Matt's Story (5 page)

Waiting for our acceptance letters proves to be more tedious than school. It’s been three months, and I’m eager to know if I’m going away, but every time I check the mail, part of me wonders if I made the right decision in just applying to Washington. I’m just not sure what’s right anymore.

I look outside and see Chris jogging around the backyard, kicking a soccer ball between his feet. He’s been doing that a lot lately, since he’s been off the team and out of college. His rehab mentor said it would be good for him to work out his urges with the ball, and I guess it’s working. For once I’m the one busy with friends, and he hasn’t heard from anyone since he’s been home, with the exception of Delilah. So
I head out to join him.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, looking up when he hears me. He looks surprised, but he tries hard not to show it. Instead, he looks down at the ball and performs some complicated footstep around it.

“Pass it,” I say, and he nods and kicks it in my direction. I’ve always sucked at sports, something he definitely knows as the ball leaves his foot.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his deep voice lower than usual. Head still down, he gets the returned ball and kicks it between his feet. When I don’t respond, he looks up. “I said I’m sorry.”

“I heard you,” I say.

“Then why are you being such a dick?”

“Great apology, Chris,” I say, and turn to go again.

“No, wait, stop,” he says, and I do. “Sorry, I’m just . . . I’m going through a lot right now, and don’t know how to react. To anything.”

“And you think I’m not? Do you think it’s been easy for me?”

“No, but at least you don’t have a criminal record, aren’t recovering from an addiction, and weren’t kicked out of college.”

“And that’s my fault how?” I ask, realizing his apology has turned into an excuse for me to feel sorry for him. And I do, still.

“It’s not, it’s just—” He stops. “God, you’re my little brother. I thought you’d be on my side.”

“On your side? This isn’t a game.”

“No, it’s my life. And I need someone in my corner.”

“You should have thought of that before you got yourself in trouble. I’m
always
in your corner.”

“I know—”

“I covered for you all the time, I never ratted you out when you came home late or threw parties when Mom and Dad were out. I was
always
there for you, so don’t say you never had anyone in your corner.”

I’m breathing hard as I glare at him. I’ve never shown this much emotion, never let myself, but with Chris I can’t hold it back. He’s the only person I’ve ever been truly honest with.

“I hate that that’s changed,” Chris says in a small voice.

“Why’d you do it?” I ask.

He exhales slowly and kicks the ball away, done with the game. “I was stupid?” He answers as a question. “I mean, really stupid, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Nothing I’m going to say will stop you from judging me, so should I even try?” he asks, so I signal him to continue. “There’s no good reason why I did it. I was bored, everyone on the team was doing it, so why not, you know? It went too far, and I ended up with the blame.”

“Which is when we came here.”

“Right. And it sucks because I was off everything by the time we got caught. I gave it all up.”

He’s being vague, and I don’t care to really make him elaborate. I don’t want to know, honestly, because it’ll only make me think less of him, and I don’t want that. He’s still my brother.

“And what about now?”

“Now?” he asks. “You can’t force me to go near that stuff. Or even the people I was friends with back then. To say I learned my lesson would be an understatement. Do you think the whole thing was easy for me?”

I shrug, because of course it’s not, but he hasn’t really shown otherwise. Like it’s all just an inconvenience, not something permanent.

“It’s not,” he continues. “At all. Don’t you think I’d rather be where I was before all this? I’ve lost everything. College. My friends. You. Hell, I even almost lost Delilah.”

The fact that he grouped me in with the things he loved and lost is not lost on me. “What happened with her?” I ask, because I want to know. “Why
didn’t
Delilah leave you?”

“She did when she first found out what I was into. I got clean for her, wiped my hands of everything.”

“You didn’t think to do that for us?”

“I didn’t think you’d know. What happens in college stays in college and all that. I never thought—” He drops down onto the ground and leans against the fence. I sit down next to him. “Yeah,” he says, and then, “listen. What
I did was shitty. It’s killing me. Seriously, probation aside, it kills me that you were forced to move again. I know how much that sucks, of all people, I know. When Mom and Dad found out, the one thing I told them was to not come here for me. That they had to stay there for you.”

“Really?” I ask, because though he mentioned it in the past, I never quite believed him.

“Of course. I didn’t want you guys to move again, but you know Mom.” I do know Mom. She would never have listened to him. Which is probably why she never told me. “I hate everything I did, but I especially hate that it affected you.”

I look at him and see once again how different we look, and not just because of age. He’s gone through something much harder than I could have ever imagined, something that’ll impact the rest of his life. And he regrets it completely. Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I let myself see it? I was too wrapped up in my own personal drama, hating everything, to see what he was really going through.

“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head, pulling the grass up with my fingers. “That you’re going through so much. And that I wasn’t there for you.”

“You shouldn’t be. I deserve everything, and let’s be honest, I probably would have done something stupid to get me into jail at some point anyway,” he says, brushing his hair out of his face, and I chuckle. “But I am glad you’re here. I mean, not that you had to leave, but I’m glad to have my lil’
bro around again.”

“About that,” I say. “What’s with the lil’ bro? You’ve never called me that before.”

