“Don’t lie to me!” My voice comes out shrill and shaky.
“Okay. Okay,” he quickly concedes. “Some of them will blame you, but it’s not your fault. If this is the worst that Masters ever experienced, then he’s lived a pretty fucking charmed life. He’s got to strap on his balls and man up. Everyone has shit in their life they have to shut out. Girlfriends. Home life. Bad grades. Or maybe coming home and hearing your dad tell your sister that she’s a worthless cunt. That can fuck with your mind. And you have to keep reminding yourself that you aren't your dad.”
I cover my mouth to hold in a gasp. “I didn't know you heard that.”
Usually when Dad yelled at me, Jack wasn’t around.
Jack gives a humorless laugh. “I came home early because I'd tweaked my knee. Coach let me go without argument. I think I knew I was finished with the team at that time. I should have transferred to another high school, but I didn’t. Other people's dickhead actions aren't your responsibility. So you broke up with him. It’s still his responsibility to get his head together on the field. If he was in his right mind, he’d be the first to tell you that shit.”
Jack’s tone will tolerate no argument. The matter is done for him. I’m his sister. He’ll always side with me. I guess that’s the difference between true love and infatuation. True love takes up for you—no matter what. It always sees your side of the story. It listens for the truths.
I take a few deep breaths and gather my composure. “It’s only one loss.” I tell him, offering him my own sort of support. “Last year no teams in the playoff were undefeated. The most you’ll drop is to three, maybe four tops.”
Jack makes a sound. It could be interpreted as agreement or disgust. A bit of both I decide.
“Try to put it out of your head, Ellie,” he says wearily.
A beeping interrupts us. I look at the phone and see it’s my mom. “Hey, Jack. It’s Mom. No doubt she wonders why you stood on the sidelines.”
“Don’t take it.”
“I have to. If I don’t she’ll keep calling me.”
“Don’t let her push you around then.” He pauses. “I know she made you do this. I know she’s probably blackmailing you. That’s her style. Don’t want anyone to think her kids are flawed or her old man cheats on her like it’s an Olympic event.”
The phone beeps again.
“I could have stopped.”
“You did,” he points up. “You stood up to me. Now it’s time to stand up to her.”
He hangs up.
My right knee aches around the scar. I rub it, but the pain doesn’t go away. I don’t think it ever will. The agony I felt when that kid—whose face I can’t even conjure—slammed into my knee is nothing like what I’m feeling now. There’s a chill in my blood and a pain in my bones that I’ll have to live with each day.
During the last week, I still held on to some hope that I’d be able to go to Knox and apologize and convince him to take me back after this semester ended. Foolishly I kept this stupid little dream that Jack would successfully pass all his classes by himself, and next semester, after they’d won, I’d go to Knox and apologize. But I know after the loss, there’s no hope left.
I’ve lost him.
33
Ellie
My mom’s ring tone starts up again. On the scale of one to negative one thousand, the desire to answer the phone lies somewhere below hell. I brace myself. “Hey, Mom.”
“Eliot, is it such an onerous task for you to answer your phone when I call you?”
Actually, yes, your calls are some of the least desirable experiences in my life.
“Sorry, I was in the bathroom.”
“I’m your mother,” she continues, “and I pay for this phone. And your apartment. And your tuition. And likely the clothes you’re wearing and the food you eat, so perhaps you can muster a tad more enthusiasm when my identification appears on your phone.
I pull out a pad and paper. Under “find a job,” I write, “get disposable cell phone.”
Chastened, I mumble, “I’m sorry.”
“Well, I didn’t call to argue with you.” Her impatience is evident. She’s probably sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea, and drafting comments on all the websites about how the commenters are ignoramuses for blaming the loss on Jack. “I’m very concerned about Jack. We watched the game today, and as you can imagine your father is beside himself that Jack wasn’t playing.”
That’s code for he spent the entire game shouting curses at the team, Jack specifically. I bet Jack could hear those screams and rants inside his helmet. Dad is in Jack’s head.