Dream Things True (37 page)

The opposing team kicked the ball into play, and then Evan easily took control, the necklace pulled taut against the cords of his neck. Alma refused to let herself wonder where it had come from. Already, it pained her to watch his fierce beauty, to see his intensity unleashed, literally airborne.

The Red Elephants were on fire, and Evan was the one who kept stoking the flame.

 

 

Evan's entire body buzzed with adrenaline. He was fully present on the field, entirely aware of how his teammates were arranged in space. They were playing possession football at their absolute best. If he had to make a prediction at that moment, he would say that their best was good enough to beat this team—but he was too superstitious to let himself think about the outcome. He just played his heart out, and it felt fantastic.

When the buzzer sounded, there were still eleven minutes left in the second half, and the Red Elephants were up 3-0. Evan hadn't noticed the gathering clouds, the distant thunder coming closer. Rain delay. He jogged off the field reluctantly and followed the rest of the team back to the locker room.

He saw her standing under an overhang, pressed against a brick wall, looking up at the sky. Sheets of rain separated them. It was amazing, and infuriating, how quickly she could drag him away, how relentlessly present she was in his head. Alma was the image he saw when Ingrid had tried to kiss him again on the tattered couch at her apartment, her roommates playing video games on the floor in front of them. And then he saw Alma again, in the kitchen, when he'd gone to pull another beer from the refrigerator. He had wanted alcohol to numb him, or maybe to blur his vision of her in his mind.

He'd
wanted
to want Ingrid, but he didn't. And each time she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her lips against his, Evan saw Alma just as she looked standing here—her eyes distant and face serene.

Evan should have been thinking about the final minutes of the championship game. He should have been entirely focused on strategy, but as he passed by her, trying not to look, he remembered standing in the middle of Ingrid's kitchen in tears, a can of beer gripped tightly in his hand.

He told Ingrid his sad story, and she cried, too. She led him into her living room, and they sat on the dumpy couch, drinking and playing video games until they both passed out. The next morning Ingrid wove him a necklace out of thick straps of leather, with a golden citrine stone knotted into the center. She tied it tightly around his neck and told him that citrine had healing properties—that it worked well for depression.

Evan insisted that he wasn't depressed, but Ingrid gave him a look and insisted otherwise.

Fingering the smooth stone at his neck, Evan followed his teammates to the locker room and the air-conditioning rushed out to hit him. Something about that jolt of cold air made him realize it: He had to turn around. She was leaving, and he had to say good-bye. Maybe if he told her good-bye, she would get the hell out of his head.

Evan jogged through the rain toward Alma. She watched as he came nearer but showed no expression. And then they were nearly face-to-face.

He needed to say something, but he couldn't find words. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but his body wouldn't let him.

“You're amazing out there, Evan,” Alma said. “The best I've ever seen you play.”

“Thanks,” he replied, holding her gaze. His chest ached.

“Cal will be so lucky to have you,” she said.

“I can't wait to get there,” he replied, dragging his gaze from her eyes to his feet.

“I miss you,” she said.

His chest collapsed and his head started to spin. This was a mistake. He should be in the locker room, focused on the last few minutes of the championship game, not out here in the rain letting his heart break open again.

“Be safe getting down there,” he said, forcing himself to look in her eyes.

And then, because it hurt too much to look at her, and because he wanted to change the subject, he told her, “When you get there, say hi to your brother for me. Tell him to keep playing.”

“He's like you, Evan,” she said. “He can't stop.”

She was right. Evan couldn't stop, especially not now. He had to get back into the locker room—back to the one thing that would protect him from this pain.

“I've gotta…”

“I know,” she said, “Focus. Go out there and crush them, OK?”

Evan didn't reply. He turned away and jogged back through the rain to the locker room. As soon as he got there, he thrust earbuds in and listened intently to the last song in his pregame mix. He had to focus. He would force every fiber of his being into the game.

When the rain delay ended, Evan led his team back onto the pitch. With the Red Elephant mascot revving the crowd, they took to the field, and dominated. It felt awesome.

