Authors: Dandi Daley Mackall

Crazy in Love (21 page)

BOOK: Crazy in Love

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She proceeds to give herself ten cards, Alicia fourteen, and me six. “Pass three cards,” she commands.

We obey. Sandy passes one. And the game goes on, as only “Go Sandy” can.

“So how’s school really going?” I ask.

“Not bad, except for algebra.”

“Is it really hard?”

“I’m not going to pass it.”

I’m not sure what to say. Alicia and I never got As, but we never got Fs either. “What happened? What are you going to do?” I’m thinking it’s a scary way to start a career at the university.

On command, Alicia gives Sandy all her black cards. “I got a little distracted.”

“I hear that,” I say, wishing we could talk about our mutual “distractions.”

“First thing I told the rents as I walked in the door was that their little girl is failing math.”

“Did your mom go postal on you?” I ask.

"She would have, except for a little thing called ‘freshman forgiveness.’”

“Give me all your cards with cats on them,” Sandy requests. Then she laughs her head off as we hand over every single card we’re holding.

“So what’s freshman forgiveness?” I ask.

“Your first semester, you can fail a course, ask for freshman forgiveness, and they wipe it off your record. It’s like you never took the class, never failed.”

“Sweet! Like a grown-up version of do-overs, huh?” I’m thinking this is a concept I’d like to see sweep the nation.

Sandy carefully sets down all of the cards, arranging them meticulously in no particular order I can make out. “I win!”

Alicia fingers the cards and screws up her face. “Rats! You did win. And here I thought I might have a chance at last.” She stands up from the table. “What time’s your game tomorrow, Sandy?”

“Seventy-eleven,” she answers, without a moment’s hesitation. Time in Sandy’s world is always either seventy-eleven or thirty-fourteen.

I stand and stretch, too. The chairs in Sandy’s room are the same size they were in elementary school days, when we fit into them. “Translated into Illinois Standard Time, that would be four-thirty,” I clarify.

“Great. I’ll see you guys at Roy Dale.” She moves toward the door.

“What?” She can’t possibly be leaving. She’s barely been here an hour, and we haven’t even talked about Colt or Jackson.

“I gotta jet,” she says.

Sandy doesn’t protest, but she slumps in her chair and stops gathering cards.

“I thought we could talk, Alicia. You could stay all night, since Colt’s not here.”

She shakes her head. “I’m really tired.”

“But I need to talk!”

“I’m not leaving town or anything. We can talk tomorrow. ” She waves to Sandy. “Can’t wait to see you play, kid. Go, Dragons!” And she walks away.

I feel like punching her in the face. But all I see is her back as she leaves Sandy’s room. She’s supposed to be my best friend. I can’t believe she’s doing this.

I run after her and catch her in the entry as she’s slipping into her jacket. “Alicia, why are you acting like this?”

She frowns. “Acting like what?”

“Like you don’t want to be here? Like you don’t care that I need to talk to you? Like . . . like a jerk!”

“Excuse me?” She looks smug, superior. “Who’s acting like a jerk?”

“Both of us!” I shout. I see Dad and Uncle Jim and Ex Secs staring over at us, so I lower my voice. “Listen. I have to talk to you about Jackson.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get all high school on me, Ettermeyer. ”

I stiffen. That one hurt.

“We’ll talk later. Okay?” She says this like I’m five and she’s promising to take me out for an ice cream. “Just not tonight.” She walks out, leaving the front door open and winter pouring in.

The Main Event

Friday morning I
get my hair done (it looks great), my nails done (they feel great), and I shop at Victoria’s Secret (not too racy, but nothing my mother would wear either). The shopping spree takes longer than I expect, but it gives me empathy for what Robbie and Pretzel Boss must be going through at the mall on THE day.

Part of me feels like Christmas, thinking about being with Jackson tonight. Another part of me is scared for the same reason. And another part is sad, thinking about Alicia. Plus, the voices in my head are at it again:

Plain Jane:
Why did you have your hair styled like this? It’s too fancy.

M.J.:
Your hair looks hot! You’re sexy.

Plain Jane:
Are you sure you want to do this with Jackson? I don’t remember you making up your mind.

M.J.:
True. You didn’t actually make up your mind, but so what? Just let things happen. Tonight is the biggest night in your whole life.

