Before Marcus can suggest that weshouldn’t, I shush him.
Zadie’s the first to jump back, and Jason’s eyes have gone wide, a timid expression on his face. “Coach Feathers,” he says.
“Who’s Coach Feathers?” Marcus asks, frowning.
“You’ll see,” I say.
Coach Feathers has a full beard sprinkled with white and a head that is almost bald, but not quite. “I thought that was you, dipping into the chocolate milk, but it was hard to tell,” he says with a smirk. The words make me flinch even though it’s obviously not the first time I’m hearing them.
“What the fuck did he just say?” Marcus says, disbelieving. He’s as shocked as Jason and Zadie feel, if their stunned eyes are anything to go by.
It’s always like this, a moment when you are least expecting it, when someone says something that pulls the rug out from under you.
“Did he just imply what I think he implied?” Marcus asks me. I nod, trying for no expression, but I’m clenching my fists so hard my nails dig into my palms. For days after this encounter, I would question whether Feathers actually said what I thought he did, whether he meant it the way I thought he did, whether I should have told him how much of an asshole I thought he was, or whether I did the right thing staying quiet.
“How’s Sterlingwood?” Coach Feathers asks, patting Jason once on the shoulder, the man’s authoritative voice making me feel small, even now that I’m invisible. Even now that he technically has no power over me; he’s just a memory.
“Um, good, sir,” Jason says.
“And how’s that heading technique we talked about?”
“Wait,” Marcus says, “why isn’t Jay beating his ass? What am I looking at?”
“He can’t,” I explain, even though I feel warm all over. “It’s UMaine’s soccer coach.”
“Right.” Marcus looks furious, and not just at Feathers now but at his cousin, who is saying, “Much better. I’m looking forward to showing you how much it’s improved this coming year.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Feathers says.
“Jason can’t say anything,” I point out, my voice small. “It would ruin his prospects with—”
“Zadie,” Marcus says with the utmost seriousness, “fuck his prospects.” He’s looking at me like he can’t believe what he’s witnessing. Feathers pats Jay on the back again, then walks off. As soon as he’s gone, Past Jason gives Past Me a guilty look.
“Zad, I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I forgot how much of a tool he is.”
“That’s convenient.” Marcus is fuming.
Something tiny in me feels vindicated, seen somehow by Marcus’s reaction, even though I’m sure it’s easier to be mad in a dream than in real life. It’s easier to call someone out for doing the wrong thing than to do the right thing yourself. For all I know, if I’d been at this fair with Marcus and Coach Feathers had made a ridiculous comment, Marcus might have just given me his own apologetic smile.
Somehow, though, I’m not completely sure of that.
Other Zadie waves the whole thing off. “He’s not the first or last ignorant person,” she says, feigning a smile. She takes Jason’s hand again, and we—they—keep walking. In real life, I feel slightly ill as I watch them. Even though it’s only been five months since this moment, I am not sure I would react the same way now. Not sure that I would take Jay’s hand and pretend everything is okay.
My dad would have made a scene.
Always easygoing and cheerful and fun, unless somebody hurt me or Mom, he would have told Feathers where to shove it, and he would definitely be looking twice at Jason. Not that it’s Jason’s job to save me, but he could have handled this way better.
Still, it’s Mom’s voice Other Zadie is hearing when she plays it off—Mom’s voice I typically hear in moments like these.Keep smiling. Don’t give them something to talk about.
Softer eyes and kinder smiles and fewer whispers.
For Other Zadie and Jason, there is a notable damper on everything, like looking at the world under an overcast sky compared with a bright sunny sky. But they try to make the best of it.
They go back the way we came, to the bumper cars. After playing on them for a while, they attempt a video game. They take photos with a clown on stilts, and Jason even convinces one of them to let him try on their stilts. To disastrous effect. Other Zadie takes pictures of all of it, and eventually they’re laughing hard, holding the stitches in their sides. I smile too as I watch, tell myself with every second that passes: you and Jason. This is what makes sense.
When they get back down to the ground from their last ride, it’s sunset, everything a reddish orange as it burns up the sky.
“I’ll be right back,” Zadie tells Jason before she goes to the bathroom.
