I pull my coat around myself. Kat’s right, I know it. I know better than to wallow like this. I lost a whole year of my life after I tried to kill myself over what Reeve did. I can’t let that happen again.
“Thank you.” I say it and I truly mean it, from the bottom of my heart. Because there is one big difference between then and now. Now I have friends looking out for me.
I do homework until I can’t stand the sight of my textbooks, and then I go for a walk down to Main Street. A ferry pulls into the dock, and the first vehicle to drive off is a school bus packed full of football players. The windows are painted with different numbers and trash talk like Drown Those Gulls!
Sheesh.
I guess we’ve got a football game tonight.
I wonder if Reeve will go.
I make my way over to the field. I don’t plan to stay for long,
but it’s easy to find a seat in the bleachers. There’s about half the crowd, maybe even less, than showed up to cheer on the team at homecoming. I guess that’s what losing your star player will do. The first game after homecoming weekend, after Reeve got hurt, we lost. Badly. Our backup quarterback, Lee Freddington, didn’t complete a single pass.
A group of cheerleaders is huddled together, practicing their “De-fense! De-fense! De-fense!” clap. I figure we’ll be hearing that cheer a lot more now that our team no longer has an offense. The rest of them mill about casually on the sidelines, like this is a practice and not a game night. Rennie’s sitting cross-legged on the grass, looking at her phone. Lillia and Ashlin are near the players’ bench, talking to each other. Lillia sees me and beams me a smile. I smile back.
The announcer welcomes the opponents, and then our cheerleaders line up and make their way toward the field-house gate, to great our team as they take the field. I watch Teresa Cruz navigate her way to the front of the pack. I guess since she cheers for Lee Freddington, the backup QB, she’s more important now.
Rennie sees this, and she positions herself right in front of Teresa.
Reeve is the first one out of the field house. He has his jersey on and a pair of warm-up pants, the same thing he wore to school today. As soon as he appears, everyone in the bleachers stands up and cheers for him. It’s not the level of enthusiasm that Reeve got at the start of the season. This is more muted applause. Respectful. A courtesy.
Reeve tries to go as fast as he can on his crutches, but the ground is soft from the rain we got this week, and his crutches sink into the turf. The faster Reeve tries to go, the deeper he sinks, and it slows him down.
The other players burst out of the locker room. They try to stay behind Reeve, letting him still be their leader, but Reeve is going so slow they bottleneck behind him.
Then along the side of the pack comes Lee Freddington. He passes right by Reeve, as if he isn’t even there, and takes the lead. It’s like Lee Freddington grants them all permission, because then the rest of the players pass Reeve too. Reeve ends up being one of the last in the pack, with Alex, PJ, the team trainer, and the water boys who have to lug the coolers. I can see Reeve getting more and more frustrated. At one point the toe of his cast drags against the field, filling the space between it and his toes with clumps of grass and dirt. His face turns bright red, like he’s about to boil over.
I stop clapping and sit on my hands. It’s stupid. I know it probably makes me weak. It’s just that Reeve is so completely unprepared for this. He doesn’t know how to handle being on the outside. He’s so used to being the center of it all. It’s almost painful to watch; it’s as if the moon and the stars have been banished from the heavens and forced to be mortal like the rest of us.
I wanted Reeve to get in big trouble, to lose what made him feel so confident, so superior to everyone else. And he did deserve what was coming to him, I know that. But a part of me wishes it never had to get to that point. That we didn’t have to break him for him to learn his lesson.
The first quarter of the game, we play as terribly as expected. Lee Freddington gets the ball back at the start of the second quarter. On his first chance to pass, he almost gets tackled by the other team. Our coach calls a time-out and starts yelling at the guys on defense.
I watch Reeve seek out Lee Freddington on the sideline and give him some tips. He’s been doing this all game long. But Lee hardly looks at him. He barely even makes eye contact. And not because he’s embarrassed. Because he thinks he doesn’t need the help.
Right before the time-out ends, Lee Freddington walks over to Alex Lind. He drapes his arm over his shoulder and seems to whisper something. Reeve is watching this, his jaw set.
A second later, our team rushes back on the field. Lee leads the huddle, and when the ball snaps, he pulls his arm back like he’s going to really go for it. Way downfield, Alex Lind is outrunning another player. Lee throws the ball, a tight spiral, and it lands right in Alex’s arms.
Touchdown.
I get up to leave while PJ kicks the extra point. As I pass by the sideline, the cheerleaders are lining up to do their individual player cheers for that play. Teresa Cruz steps to the front, and I see Rennie charge up and grab her by the sweater.
“What are you doing?”
“Lee threw a touchdown. I’m doing his player cheer.”
Rennie gives her a look like she’s an idiot. “Alex caught a touchdown. He’s the one who scored the points.”
Teresa huffs. “But we always do the QB cheer—”
“Reeve’s our quarterback. Lee is second-string trash.”
Rennie steps up and shouts Reeve’s cheer so loud I see him shrink on the bench.
Rennie thinks she knows what Reeve needs, but she doesn’t have a clue. He doesn’t want everyone looking at him. He wants to be left alone.
I get up from my seat and begin my walk home. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Leave Reeve alone. Even more than that, I’ll rewire my brain so that I don’t think about him, don’t feel anything for him. It’s the only way.
Back at the house, I find Aunt Bette in the living room. She’s in the dark, sitting on the floor with candles burning all around her. Wax is pooling in puddles on the hardwood. My dad would flip out if he saw that. He always says the floors are his favorite part of the house. They’re cedar, the most beautiful strawberry-blond color.
“I’m home,” I say, stepping into the room. Aunt Bette startles. Now that I’m closer, I see that she has a piece of linen spread out in front of her. It’s covered with piles of dried leaves and herbs. She’s putting them into small bundles and binding them up with twine.