I ride to Sandy’s big game with Mom and Dad just in case Jackson gets back in time and meets me there. Sandy’s in the backseat with me. She’s smiling like she doesn’t feel an ounce of pressure.

As we turn a corner, I catch Sandy’s profile. For a second I can’t breathe. She looks old—her age anyway, nineteen. That’s when I remember Chris and the mystery phone call.

“Hey, Sandy,” I whisper.

Mom and Dad are safely occupied in a discussion about fixing the garage door that’s started not staying down again. Their mature conversation is going something like: Dad: “I can fix it myself.” Mom: “No, you can’t.” Dad: “Yes, I can.”

Sandy turns and grins at me. “Yes, Marwyjan?”

“I was talking to Red at your last game.”

“I like Red.”

“She likes you. She says her brother Chris likes you, too.”

Sandy nods. There’s not a trace of embarrassment on her face. But she’s not volunteering any information.

I press on. “Red says Chris called you.”

“On the phone,” Sandy elaborates.

“Yeah? Anyway, Red says Chris asked you if he could kiss you.”

She grins a little bigger.

“So,” I try, “did he? Did Chris ask if he could kiss you?”

She nods.

“What did you say?”

Her face scrunches up like she’s trying to remember the exact words. “No, thank you, Chris.” She smiles again.

“That’s it?”

“Yep.” She goes back to staring out the window as we cruise into the Roy Dale parking lot.

It’s amazing how crowded Roy Dale gym is. The Richmond Raiders are here in full force. I wander all the way to the top of the bleachers instead of sitting with the rents. I fold my coat next to me, saving a seat in case the real Alicia shows up, the old Alicia I could talk to.

The game starts, and Sandy gets sent in after five minutes of play. I remember to yell, “Go, Dragons!” instead of “Go, Sandy!” I can hear my parents screaming the same thing from their post several yards over.

I can tell Sandy hears me. She turns and looks up into the stands, then grins when she spots me. Her gaze moves on, sweeping the bleachers, and I know she’s looking for Alicia. I could wring Alicia’s neck for not being here for my sister.

For the next few minutes, Sandy is more of an on-the-court spectator than a player. But she gets the ball a couple of times when it rolls right to her. Then she dribbles and passes it off, like it’s too hot to hold. Watching my sister is such a kick that I forget about everything else for a while.

“Sweet! Sandy’s in!” Alicia hands me my coat and plops next to me. She’s not wearing any makeup today, except mascara, but she’s sporting an SIU sweatshirt, just in case anybody would ever forget she’s in college now. “How’s she doing?”

“Okay.” I turn back to the court. I don’t want to say anything else to Alicia because everything I’m thinking about saying is filled with nastiness.

"Go, Sandy!” Alicia shouts.

“Don’t yell that,” I snap. “You know she wants us to cheer for the team and not just for her.”

“Well, excuse me,” she fires back. “Oh, I get it. You’re all hurt because I’m late. Or is it because I didn’t come home on Wednesday? Or that I left too early for you last night? It’s hard to keep up with your personal injuries, Ettermeyer.”

That hurts. But I’m not about to let her see it. “I don’t care when you come or go, Alicia. Because you know what? You’re not the Alicia I used to know.”

“So that’s it,” she says in that same smug tone. “You’re all upset because I’ve changed at college? Because I’m Colt’s girlfriend and not high-school Alicia anymore?”

“Maybe you’re right,” I say evenly. “Maybe that
is
it. All I know is I don’t like Colt’s girlfriend very much.”

I expect her to storm off, but she doesn’t. I think about sitting somewhere else, but I was here first. And this is where Sandy will look for me if she wants to see me during the game.

I try to block Alicia out of my head, pretend she’s not here, and just watch the game.

With only a minute left in the first half, Michelle sends Larry out. It’s a total surprise move on our competitive coach’s part, and I get the feeling she wants to get it over with while we have a decent lead.

Larry seems even more nervous than usual and stands farther out of bounds, closer to the bleachers than to the court.

The whistle blows, and the game goes on anyway. Sandy walks over to Larry, even though the other players are rushing to the far court. She’s smiling at Larry, who rocks back and forth, holding his arms as if that’s all that keeps him from falling apart.

