“You’ve been a good friend to my son. Best he’s ever had. And it’s not my place or my purpose to compare the two of you. I love you both.”
Livia had heard him say that to Sean before, but never to her. Even her own parents had never said it to her—it wasn’t the Lahu way. Of course, even if they had said it to her, she would know now it was a lie. But when Malcolm said it . . . it was confusing. She believed him, but didn’t want to. It made her feel good and upset at the same time. Like his words were pulling hard at something she wanted to let go of, but couldn’t.
“The thing is,” he went on, “Sean is talented. Very talented. And disciplined, too.”
“I know.”
He shook his head. “But not like you. You are one in a million. The kind of athlete most coaches wait their whole lives for, and never actually get.” He looked down for a moment, then back to her. “Sean will probably compete in college. He hasn’t decided yet. If he does, he’ll be good. And I’ll support him every way I can.”
She didn’t understand what he was trying to tell her. “I know,” she said again.
His gaze was intense, almost fierce. “But you could be better than good, Livia. Your talent could take you as far as you want to go. Anywhere. All the way. I don’t know if you know that. But I want you to know it. Maybe you’re not hearing it from anyone else, and that would be a shame. Because sometimes we need to hear it from someone else. So you’re hearing it from me, okay? However far you want to go, your talent is your ticket. And if you don’t believe that, you’re making the worst mistake I can imagine.”
She started crying again. She so wanted to believe him. That, despite everything else, there was something special about her, something worthwhile.
“You believe what I’m telling you?” he said.
She nodded uncertainly.
“Have I ever told you anything that turned out to be untrue?”
She shook her head.
“I want to hear you say it.”
She cleared her throat and looked at him. “I believe you.”
“Good. But there’s something more important than that.”
She looked at him. “What?”
He pointed at her. “You believe in yourself. No matter what. You understand me? You believe in yourself. And there is nothing that is ever going to stop you.”
She wanted to thank him, but her throat had closed up and the words wouldn’t come. All she could do was nod. But it seemed that was enough. Malcolm took one of her hands in both of his and squeezed it. She almost drew back out of habit, but didn’t. It was okay.
“You’re going to be fine, girl. You got people who care about you.”
She saw Sean walking over. She eased her hand away and wiped her face.
“Hey,” Sean said, and the concern she saw in his eyes threatened to bring on another bout of tears.
Sean handed her the Gatorade. She unscrewed the top, put the bottle to her lips, tilted her head up, closed her eyes, and drank. By the time she had chugged half of it, she was in control of herself again. She took a deep breath and said, “Thanks.”
Sean shook his head. “You’re going to win the whole thing next year, Livia. State champion for sure.”
She managed a smile. “You sound like your dad,” she said, and they all laughed.
On the way home, sitting in the back of Malcolm’s car, she wondered whether she could really be as good as Malcolm had said. She didn’t think he was lying. But at the same time . . . there must be something wrong with her. Something that had made so many bad things happen. To herself, and even more to Nason. She could forget it when she was training, and when she was competing. Sometimes when she was studying. And when she slept, if she wasn’t having bad dreams.
But it never really went away. In the end, it was always there. And she knew it always would be.
32—THEN
A cheerleader named Katy was having a party at her house after the state tournament, and had asked Livia and Sean to be there. Sean begged Livia to come with him, and though she didn’t really want to go, Livia had never forgotten her shame at not having helped Sean when Eric and his buddies had him surrounded and outnumbered. Sean was her friend—her only friend. If he wanted her at the stupid party, she would go.
But the party was a pleasant surprise. Everyone was nice to Livia, congratulating her, saying they were so proud of her, telling her they were sure she was going to be state champion next year. Even Eric the bully, a junior now, came over and told her he was sorry he had been “such a dick” to her when she’d first come to Llewellyn. She told him not to worry about it, but the truth was, his apology meant nothing to her. In her mind, behavior was the truth, not words.
There was a bowl of punch at the party, and after drinking a cup, Livia felt strange—light, relaxed, happy. Everything seemed so funny and good. She was going to have another cup, but Sean told her to be careful because the punch was “spiked.”