He shrugs, then says, “I don’t know. I was trying to remind you that you had a brother.”

“As if I’d forget?”

“It seemed like you wanted to for a while,” he says, resigned.

“Okay, maybe I did. But we’re cool, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“And if you pull any of this crap again—”

“Dude,” he says. “More than anything else, you being here is making me realize how stupid I was. I’ll jump into that disease-infected creek down the street before doing anything like that again.”

“The one that’s brownish green and thicker than oil?”

“Yeah, what’s in that thing?”

“Older brothers who torture their little brothers. Their bodies liquefying,” I say with a smile so he knows I’m not insulting him. He shakes his head, then ruffles my hair as he stands up.

“Come on, I’ll show you how to kick properly.”

“I can kick properly,” I say, following him up.

“Yeah, for a girl.”

“Dude, this girl I was friends with back in Orlando, Meg? She kicked this guy messing with her brother once and, I swear, it was harder than you’ve ever kicked a ball. So,
yeah, I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.”

“Sounds like a girl I’d like to know,” he says, jogging around the ball before passing to me.

“She is,” I say, remembering when she asked
me
about my older brother. I smile, putting the memory back in the box of my mind. It was nice taking it out, at least for a second.

We’re not perfect, Chris and me, and we probably never will be again, but at least we’re back to being brothers. At least we have that.

“YOU GUYS!” Cindy shouts, running into the bookstore’s cafe with a large envelope in her hands. “It’s my letter from Rhode Island School of Design. IT’S MY LETTER.”

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!” Kat yells. “You got in, of course you got in. Look at that letter, it’s like a book.”

“Open it,” I say excitedly, heart racing for her. She applied two months ago—this is huge. I watch her gently open the package, slowly and perfectly. Not wanting to tear a single sheet of paper.

“OH MY GOD OPEN IT ALREADY,” Kat yells, and I laugh.

“Okay, okay,” Cindy says, and I can tell she’s shaking.
The little owl knit cap she’s wearing is tossing and turning. “Dear Cindy, blah blah blah blah blah blah we’d like to offer you a spot next year OH MY GOD I GOT ACCEPTED!”

We all jump up and tackle her in a hug. She’s jumping up and down excitedly in the middle. I put my arms around both of them, so Kat can duck down and give her a kiss.

“I can’t believe it! I’m going to RISD! Me!” Cindy swoons as she sits down, and Kat holds her hand solidly. I grin across from them, happy for their news. Kat is still waiting for her letter. As am I.

“I never saw your final application portfolio,” I say. “Did you send in the same one I saw?”

“Yeah, only with one addition,” she says, getting out her phone. She flips through a few pictures before handing it to me.

It’s another painting similar to the ones I saw, only this one is full of deep blues and purples that slowly morph toward lighter blues and purples. From dark to light.

“That’s an awesome addition.” I nod. “It’s really neat how you merged the colors like that.”

She grins at Kat, then looks back at me. “It’s the one I made you.”

“Huh?” I ask.

“I told you I’d make you one for your dorm. That one is yours.”

“You made that for
me
?” I ask, surprised.

“It’s not much,” she says happily. “I started making it
and halfway through realized it was you. The dark part is your beginning here. The lighter is you now. It doesn’t get bright or happy, but it does get . . . neutral, and I think that’s where you’re at.”

I think about it and nod, finding it funny how she got me so well.

“Thank you so much. I can’t wait to see it in person. This is . . . really, thank you.”

“I’m just glad you like it!” She smiles. “Ohh, but I can’t wait to see what I’ll be doing next year. Their art studio is amazing—it’s just . . . uggghh I can’t wait!”

Kat looks on, excited, but part of her is still uncertain, I can tell. The closest school to RISD she applied to is Boston University, and she’s not confident she’s going to get in. (“I’m just getting out of Texas, that’s for sure,” she said on the matter.) While she’s trying to get as close as possible to the person she likes, I’m going in the complete opposite direction.

“Well, we need to celebrate,” Kat says. “Dare I suggest we move our hangout to another location?”

“Can Matt handle a change of scenery? It was hard enough getting you here!” Cindy jokes. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just so giddy.”

“It’s okay.” I smile. “And change sucks, but I think I can handle this.”

“Oh, look at you, growing up,” Kat says, and stands up. “I think this calls for drinks. My mom won’t be home for
another two hours—and there’s champagne that she won’t realize is missing. Let’s go.”

I drive separately and meet them at Kat’s house. She lives with just her mom in a small cabin in a woodsier area. It sounds weird and secluded, but it’s actually really nice. Trees tower over her house, placing it beneath a canopy, and there’s a small brick path leading to the backyard. When I get out, I swear I hear a babbling brook.

“Welcome to Casa de Kat,” Kat says, holding the door open for me. “Please, come inside, won’t you?”

“She magically becomes a polite hostess when people are over,” Cindy whispers.

“I heard that,” Kat says, and I laugh.

Inside it’s all natural and homey, with exposed beams and big windows with sunlight coming in. It’s beautiful. Kat runs to the kitchen and opens an already-open bottle of champagne.

“Okay, I thought it was full, but I guess Mom had friends over when I was out. Whatevs. She won’t notice we’re drinking it.”