When she’s a foot from him, she stops. Then she holds out her hand. Larry stares at it. His arm moves toward hers, then slaps back into that self-hug. But Sandy keeps her hand where it is. And after one more false start, Larry reaches out and lets her take his hand in hers.

I don’t think anyone in the bleachers is watching the game. The gym has turned silent. Everybody knows what’s happening, what it means. Even the Richmond parents and fans, who’ve never seen Larry before, know, the way soldiers in battle know soldiers they’ve never met before because they’re all part of the same struggle.

He takes a step, and she steps with him. Another step. And another. Until he’s inbounds. And still Sandy leads him farther out onto the court. They move closer to the basket. They’re almost to the free throw line. We’re all on our feet. The only sound in the gym is the
thump thump
of the basketball, the occasional squeak of a tennis shoe.

Then Sandy shouts to Chris, “Throw me the ball, Chris!”

Chris turns, and in that instant he must understand. He stops dribbling and throws Sandy the ball. She lets go of Larry’s hand, catches the ball, and hands it to him.

Larry takes the ball. And as if his arms are on springs, they stretch out instantly, shooting the ball. It misses, but it hits the backboard hard, with a
bong!

Larry took a shot, in a real game.

The whole place explodes in cheers. There’s no score, but it’s the biggest victory we’ve ever seen. The roar of the crowd is so loud that Larry covers his ears and rocks back and forth. But his face says it all. His eyes disappear in a huge smile I’ve never seen before.

The Dragon bench empties, and Larry’s teammates circle him, jumping and clapping as the buzzer sounds the end of the first half. The kids know better than to hug him or pat him on the back. Even the Raiders have stopped a safe distance away to cheer.

Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I won’t look at Alicia because I don’t want her to make fun of me, of this.

Then I hear her. She’s the only one in the whole gym sitting down. Her head is in her hands, and her shoulders are shaking.

And she’s sobbing.

Voices

"Alicia?" I sit down
beside her. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her cry. Not even when she nearly sliced off her finger.

She cries harder, if that’s possible.

I put my arm around her shoulders. “Alicia, what’s wrong?” I think I’m scared. Alicia has always been the one who could keep things in perspective when I got out of control.

She looks up at me. Her face is covered with tears and snot. Mascara tracks her cheeks in long, dark streaks. “Colt didn’t have to go home. His parents couldn’t care less where he spends Thanksgiving. We just . . . we just haven’t been getting along.”

“You’ll work it out,” I say lamely, trying to make her stop crying. “Everybody has fights. You should have heard my rents in the car.”

Alicia looks down at her hands. “I think he’s going to dump me, Mary Jane. What if he breaks up with me?”

I stare at her in wonder, not at Alicia, but at myself. How could I not have seen this? “I—Alicia—I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

“I thought he was the one, Mary Jane. I still think he is . . . even if he doesn’t.” She glances up at me. “Isn’t that pathetic? ”

“No!” I want to say more, but I don’t have a clue what I should say. “You love him.”

“He said he loved me, too. But he couldn’t have. Now he says he doesn’t know how he feels or what he wants. I just got off the phone with him. How could he love me one day and then not the next?”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, searching for words. I haven’t even met Colt, and I’m as close to hating him as I’ve ever come to hating anybody. “Maybe he’s, like, disturbed. Or a con man. Whatever he is, you’re too good for him, Alicia! The guy’s obviously not who you thought he was.”

“That’s not what hurts the most,” she says. “Maybe
I’m
not who
I
thought I was.”

I can’t think of anything to say to that.

“How could I have been so wrong about him? About
me?
I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

I want to help her, but I can’t. I have no answer for her. But the voices in my head are talking, calmly, reasonably, like they always do at Roy Dale, when I’m around Sandy and her friends. The thoughts in my head aren’t one voice, one note, but they fit together, like a chord. So I listen:

M.J.:
Alicia is a beautiful, intelligent college woman. She’s the strongest, best friend you’ve ever had.

Plain Jane:
Alicia is a dumped girlfriend, who gave this guy something she can’t get back. She feels rejected, foolish, ugly.

M.J.:
But she’s not! She’s sexy and confident. . . .

Plain Jane:
And lonely and scared . . .

BOOK: Crazy in Love

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