Evan heard the buzzer and then felt the crush of bodies against him. Fans mobbed the field, chanting and yelling. Evan's team had shut out their opponents, with a final score of 5-0. Evan scored two of those goals, but only with perfectly executed assists from his teammates. Only three of the guys on his team had access to prestigious soccer academies, and no doubt the Wolford players had trained at these kinds of places since they left diapers. Still, the Red Elephants dominated. Evan was so proud that he screamed at the top of his lungs while his teammates lifted him into the air.

 

 

Alma stood still in the bleachers as the fans rushed the field. She watched Evan, perched on the shoulders of his teammate, raising the hulking trophy toward the sky. She imagined the trophy joining all the others in the entryway of Gilberton High School, and she knew that another photograph would hang on the wall where she and Evan used to sit on rainy mornings. She imagined walking into the building on the first day of her senior year and standing in front of it, her eyes searching the row of kneeling bodies to find Evan. She knew exactly how he would be smiling, and how the edges of his eyes would crimp the slightest bit.

It was a relief to know that she would never have to see the photograph.

TWENTY-FIVE

Sabotage

“These burgers taste like rubber,” Maritza said. She took a deep swig of Coke and swallowed dramatically.

“And the French fries are vile,” Magda added.

Whit turned to face them in the backseat. “Why are you looking at me? The Varsity was
not
my idea.”

“OK,
flaco
, it wasn't your idea,” Maritza replied. “But you should have stopped us. I mean, here we are trying to give Alma something to remember when she goes back, and all she has to go home with is
this
?” She reached forward and grabbed a silly red-and-white paper cap from Alma's head.

The Varsity was not just a fast-food restaurant. It was an Atlanta institution. So as they drove back to Gilberton from the game, Monica, Maritza and Magda insisted they stop at the big red
V
for a celebratory dinner. In their opinion, the food was mediocre at best. The only consolation was that meals came with free paper hats, just like the ones worn by the cooks.

“Give me that hat,” Monica said, lunging toward Maritza. “This little
salvadore
ñ
a
is goin' in there to teach those people how to make a burger.”

“It's not
that
bad,” Alma broke in. “I mean the Frosted Orange is actually pretty good.”

“You've gotta be kidding me,” Monica said. “How can that thing pass for a milk shake? It's like drinking crushed-up baby aspirin.”

“Yes, but Alma's a good girl,” Whit said. “She likes to take her medicine.”

“Y'all get off my back,” Alma said. “You're supposed to be feeling sorry for me, you know.”

“No,” Maritza said. “We're supposed to be cheering you up. But obviously, we suck at it.”

“It's not your fault,” Whit said. “I think it would behoove us all to simply endure her brooding lament. She's morose, but she's still Alma.”

Magda looked at Monica. “Do you have any idea what he just said?” she asked.

“Dang, Whit,” Maritza added. “Have you got an SAT prep book up there in your head?

They all laughed. Alma wasn't exactly having a good time, but she was glad to see that Whit was coming back to himself. He must have decided that she was right about Magda. She couldn't be the wasted girl from last summer.

They were still laughing when Magda glanced at her phone and started texting rapidly. It didn't surprise Alma. Magda was the kind of girl who always had her phone within a few inches. She obsessively checked her texts.

“Uggggh,” Magda groaned, and continued texting without letting any of them in on the conversation being tapped out in fragments on her phone.

“I've gotta get back to Gilberton,” she announced. “My cousin is freaking out.”

“Who, Flor?” Maritza asked. “I thought she was in South Carolina.”

“Yeah, she was. She came back a couple of days ago.”

“With her baby?” Alma asked.

Flor's parents had completely lost it when she finally told them that she was pregnant. Her father almost had a heart attack, her mother went into a depressive slump, and within days Flor was seen leaving the house, suitcase in hand. According to rumor, she went to
Padre
Pancho and he intervened, convincing Flor's parents that, instead of disowning her entirely, they should send her to live with an aunt in the country. There had been much speculation on the local rumor mill about who the father might be, but no one knew for sure.