“You sure?” I ask.

“She never has in the past.” Cindy giggles, taking three glasses down.

“Does your mom know about—?” I start, pointing to Cindy.

“Yeah, both our parents do,” Cindy says.

“It wasn’t easy telling them, but, you know, whatever, they’re okay now,” Kat says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, but I can see a look cross her face that’s part pained, and I know it was more than nothing. She’s right—she did work hard for Cindy. And it was worth it.

Kat pours the champagne into the glasses, then gives Cindy a quick kiss on the cheek.

“To Cindy!” Kat says, handing me my glass and holding hers up.

“To me!” Cindy giggles, clinking glasses with both of us. We sip and it’s cold and bubbly and tastes like a celebration.

“Oh my gosh, I’m just so excited. Did you hear back from any more schools?” Cindy asks Kat, and she shakes her head in response.

“More schools?” I ask.

“Yeah, I got two rejections so far,” Kat says sadly, but with a brave face. She waves it off like it’s nothing.

“Screw those other schools,” Cindy says. “The next one will love you. You still have, what, three more?”

“Yeah,” Kat says, trying to sound optimistic, but I can hear the fear in her voice.

“They’ll love you,” I repeat, adding to Cindy’s optimism.

“Hope so,” she says with a shrug.

“Know so,” Cindy says, staring at Kat, and I can see what Kat sees. Cindy’s determination and seriousness when it’s needed. Kat smiles at her, and I know she’s feeling braver, stronger.

“Oh, Matt, you should see Cindy’s other paintings.”

“My screw-ups? No way,” she says, shaking her head.

“Go show him! I’m getting snacks,” Kat says, walking toward the pantry.

“Oh, come on,” I say, nudging Cindy, and she dramatically sighs and relents, leading me to Kat’s room. When we get inside, it’s exactly as I’d imagined—clean, tidy. Everything in its place. For some reason I always saw her like that. White walls, blue comforter, clothes in her closet. I bet Cindy’s room is a mess of life and color.

“Okay, those are them,” she says, pointing to the four on Kat’s walls.

“They’re not screw-ups,” I say, shaking my head.

“Thanks, but they’re not good either. Between you and me, I made one for Kat that I’m giving her before we leave. It’s much more special than these.”

“That’s really cool,” I say, then turn to her. “Hey, you really think you and Kat are going to work once you’re in college?” It sounds mean, accusing, when it comes out, and I didn’t mean it that way. So I start blabbering, “I mean, not that you won’t, I was just wondering what you thought—”

“Why wouldn’t we?” she interrupts me, turning to me with crossed arms. She’s swaying back and forth, her dress billowing out.

“I know you guys are solid, but what about the distance?”

“I love Kat, and nothing can change that. We’ll be fine,” she says, with such strength and earnestness that I believe
her. I one hundred percent believe her. So I nod and smile and agree.

“And what about you? Found your new art yet?”

“Ha, no,” I say, thinking of my discarded box of paper scraps. I haven’t picked any up since talking to her. I haven’t wanted to.

“Maybe it’s time to stop living through others and make your own memories.”

“Tried that once, it was too hard.”

“Matt.” She sighs. “Hard is good. Hard is worth fighting for,” she says with a raise of the eyebrow before walking out of the room.

We sit on the couch and sip our champagne and eat our snacks. Despite Chris’s attempts at getting me to go out and party and make the most of my senior year like he did (only with far less consequences), I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve drank since being with Ella, so I say that.

“Are you guys married yet? I mean come onnn,” Cindy says, sighing.

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” I say.

“Do you have a picture of her? You’ve never shown us,” she says, snuggling up to Kat.

“Um, sure,” I say, taking my phone out of my pocket. I never deleted the photos. I wanted to a few times, but I couldn’t. I scroll through the photo album and find one of us from the beach. It’s a selfie she took with my phone.
We’re both laughing because the sun kept getting in our eyes. After, I tickled her until she squealed, and Jake told us to get a room. We tried surfing that day because Jake knew someone with a board. He brought it and all four of us tried, unsuccessfully, to stand up. It wasn’t important that we had no idea what we were doing. Jake looked the funniest, because while the rest of us knew we looked ridiculous, he tried looking cool the entire time, which, of course, didn’t work. Especially when water went up his nose.

I hand over the phone and receive harmonic “awwww”s in response.

“She’s so cute!” Cindy says.

“I’d date her,” Kat agrees, and Cindy elbows her. “What? I mean, not when I’m with you, of course!” And they laugh. I laugh, too, and take back the phone. I flip quickly, already feeling myself fall into the hole of memory. There’s a picture of the Pepperpots performing, and Jake looking much cooler than me. There’s a picture of me and Jake trying to skank at a punk show. And then there’s me and Ella again. I look into her eyes before turning off the screen.

“Oh, hey, remember when I called you an autoclave?” Kat asks.

“Yeah.” I nod. “The machine that murders good things, that’s me.”

“Turns out not everything. I looked it up—I was curious. Apparently there’s this one bacteria that actually thrives in it.”

“So what you’re saying is . . .”

Kat smiles and says, “That some things can survive even you.”