Our first two bats retire
quickly too, but the third
manages to slip one between
the short and second baseman.
Cleanup. That’s me. On
the way to the plate, I
peer up into the stands,
hoping Cara will smile
for me. But my good luck
charm looks distracted.
Maybe even worried. Hmm.
Batter up! warns the ump.
Wonder what Cara…
Steeerike! Goddamn it.
I try really hard to focus.
Catch a piece of a curve-
ball. Not a big enough
piece. It’s a short fly, but
thank God I run. The first
baseman misjudges, misses
the catch, and I arrive safely
on base on an error. Not
exactly going to impress
the scouts like that, but
better than an easy out.
Up comes Bobby, who’s as
average at the bat as he is
playing shortstop. Surprise!
He smacks the first pitch
deep into center field. Triple,
and I score the second run
of the game for the Grizzlies.
Rocky start. But I’ll get
my bat going yet. Won’t I?
Bottom Of The Eighth
Down two runs, I’ve yet to
get my bat going. Fielding-
wise, I’ve made a couple
of great plays. Just not
when we needed them.
Distracted, that’s what I’ve
been, and I can’t quite manage
to stay focused on the game.
Every time I look at Cara,
she’s talking to that girl, all
attention aimed toward her.
And the way she looks
at Cara… Damn, what
am I thinking? Right now,
bases loaded, one out,
I really need to get my head
back into the game. So why
do I turn my eyes toward
the bleachers? Only this time,
for whatever reason, Cara smiles.
At me. Bright and sweet
and real. And that’s all
the encouragement I need
to grab my bat, step up to
the plate, throw the pitcher
a “give it your best shot” look.
It’s the first time today he’s seen
me swell with determination.
His shoulders twitch. First
pitch hits the dirt in front
of the catcher. My turn to
grin, and he doesn’t like
that at all. Second pitch,
a big, lazy curve that I let
go by. I want a fastball. Come
on. Unbelievably, that’s what
he sends. Nothing for it but
to swing for the bleachers.
Clank! It’s gone. Over
the fence. Grand slam.
The Reno pitcher deflates
as the Grizzlies crowd screams.
I start my trot, eyes scanning
the seats. Yep. The scouts
are taking notes. And Cara
is on her feet, clapping.
Not sure which one means
the most to me right now.
I’ll call it a tie. I round
the bases, cross home plate,
suck up the back slapping
and high fives. I barely
notice Bobby make our
third out. Barely notice
the top-of-the-ninth-inning
play resulting in our win.
What I do notice is how
the scouts pack up and
leave, right after Cara exits
with the spiky-haired girl.
Being The Hero
Ain’t all bad, and while part
of me wants to go straight
after Cara, most of me likes
soaking up the limelight rays.
We trade handshakes, head
for the showers, compliments
flying left and right. Cara
isn’t handing them out, but
other girls are, along with
teammates and even some
guys from the other team.
I get cleaned up, and when
I finally emerge from the locker
room, Uncle Jeff is waiting for me.
Great hit, son. Guess you saw
the scouts. One of ’em is an old
friend of mine. He’s at Louisville,
and I can tell you they’re very
interested. I know you’ve got
your heart set on Stanford,
but I told him you’d be happy
to talk. That’s right, isn’t it?
I mean, just in case things don’t
work out.… He looks at me
cautiously. Does he expect me
to get all pissed? “Sure, Jeff.
We can always talk.” It won’t
make any difference. Stanford
will want me too, and it’s not
a bad thing to have interest from
more than one school. Uncle Jeff
looks relieved. Guess maybe I’ve
been a little short-tempered lately.
“Anything else? I want to call
Cara.” Jeff shakes his head, says
he’ll see me at home. When I try
Cara’s cell, she picks up right
away. “Can we get together later?”
For some reason, I’m a little
surprised when she says okay.
Andre
For Some Reason
More and more, day
by day, my life feels
like an ultimate
rush
thrill ride. One minute
I’m in the air, soaring
to unimaginable heights.
Close my eyes, I
plunge
toward the earth,
breath caught within
the fear, then inches
from the crash, I
find
my wings again.
And it’s all because
of her. She is madness,
sanity. She is hell, and
paradise.