“Yeah,” Magda said. “She was born in April. She's super cute. Flor treats her like a baby doll.”

“I guess that's what happens when you have a baby at fifteen.” Maritza sneered.

“Sixteen, now,” Magda said. “She turned sixteen a few days ago.”

“Sweet sixteen,” Maritza mumbled under her breath.

“She's actually doing pretty well with the whole thing. She's got a lot of help,” Magda said, giving Maritza an eye.

“Where's she living?” Monica asked. “I thought her parents kicked her out.”

“Yeah, they basically did.” Magda answered. “She's living with her boyfriend. I mean, he's the dad, I guess. They're getting married next weekend, so we figure maybe then her parents will start speaking to her again.”

Magda leaned forward in her seat.

“Alma,” she said, “this is weird. I've been trying to find a way to tell you.”

“What?” Alma asked.

“The dad—the guy who is marrying her—it's your cousin Manny.”

“What?” Alma cried. “He's twenty years old. And plus, he doesn't even live here anymore. He's in—”

“South Carolina.” Magda finished her sentence. “He moved to be near her while she was pregnant. He paid for the doctors and everything. When she turned sixteen, they decided to get married and move back to Gilberton together.”

Alma shook her head.

“I know you think he's a loser, Alma,” Magda said, “but he's been great. He's gonna work the night shift as a supervisor at Silver Ribbon so she can go back to school.”

“A supervisor? Are you sure that we're talking about the same Manny?” Alma asked.

Manny doing shift work at the poultry plant. Taking care of a baby. It killed her that he got a job as a supervisor when he'd barely managed to get a high school diploma. That was the difference having legal status made—and speaking English.

“Because he has never in his life done a single responsible thing,” she continued. “Ever.”

“Yeah,” Magda said. “I saw him yesterday. They're living in his parents' basement.” She looked around at Maritza and Monica. “It was the weirdest scene, y'all. Flor was, like, hanging flowery curtains, and Manny was sitting at the kitchen table, studying for the citizenship test with the baby asleep on his chest.”

“Manny? A citizen?” Alma asked.

“Yeah, if he passes the test.” Magda said. “He wants to help Flor get papers, you know?” She looked back down at her phone. “Hold on a sec,” she said as her fingers moved frantically across the keyboard.

“Bastard,” Maritza said, filling the silence left by Magda's distraction. “I don't care if he's stepping up now, he was way too old to be fooling around with her. That's, like, criminal.”

“Technically, it
is
criminal,” Whit said. “At least until they get married. Fortunately for them, our enlightened state of Georgia allows children to marry at age sixteen, as long as they have consent from their parents.”

Alma felt her stomach contract; Whit's words dragged her thoughts back to Evan's proposal.

Magda looked up from her phone. “Flor's losing it. Something happened, and Manny went ballistic. He took off and she's stuck there alone without a way to find him. She thinks he's gonna hurt someone.”

“Yeah,” Alma said, nodding. “That's starting to sound more like my cousin.”

“Whit,” Magda said pleading, “can you take me to her house, like,
now
?

Whit eased his car back onto the interstate and pressed hard on the gas.

“Ooohhh, the drama!” he exclaimed. “Tell her we'll be there in forty minutes—maybe less.”

 

 

The party was under way by the time Evan arrived with a carload of his elated teammates. Santiago had old-school hip-hop blaring from the speakers, and Miguel and Jonathan were half standing in the backseat with their torsos hanging out of the windows. They sang at the top of their lungs. Evan watched them in the rearview mirror, and he was happy for them. He wanted to feel their unbridled joy, but he felt nothing. The numbness was good. He knew that his only choices were this or overwhelming sadness. Even tonight.

Evan eased into an empty space as Miguel and Jonathan hoisted themselves out of their respective windows and landed on their feet. The door of the truck in front of them squealed open, and Conway, Peavey, and three junior girls tumbled out.