Oh God oh God oh God. I pace the dark hall like a crazy person, raking my hands down my face over and over again, trying to make sense of all this.
The funny thing is it makes sense. It makes perfect sense, actually. I can think clearly enough to know that if I weren’t me, if I were some random person watching the movie of my life, I would get it. The picture is clear now. But it’s not making the right kind of sense, the sense that’s been in my head for the past year.
Here’s what I knew for certain: this whole mess was my fault.
Here’s what I know now: Meg believed that too, but not in the way I thought. And not in a way that makes me feel any better at all. She was so obsessed with me sophomore year that she didn’t go to the doctor when she started getting sick? Her cancer got bad just because I fucking existed? Are you fucking kidding me? Why would she ever write that? Why would she leave it in a journal for Alan to find? How cruel could she possibly be?
I can’t believe I used to like knowing that Meg had a crush on me before we got together. That was the first secret I learned from her journal, the green one before the checklists. Now I wish I didn’t know any of it. I wish I’d never laid eyes on her notebooks.
And the pregnancy, the one thing I knew I was to blame for—turns out it wasn’t my fault at all. Meg lied to me from day one. Used me, manipulated me, made me love her, let me fight for the abortion when she knew her decision all along, destroyed me just so she could leave something meaningful behind. Seriously, are you fucking kidding me?
Well, guess what you left behind, Meg? Nothing but misery and pain and regret.
I will hate you forever.
Chapter 29
My phone’s been going crazy. I sort of hear it ringing and beeping, but it’s far away, like I’ve got on noise-canceling headphones.
It’s not until someone slams their hand on the driver’s side window of my car, right in my face, that the noise rushes in.
I blink at Dave through the glass. Wait, how did I end up in my car? How much time has passed? It’s almost dark out now.
He tries the door handle. It’s locked. “What are you doing? The game is about to start. You missed warm-up.”
Oh shit. The game. The recruiter.
I should fling open the car door, change into my uniform, and book it to the field with Dave. Maybe that’s what alternate-universe Ryden Brooks is doing right now. Or maybe he’s already there, warming up, because he never met Meg Reynolds in the first place. But all I do is slowly rest my head on the steering wheel.
Why did I think the journals would actually contain good news? A cheat sheet of parenting tips? Really, Ryden? What the hell is wrong with you? You should have left well enough alone.
Dave pounds on the window again. “Ryden! What the f!”
Ha. Dave doesn’t curse. Forgot about that. It’s annoying. Sometimes a situation really calls for a shit goddamn fuck motherfucker, you know? Like right now, for example.
“Why is everything so hard?” I ask. I’m still face-to-steering-wheel, so I’m pretty much talking to my crotch, but I know Dave can hear me.
“What do you mean?” he asks, sounding a little less pissed off.
“Why does everything suck so bad? Even when you think it’s getting better, it’s not. Life’s building up suckiness, getting ready to hit you again, at the worst possible moment.”
“Dude.” Dave’s voice is way lower. I can barely hear him, so I lift my head and roll down the window a little. “Is this about Meg? I…uh…I’ve been meaning to tell you how sorry I am about…you know, for your loss—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Just don’t, okay? I can’t talk about this right now.” Not without breaking a few car windows and hand bones anyway.
Dave nods, all relieved-like. “Well, I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to play, man. That recruiter is here to see you. Besides, we have no chance of winning without you.”
The recruiter is here to see me. No one else, only me. And that’s who I need to be thinking about now—me.
I squeeze my eyes shut for three seconds, promising myself that by the time I open them, I’ll be ready to play. One. Two. Two and a half. Three.
I open my eyes.
Everything’s the same as it was earlier today before I laid eyes on that godforsaken journal, I tell myself. Just because the whys have changed doesn’t mean the whats have. Everything’s fine.
Yeah right. Nice try, brain.
But I can still do this. I need to.
Don’t let her win.
I unlock the door.
“Okay. Let’s go.” I throw on my uniform right there in the parking lot, right in front of the stragglers who are still making their way to the stands. At this point, I don’t give a shit if people see me in my underwear. Dave and I break into a run.