I Can’t Believe
The things I’ll do for Jenna. I mean, thrill
rides are only the start.
Today I am going to watch a cheerleading
competition that her sister is in. No way
to spend a Saturday, but
Jenna is very good at getting what she wants.
Usually when I pick her up, she’s outside,
waiting. Not this time.
I sit at the curb for a few minutes, finally
dial her cell phone, which goes straight
to voice mail. Guess that
leaves going up to the door, and as I make
the long walk, it comes to me that I might
actually meet her family.
Part of it, anyway. I ring the doorbell. Wait.
Finally I hear footsteps. A fortyish woman
opens the door. She is
taller than Jenna, more slender. But they share
the same platinum beauty. “Mrs.…” No,
Mathieson isn’t right.
That would be Jenna’s dad’s last name.
I realize I don’t know her last name. “Uh,
I’m Andre. Jenna’s…”
God, does she even know we’re going out?
Her expression says maybe not. “Uh, is Jenna
here?” I am a total clod.
Of course she’s here. If not, I should run.
Despite her obvious shock, she says,
Jenna will be ready
in a minute. Come on in. She moves
away from the door, and
I feel like I really
need to apologize.
“I’m sorry I don’t know your name. Jenna
calls you ‘Mom and Patrick.’ I mean, you and
your husband…” I need
to shut up now. Thank God she’s smiling.
Before She Can Enlighten Me
Jenna stomps into the hallway, eyes
sharp with anger.
I hate him. He can’t be serious, right?
The question is directed at her mother,
who answers with a shrug.
I know I shouldn’t ask, but I do. “Who?”
My poor excuse for a father. Can you
believe he’s getting
married, and he wants Ken and me to
be in the wedding party? Bridesmaids?
I wouldn’t even do
that for someone I liked. What a joke.
Arguing with her is not a wise thing to do.
So why do I let words fall
out of my mouth? “But wouldn’t you feel
bad if he got married without you there?”
At her evil expression,
I joke, “Anyway, you know you’d look amazing
in one of those beautiful bridesmaid dresses.
Maybe amethyst or fuchsia
or something?” My grin is met with bitter stares.
Both from Jenna and from her mom. I don’t think
I’m making much
of an impression on Mrs.… whatever her name is.
“Okay, maybe not. Well then, are you ready to go?
Does your sister need a ride?”
I haven’t yet met the infamous Kendra, either.
She drives, you know. And she left hours ago.
They have to warm up, not
to mention all that makeup and hair stuff.
Jenna is more the natural type. She’s pretty
without makeup, and all
her waist-length hair needs is brushing.
Standing here is getting uncomfortable, though.
“It was very nice to meet
you,” I tell Jenna’s mom. All she does is nod.
We Are Halfway There
And neither of us has said a word. I know
Jenna is stressing out
about her dad’s wedding, but I’m stressed
about something totally different. “Did you
ever tell your parents about
me? I thought your mom’s jaw was going to
stick in the open position when she saw me.
Didn’t help things when
I didn’t know her name. What is it, anyway?”
Jenna pulls herself out of the trance she’s
been under. What? Mom’s
name is Caroline. Why do you want to know?
“Not her first name. Her last name. You
never told me, and it
was rather embarrassing not to know it.”
I did tell—I never told you? Her—
Patrick’s—last name is
Carruthers. Sorry. I could have sworn…
Funny, no matter what she does or doesn’t
do, all she has to do is say
“I’m sorry,” and my anger just melts away.
“Oh well, it doesn’t matter now. I was a shock,
obviously. Don’t you
talk to your mom about who you’re dating?”
Seriously? Of course not. We’re not, like,
best friends or anything.
God, I barely talk to Kendra about stuff.
“Why not? I thought sisters told each other
everything.” Not that I’d know
anything about it, except what I’ve seen on TV.
You don’t believe everything you see on
Lifetime, right? Wait. Do
you watch Lifetime? Because that’s weird.
“Lifetime? Wha…?” And now we’re both
laughing. Jenna has the rare
talent to be able to turn anything into a joke.
The Carson High Parking Lot
Is overflowing cars, and a steady line of people
heads toward the gym. “Wow.
