I pinch my eyes shut for a moment, hearing Malcolm on my shoulder, reminding me to keep my head, but Lionel fucking Barry is a washed-up has-been, known for talking a lot of shit because he wishes he could still play. “My parents have nothing to do with any of this, and I’d politely ask Mr. Barry to avoid mentioning them any further. If he wants to come after me, fine, but don’t use their deaths as an excuse to try to take me down.”
“What about addressing his saying you care more about showing off than showing out for your team?”
I flick my gaze to Malcolm, who pleads with wide eyes for me to stay on track, but I can’t help it. My mouth is moving before I’ve fully formed the answer. “If I didn’t care about my team, I wouldn’t have returned. I would challenge Lionel fucking Barry or anyone else to do what I had to do, to bury both of my parents and endure the chatter in the media and online about what a shitty person I am and how I deserved it.” I dig my finger into the table. “You think I want to come back to a city that hates me after saying goodbye to what feels like the only twopeople who loved me? You think it’s easy to sit here with all of you looking at me, knowing you want the nitty-gritty details of the worst moments of my life? Yes, I fucked up. Yes, I am taking responsibility, but there is no greater challenge than coming back here and fighting for my team. I am rising to it, so you can take whatever sound bite you want back to prove to the world I am every bit the asshole you think I am, but I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Even when most anyone else would have quit, I haven’t. I’m still here.”
With that, I stand and exit the stage, marching right out the doors with the patter of feet behind me, probably Malcolm or any one of the team’s media people, pissed about what I said and leaving early, but fuck that.
“Hey.” Erik intercepts me in the hall, probably having been watching it on one of the televisions mounted there. He gestures to whoever is behind me, clearly ordering them to leave me alone then directs me away from the fray. “That was great. Good for you.”
“You think it was great?”
“Yeah. You needed to get it off your chest.”
I nod and step away from his grasp to turn down another hall, feeling much lighter now than I did when I walked into that room. He follows, keeping step with me. “Where are you going?”
Since this isn’t the way to the locker room, the team meeting room, or the cafeteria. “To see Pearce.”
Erik pats my back twice in solidarity. I suppose it is time to see the therapist. I made a promise with Nadine. I won’t break it, especially after that presser. I’m sure every single reporter, paper, sports program, and idiot on social media will have a field day with it, but no one has any idea what it’s like to be in my shoes. They have no idea what it feels like to be dragged to hell and back and still sit in front of a firing squad after to answer questions as if they haven’t already killed me.
“What’s the name of the school your sister taught at?” I ask,and I can feel my best friend’s attention on the side of my face, but I keep my focus in front of me.
“East Central. Why?”
“I want to buy everything on the teachers’ supply lists there, but I don’t want her to know it’s me.” I pause, finally meeting Erik’s surprised stare. “Or maybe I should do the whole district. How much ya think that’ll cost?” I wave it off, reaching for my cell phone. “I’m doing it.”
I take off again, but Erik keeps up. “I’m proud of you, man.” When I try to swat his words away, he stops me with his hand on my forearm. “I’m serious. What you told the reporters? How almost everyone else would have given up? It’s true. You’re still here fighting, and I’m proud of you.” He hugs me. “Be proud of yourself.”
I’m trying. I am, but it’s hard to do when it feels like everyone is rooting for me to fail or, at the very least, “get what I deserve,” which is to say, utter humiliation. They want me humbled.
I have been. More than they could ever imagine, but they’ll never see me on my knees. I will never show them how much pain it causes me to know the last conversation I ever had with my parents was about how I had disappointed them. They will never have to face an inconsolable fourteen-year-old girl and tell her it’ll be all right, when nothing is all right.
Knowing I’ve experienced the worst thing that could ever happen to me and come out on the other side, I feel invincible. They want me humbled, okay. They want to see me battered and bruised, I am. But I cannot be broken.
Iwill notbe broken.
The list of people who I allow in, who I’m happy to lay down my shields for, is very small.
“You’re doing it for your sister,” Erik reminds me, releasing me from his embrace. “For your parents.”
And a woman I shouldn’t be thinking about while her brother stands in front of me, comforting me. A woman whogave me a birthday card this morning that readHappy birthday! You’re still an asshole.
“Hey.” I hold out my fist for a bump from Erik. “I’m gonna take it from here. Thanks, though.”
He slaps my shoulder and pivots around as I continue down the hall, finding my text thread with Nadine to type out a new message.
On my way to see the counselor.
Look at you! Next, you’ll be using manners and everything. Like a real human boy.
Have you made your appointment yet?
I did. This afternoon actually. After I talked to my parents.
Is that supposed to be a scary cliffhanger?
That’s when you ask me
“What did you talk to your parents about, Nadine?”
