see one I've missed from Nikki.

NIKKI: I'm not feeling great, won't make study hall. Sorry

I'm more let down than usual that she's not coming, and I feel selfish for it, especially since she's sick. I find I'm anxious to get back to her when I'm away. Not that I haven't always enjoyed every second I spend with her, but there's this tether between us now. I feel like she's starting to breathe for me, and without her, my lungs never seem quite as full.

ME: It's OK. I don't have anything to do so I'm sure I would drive you nuts. I'll come by as soon as my time is up.

I think about adding a heart but hit send without one instead. It would be sweet, but hearts are not really our thing. At least, I don't think it's our thing. One more agenda item I need to mentally add to our much overdue talk.

I'm about to open my sports app so at least I can stream a game while I'm in here when she texts me back.

NIKKI: It's all right. I'm probably just going to sleep. I'll call you if I wake up before dinner.

Okay. Now, I'm worried.

I flatten the phone on the table and scan the study hall space. It's filling up, and it's one of the track coaches sitting in the office today, monitoring poorly with his back to the door. I'm cool with those guys anyhow, and they don't give two shits about the school's policy since they're track and always get the short end of the stick in sports funding. I move my bag from the table and set it on the floor next to my right leg, leaving the strap in my hand while I wait for the perfect moment.

I spot Cole after a few seconds and nod as he checks in. I get to my feet as he walks over, but wait at my seat. He stops next to me and his brow draws in when he spots my bag dangling from my hand.

"Don't be stupid," he says under his breath as his eyes flit back to my face.

My head tilts to the side as I sigh.

"I'm not. I logged in already and it's the track guys. Nikki's sick, and I?—"

Cole smirks.

"Don't fucking start," I warn him, but there's a small part of me that also likes how right he has been all along.

"I'm not starting anything. Just, it's sweet that you want to risk ineligibility so you can take your girlfriend soup. That's all." His lips pucker like one of those gossipy women that go get their hair done with my mom. She used to take me with her when I was little, and the stories they told probably gave me more sex education than the actual course taught at our high school.

"Just, sit in my seat, would you? So it looks like you were always here. I guarantee they aren't watching that closely." I slide my chair back a few more inches and nudge him to hurry.

"Yeah, yeah. I got your back," Cole says, taking my seat and dropping his own backpack at his feet. He glances up at me with the smile of a six-year-old.

"What?" I ask, checking the office door one more time. It's open but the coach inside is still sitting with his feet up and his back to the room.

"Are you going to scoot my chair in like a gentleman?" His lips quirk into this tight fucking smug expression as he barely contains his laugh.

"You're an ass, Cole. Get to work," I say, leaving him to snicker quietly like Cookie Monster behind me.

I slip back out the door without a sound and, luckily, don't run into anyone else from the team on my way out. I go the long way just to be safe, circling the media center and walking along the street to avoid the sports offices on my way to the campus café. Cole's soup idea was a good one, so I stop and pick up chicken tortilla along with a bag of Fritos and peanut butter MMs, Nikki's favorite. Five minutes later, I'm at her door. I sent her a quick text in case she really is sleeping. I don't want to scare her.

ME: Knock knock

I hold my breath while the message delivers, and I'm relieved when the reply dots pop up.

NIKKI: Who's there?

She adds the eyerolling emoji and I chuckle loud enough from outside her door she has to hear me. I respond just in case.

ME: Alex

Her door opens about a second later and her eyes widen with surprise.

"What are you doing here?" Her gaze drops to the soup in my palm, which my phone is balancing on precariously.

"Could you?" I nod toward the dangerous Jenga combo in my hand.

"Oh, yes," she says, grabbing my phone in one hand and the soup in the other.

I step inside and she closes her door behind me. She's still wearing what I assume she went to class in this morning, minus her sneakers. Whatever's going on must not be a head cold or a stomach bug because when Nikki gets those she wears the wallowing look well.

"Before you freak out, I'm covered. I logged in and it's the track coaches' day." She nods, knowing the inner workings of the Tiff sports staff fairly well, having been at my side for three years.

"Still, you didn't have to?—"

I press my finger to her lips to halt her and lower my gaze.

"I wanted to come. Now, get in bed and let me take care of you," I command.

Her lips pucker into a bashful smile and she ekes out a soft, "Okay."

I fluff her blanket and build a backrest of pillows, then coax her to sit while I help remove the lid from the soup I brought.