How many teams compete in these things?”
Jenna shrugs. Pretty much every northern
Nevada high school will
be here. Even some from the rural counties.
Which makes it dozens. We squirm our way
through the door, look for
a couple of empty spaces in the packed bleachers.
The competition is well under way. We watch
a team from Reno High
complete a complicated routine. I’m not a huge
sports fan, so rarely watch cheerleaders. But
after witnessing three
or four squads do their thing, I have to admit
I’m impressed. They could be really great
dancers, not to mention
gymnasts. “They’re really athletic, aren’t they?”
Jenna snorts and elbows me in the ribs. Well,
duh. What did you
think this was? Third-grade gymnastics? It takes
years of practice to reach this level. And that
takes real dedication,
which explains why you’ll never see me cheer.
“Is there anything you are totally committed
to?” I guess I’m hoping
she’ll say me. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.
Her fingers knit with mine, and my heart
tries to convince my brain
that she’s going to say the words I want to hear.
My brain is not surprised when she whispers,
Commitment means
Nothing lasts. Not looks. Not love. I’m living
large and living for
today because there might not be a tomorrow.
Her Admission
Stated so matter-of-factly is like a slap
to my cheek. I suck in
breath. How did she become so world-weary?
I want to argue. But she’s right about looks
not lasting. Even my mom,
who is beautiful for her age and knows every
skin care secret, is starting to look middle-aged.
Love? Well, it seems to
fade for everyone eventually. And tomorrow?
Okay, fine. I kiss her gently on the cheek, softly
exhale into her ear. “If all
you can promise me is today, I’ll take it and hope
for tomorrow. And just so you know, today
I love you, Jenna.” Her face
swivels toward me, and her eyes bore into mine.
If she’s looking for lies, she can’t find them
there. But though she
blushes pleasure, all she says is, Thank you.
More Than Anything
I want to take her out of here, find a warm
hideaway to show her
exactly how much I love her. But just now
the announcer tells us the Grizzly Girls are making
their way to the floor.
No need to ask which one is Kendra. She’s her
mother’s daughter. Except she’s rice-paper thin.
“Does your sister eat?” I ask,
half expecting a rebuke. Instead, Jenna answers,
Only when she absolutely has to. She’s doing
the heroin chic thing.
You’d think Mom would do something, huh?
Actually, yes. But Kendra seems to be strong
enough. She’s tall, so is on
the bottom rung of all their pyramid stacks, along
with a muscular girl with toffee hair and a chubby
redhead. A girl on the middle
tier draws my eye. She is compact. Round. And black.
The Grizzly Girls
Are a formidable team, and they place well
ahead of t
he rest. After
they collect their trophy, Kendra waves
toward Jenna. Guess we should go say
hi. She gloms onto
my hand, holds tight, leads me down
the bleacher stairs like I’m a little kid who
can’t handle it on his own.
But that’s okay. I like the possessiveness.
All eyes are on me, and each pair seems
to hold a different
opinion. Jenna makes the introductions.
This is my sister, Kendra. The toffee-haired
girl is Cara; the redhead,
Aubree. And the black girl is named Shantell.
It is she who gives the most scathing look.
And when I say, “Pleased
to meet you,” she turns around, stalks away.
Cara
Turned Around
I can’t see the hurt in Sean’s
eyes. Blinders on, I can pretend
he wants me to run from him.
I
have opened the flood-
gates, am helpless against
the furious flow. I
don’t
have the strength to fight,
can barely keep my head
above water, and I don’t
know
where I’ll wash up if I just
let go. Does it hurt to drown?
No one teaches you
how to
walk away from someone
who you know loves you.
No one teaches you how to
say good-bye.
I Have Become An Expert
At making excuses. Manufacturing
lies. Walking the tightrope between
fact and fiction. Why can’t I just
come clean? I’m such a coward.
I am afraid of hurting Sean, who
hasn’t done anything wrong except
not be Dani. And maybe, just maybe,
not belong to the right gender club.
I’m also afraid of that possible truth.
Can a girl fall in love with a girl
and not be gay? Can she dream
of silken skin, perfumed with female
musk, yet joyfully submit to a man’s
calloused touch? I still think I owe