Authors: Karen M. McManus
Maeve
Thursday, March 19
Cooper tenses, winds up, and hurls a blistering fastball across home plate. The opposing batter looks like he’s swatting at a fly when he misses, and the entire stadium erupts into cheers. The batter, down on strikes, hurls his bat toward the dugout in frustration and stalks away.
“Poor sport,” Kris murmurs beside me, putting out an arm so Cooper’s grandmother, seated on his other side, can lean against him while she gets to her feet for a standing ovation. She does it every time Cooper strikes somebody out, which has been a lot this game. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
We’re at Goodwin Field at Cal State Fullerton on Thursday night, part of a capacity crowd watching Cooper pitch against UCLA. The stadium seating is like a horseshoe around the field, and we’re almost directly behind home plate in a section that’s full of Bayview High students, past and present. I got a ride here with Addy, who corralled Nate as soon as he showed up and is forcing him to be social. I think I caught a glimpse of Luis sitting with a bunch of Cooper’s ex-teammates, but I looked away before I could be sure. After two weeks of total silence, I don’t even know what I’d say if I ran into him tonight.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I expect a text from Bronwyn, who’s been checking in on Cooper throughout the game, but it’s just my mom asking what time I’ll be home. I still can’t get used to how quiet my phone is ever since I disabled the PingMe alerts. I’m glad I listened to Phoebe about that, especially since the Truth or Dare game ended on its own. I’d like to think whoever did it stopped out of respect for the fact that Bayview High is mourning Brandon, but it’s more likely they just realized they’d lost everyone’s attention.
Every once in a while I still wonder who was behind it all, and whether they had a personal grudge against Phoebe, Knox, and me. But I guess that doesn’t matter. My real problem is that I haven’t figured out how to make things up to Knox. Now that I’ve managed to alienate both him and Luis, my social circle has shrunk once again to Bronwyn’s friends.
Well, and Phoebe. At least she’s still speaking to me.
Cooper throws one of his infamous sliders, and the UCLA batter just stands there looking confused while it’s called a strike. “You might as well sit down right now, young man,” Cooper’s grandmother calls. “You’re already out.”
My mood lifts a little as I lean toward Kris. “Nonny heckling batters might be my favorite thing ever.”
He smiles. “Same. Never gets old.”
“Do you think Cooper will go to the majors next year?” I ask.
“Not sure.” Kris looks extra-cute in a green polo that brings out his eyes, his dark hair full of golden glints from sitting in so many baseball stadiums. “He’s really torn. He loves being at school, and the team has been great. Not just about baseball, but—everything.” Kris gestures wryly to himself. “The majors, on the other hand, still aren’t particularly welcoming to gay players. It’d be a tough transition, especially with all the added pressure. But the reality is, his game won’t advance the way it needs to if he stays at the college level much longer.”
I watch Cooper on the mound, disconcerted by how impossible it is to recognize him from this distance. With his hat pulled low over his face, he could be anyone. “How do you make that choice?” I ask, almost to myself. “Between what you need and what you want?” I feel like my sister’s going through her own version of that.
Kris’s eyes are on Cooper, too. “You hope they become the same thing, I guess.”
“What if they don’t?”
“I have no idea.” Kris sucks in a breath as the batter makes contact with Cooper’s next pitch, but it’s a harmless grounder that the shortstop fields easily. “The Padres keep checking in,” he adds. “They really want him, and they have a high draft position this year.”
“Would it be an easier decision if he could stay local? He’d still have to travel a ton, obviously, but at least he’d be close to home.”
I don’t mean Bayview, exactly, and I think Kris knows that. He allows himself a small smile. “It might.”
I smile back through a tangle of conflicting emotions. On one hand, it feels strange to be here with dozens of other Bayview High students in such a cheerful atmosphere, two weeks after Brandon died. On the other, it’s a relief to be focused on something positive for a change. I’m happy for Kris and Cooper, because they deserve every good thing, and I’m excited about their future.
Not so much about mine, though.
I push up the sleeve of my long-sleeved T-shirt to trace the outline of another bruise. I feel like a peach left too long on a windowsill, right before it collapses on itself. Deceptively smooth on the outside, but slowly rotting at the core.
And then I feel it: moisture trickling through my nose again.