"You have Fritos?" she asks when she notes the soup flavor. It's a tradition she and I have, and it drives our moms nuts. We add Fritos on top of everything, which they say is basically like putting ketchup on a gourmet steak. I'm pretty sure the café soup is far from gourmet. I think it's closer to mass canned.

I pull the bag of chips from my backpack and tear the top open with my teeth while she claps. I sprinkle a few onto the soup then climb into her bed to sit next to her with the rest of the bag.

"I don't think it's hot," I say, watching her blow on her first spoonful.

"You're right. It's never hot," she says, laughing. She takes her first bite, the Frito crunch bringing a bigger smile to her face.

"Best medicine ever?" I offer.

She nods.

I reach over and feel her head, checking for a fever, but she shakes her head and pushes my hand away.

"I'm not sick like that," she says.

I flush with instant sweat and feel the blood drain from my face as my mouth hangs open. Nikki takes another bite and turns her gaze to me, forehead crinkling when she sees my face, pausing with the spoon in her mouth. She studies me for a second, then her eyes flash wide.

"No! No, no, Alex. I am not pregnant. Jesus! Have you been talking to my mom?" She laughs at my conclusion, but I'm still trying to dig my heart out from the depths of my throat.

"I have an ear thing going on. Like an infection or something. I got drops," she says, motioning to a white paper bag on her desk.

"Oh, thank God! Because I'm not sure I can handle another bomb today. Not that you being . . . well . . . you're not a bomb, just?—"

"Shhh," she says, pinching my lips closed. She wiggles her other finger at me. "Stop before you make it worse."

I smile, breaking free from her hand and pressing a kiss to her open palm.

"You said another bomb. What's the first bomb?" She offers me a bite of her soup, but I shake my head and dive into the extra Fritos.

"Seems the divorce is officially on.".

Nikki stops eating and turns her body into me.

"Alex, I'm really sorry." I hold her gaze for a second and see so many memories of both of our families together reflected in her eyes. It was rare that both our dads were together, hers being gone often for his job and mine living on the field at the high school. But when they were, it was always happy. Our households felt like one. And now, it feels like everything is crumbling. And I know part of Nikki feels that too.

She moves her bowl toward me. I take it from her and lean to my side to set it on her desk.

"I'll get used to it. And I know it's for the best. I mean, I'm shocked my mom started with the separation part but I don't really know how a divorce proceeding goes. Maybe she had to go through the steps." I shrug and wonder in an instant if this is what Nikki and my future will be. I shake the thought away fast, the mere presence of it terrifies me. Not the marrying her part but the separating stuff.

"I'm sure your mom did what was best for her and is doing what is best for you both," Nikki says, sliding down to rest her head in my lap.

I've taken care of her when she's sick before. But now, she feels more precious. I run my hand through her hair and try to picture the scene in my head, my parents at the county courthouse handing over papers, signing, shaking. So cold and so quick. I'm not sure how long I let my mind wander, but when I look back down to my lap, Nikki's asleep.

I'm not sure which ear bothers her, but she probably should have put drops in before napping. The least I can do is get things ready for her and make sure she does it as soon as she wakes up. I slip out from under her and replace my leg with one of her pillows so I can unpackage her prescription from student health. The drops seem pretty cut and dried, but the bottle is enormous. When I have an ear infection, I usually get something about the size of a thimble. This thing rivals a travel shampoo.

I read the back, looking for the dosage, but pause on a very specific word—neuroma.

My pulse ratchets up. I reach for the bag again, holding it upside down and emptying the contents onto her desk. There's a stack of papers folded in half, so I start there. The first page looks like her discharge paperwork, and I see that word again. I pull my phone out and search the term, relieved when it comes up with another key word—benign. My heart slows again, but I'm still on edge as I read.

It"s in her ear, and it causes vertigo, which makes sense. She's had a few issues with that lately, and she's also had some headaches. All of it feels digestible, and then I flip to the next page.

This is her bomb. A bomb of her own. That she was going to hold on to and protect and who knows what else—ignore, maybe? My eyes scan the header on the page.

HEARING LOSS FROM ACOUSTIC NEUROMA

I stumble back a step but catch myself before making a sound. I pull her chair out slowly from under her desk and continue reading. There's a lot of pages about surgery, and then a whole list of referrals. When I'm done, I fold the papers back as they were and tuck them inside her bag. I've broken about a million HIPAA laws, I'm sure, but how could I not? It's Nikki. It's Nikki's dream.

It"s . . . it's Nikki.

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