Oh no. Not here.
I grab a tissue from my bag and press it against my face, rising to my feet at the same time. “Bathroom,” I say to Kris, stepping over him and Nonny with a murmured apology on my way to the aisle. The steps are clear, with nearly everyone in their seats and focused on Cooper, so I’m able to make my way to the women’s room quickly. I don’t look at the tissue until I’m in a stall with the door locked behind me.
Bright red.
I collapse onto the toilet seat and the tears come, silently but so hard that my shoulders shake. Despite my best efforts at pretending none of this is happening, it is, and I don’t know what to do. I feel isolated, hopeless, terrified, and just plain exhausted. Tears mix with blood as I swipe tissue after tissue over my face, until I finally rip at least three feet of toilet paper out of the dispenser and bury my head in the entire thing.
Both the tears and the nosebleed stop around the same time. I stay where I am for at least another inning, letting my breathing even out and my heart rate slow. Then I stand, flush my mass of tissues and toilet paper, and leave the stall. I splash water on my face at the sink, staring at my reflection in the hazy mirror. Could be worse. My eyes aren’t all that red, and I’m not wearing any makeup to smudge. I run a brush through my tangled hair, wash my hands, and step outside onto the concourse.
The restrooms are around the corner from the concession stand, and the first thing I see is a small knot of familiar faces: Sean, Jules, Monica, and Luis. Jules is wrapped so tightly around Sean that she’s in danger of spilling the tray of snacks he’s holding. Monica keeps touching Luis’s arm, batting her eyelashes at him. They’re all laughing and joking like they’re on the greatest double date of their lives and don’t have a care in the world.
For a second, I hate them all.
“All right, man, thanks,” Luis says, handing something to Sean. “I gotta go.”
Monica gives a flirty little pout. “You’re not
leaving,
are you?” she asks. “After we bought all these snacks? Somebody has to share the popcorn with me.”
“No way. I wouldn’t miss Coop. I’ll see you guys back in the seats, okay?” The other three turn away, still laughing, and Luis heads in my direction. I should duck into the women’s room again, but my legs refuse to cooperate.
He stops a few feet away when he spots me. “Maeve, hey.” His brow furrows as he looks more closely. “Everything okay?”
Maybe my eyes aren’t quite as normal as I’d hoped. “Fine,” I say. I cross my arms and push away the memory of my crying spell in the bathroom. “He’s an asshole, you know.”
“What?” Luis turns around, like he thinks I’m talking about someone behind him. “Who?”
“Sean. He’s been horrible to Knox and Phoebe and…other people.”
“Oh. Yeah, well, we played ball together, so.” He shrugs like that’s the only explanation needed. My temper spikes and I’m glad for the distraction.
“So you’re
bros,
” I say sarcastically. “Awesome.”
Luis goes still, his eyes narrowing. “What does that mean?”
“It means you all stick together, don’t you? Dudebros unite, and who cares about anyone else.” My skin prickles with residual fear, misplaced anger, and something else I can’t put a name to. “I guess he can do whatever he wants as long as he throws a ball far enough.”
“Dudebro,” Luis says flatly. “That’s what you think of me?”
“That’s what you are.” I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. All I know is that it feels good to unleash some of the frustration that’s been building inside me for weeks.
His jaw ticks. “I see. Is that why you dropped off the face of the earth?”
“I didn’t—” I pause. Okay, maybe I did. But he didn’t knock himself out looking for me, either. My nose tingles, and dread rushes up my spine. Another nosebleed is going to start again soon, I can tell. “I have to go. Enjoy your
popcorn.
”
Oh. So that’s the other thing I’m feeling. Jealous.
“Hang on.” Luis’s voice is commanding enough that I pause. His shoulders are squared, his face tense. “I was hoping to run into you tonight. I wanted to get your number, finally.” My heart does a stupid leap despite itself, then crashes back down when he adds, “Now that I know how you feel about
dudebros,
I won’t bother you, but there’s still something I want to send you. It’s for Knox, actually, but you’re the one here, so.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Can you tell me your number? Once you have these you can go ahead and delete me from your phone or your life or whatever.”
I’m seized with regret, but also with the certainty that I’m about to start bleeding in front of him. I recite my number quickly, and Luis presses a few keys before putting his phone away. “Might take a while to come through. They’re big files. Tell Knox I hope it helps.”
He strides away just as a trickle of blood escapes my nose. It starts to fall faster, even dripping onto my shirt, but I don’t move to wipe it away. I don’t know what just happened, other than the fact that I was horrible to Luis for no good reason, and trampled whatever might’ve been going on between us straight into the ground.
Which sucks, but it’s not even close to my biggest problem right now.
“Maeve. What the
fuck.
”
I look up to see Nate carrying a full cup of soda in each hand, his eyes flicking from my face to the blood on my shirt. I’ve never told him what nosebleeds mean for me, but from the look on his face, Bronwyn did. Something breaks inside me, and before I can get hold of myself, I start crying again.
Nate tosses both sodas into a nearby trash can without another word. He puts an arm around me and leads me out of the main concourse to a side area with a few scattered picnic tables. It’s not private, exactly, but we’re the only ones there. He sits us both down, his arm still wrapped around my shoulders. I collapse into him, sobbing against his chest for I don’t know how long. Nate keeps pulling crumpled napkins out of his pocket until he runs out and I have to press them together in a damp, bloodstained mess. All I can think, while I clutch Nate’s jacket and he keeps a steady hand on my arm, is that I’m finally not alone with this.
When I sit up at last, wiping my eyes, he says, “Bronwyn didn’t tell me.”
I dig a tissue out of my purse and blow my nose. “She doesn’t know.”
Nate’s dark-blue eyes widen. “Your parents didn’t tell her?”
“They don’t know, either. Nobody does.”
“Maeve. What the
fuck,
” he says again. It doesn’t seem like the sort of comment that needs a reply, so I don’t. “But doesn’t this…I mean, just to make sure I’m understanding things here. This is something that happens when you relapse, right?” I nod. “So you can’t…You have to…Why? Why would you keep something like this to yourself?”
My voice is low and hoarse. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
“What what’s like?” Nate asks.
“Relapsing.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s just—everything changes. Everyone is sad. Normal life stops and we all climb on this miserable treatment roller coaster that only goes down. It’s horrible and it hurts in every way possible, and the worst thing is, it
doesn’t work.
” I’d start crying again if I weren’t completely spent. I sag against Nate’s shoulder instead, and his arm tightens around me. “It never works for long. Four years is the longest ever. I thought maybe I’d never have to do it again and I…I don’t know if I can.”
Nate is quiet for a few seconds. “Okay,” he says finally. “I get that. But this is your
life
, Maeve. You have to try. Don’t you think?”
I’m so unbelievably tired. If I closed my eyes now, I’d sleep for days. It’s not a comforting thought. “I don’t know.”
“If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for your family, okay?” Nate’s voice gets urgent. “Think about your mom and dad. And Bronwyn. How would they feel if you…If something happens, they’ll drive themselves crazy wondering whether things could have been different if you’d trusted them enough to tell them.”
I stiffen. “It’s not about
trust.
”
“But that’s what they’ll think.” I don’t reply, and he presses. “You know it’s what Bronwyn will think. She’ll blame herself for not being here, or not guessing. And it will eat at her for the rest of her life.”
Damn him. He just poked my Achilles’ heel, and he knows it. When I sit up, he already looks relieved. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll talk to my parents.”
As soon as I say it, a wave of relief crashes over me, washing away some of the dread that’s been building for weeks. It hits me, then, how badly I’ve wanted to tell them, but I’d let myself get frozen with fear and indecision. I needed a push.
Nate exhales a long breath. “Thank Christ.”
“You need to do something for me in return, though,” I warn. He raises his eyebrows, quizzical. “Get your head out of your ass when it comes to my sister.”
Nate’s surprised laugh breaks the tension enough that I smile, too. “Listen, Maeve. You don’t have to worry about Bronwyn and me. We’re endgame.”
I wipe a stray tear from the corner of my eye. “What does that mean?”
“It means we’ll wind up together eventually. It might take a year for us to sort everything out, or two, or ten. Whatever. But it’ll happen.”
“Maybe you should tell
her
that,” I suggest.
He gives me that famous Nate Macauley grin that always turns my sister into a puddle. “She knows. She might not admit it yet, but she knows.”