The Year They Fell Page 8

  After I spent that night in Coach’s hotel room in Maryland, we were together after almost every practice. He’d take me to some private spot on the beach or a motel where I’d wait in the car while he paid. Sometimes we’d just do it in Shirley’s cramped back seat. I hated it more each time. I hated that car. I hated Coach for making me feel I had to do this to make him happy. Mostly I hated myself for letting it happen.

  On the day of the Regional Finals I walked by the mirror in my uniform. I loved wearing the green-and-gold jersey, the high socks, the band I used to pull back my hair. I felt proud and strong. Now I felt like a liar. A phony. I went into Mom and Daddy’s bathroom and locked the door. I picked up Mom’s pink razor and I pressed it hard against the index finger of my pitching hand. I didn’t know exactly what I needed to do, but I was determined not to stop until there was no way I could play in that game. I’d go to the bone if I had to. I dug the blade into my finger and squeezed until it started to bleed. Just a drop at first, then a thin line. I pushed harder and harder until the razor snapped in half. Scrambling, I reached down to pick up the blade and that’s when I heard Shirley’s engine roar up the driveway. The double beep of the horn. My hand was shaking as I held the broken razor handle.

  Mom started knocking on the door. “Josie, Coach Murphy is here! You don’t want to be late. Your father is going to the game straight from work.”

  I stopped. I was willing to cut off a finger on the bathroom floor, but I couldn’t disappoint Daddy. So I wrapped my hand in toilet paper and walked past Jack and out to Coach, waiting for me in the car.

  I spent the whole game feeling dizzy and angry with myself for not slicing deep enough. In the bottom of the seventh, I came up to bat with runners on second and third and two outs. We were down by one. A base hit would win the game. As I started toward the plate, Coach Murph stopped me for some last-second advice. He rested his hand on my lower back and he leaned down to whisper in my ear. I didn’t even hear what he said. I was too focused on his thick fingers and his dry lips so close to my ear. I suddenly felt so many eyes on me. Like they’d turned on a spotlight and everyone saw. Everyone knew what I’d been doing with Coach Murph in the hotel and on those car rides. Jack and all the parents in the bleachers, my teammates on the bench, even the other team in the field were looking at me like I was this gross person, like there was something wrong with me. But worst of all was seeing Daddy there, knowing I had let him down.

  Coach nudged me toward the batter’s box, and I wanted to run or cry or just be swallowed up by the ground. I couldn’t do it anymore. I needed it to stop. The car rides and his body against mine and the promises that he’d love me forever. I needed it to end. So when the pitcher windmilled a fastball high and inside I leaned over the plate and let the ball smash me right in the face. I went down in a heap of blood and dirt. I lay there, curled up on the plate until Jack and Daddy ran over and carried me off the field.

  That night, after we got back from the hospital, Daddy put me to bed. “Good night, sweetheart. You are one tough son of a gun. You have no idea how proud I am of you.”

  If he’d known why I leaned over the plate, he wouldn’t have been proud. He would’ve been ashamed and disgusted.

  The ball broke two of my front teeth and left me with a black eye and a lot of bruising. But it wasn’t enough. When Daddy went back to his office, I snuck down the stairs and out the back door. I didn’t know where I was going or why. I was sinking underwater and I couldn’t be in the house. I couldn’t lie anymore.

  So I walked. And walked. And when I finally looked up, I was on the Sunny Horizons playground, where Archie was sitting on the giant stump of the old tree we used to climb. If he was surprised to see me he didn’t show it. But he didn’t ask me a bunch of questions or try to call my parents. He just made room for me on the stump and quietly drew in his sketchbook. And when I went underwater, it was his hand squeezing mine that pulled me to the surface. When I came up, I told him everything about Coach Murph and about the hotel and the blue Mustang and how it was exciting at first and then turned into something so disgusting. I told him everything I’d done, even the parts that made me sick to say out loud. After I was done he just took off his glasses and looked at me.

  “You can’t tell anyone,” I said.

  “I won’t. I would never. But you should. What he did was wrong.”

  “I just want it to go away.”

  “He should be in jail, Josie. I hate him for what he did to you.”

  “But I was … Please, you have to promise me.”

  Archie stared off toward the school. “Only if you promise me you’ll never go near him again.”

  “I’m a terrible person. I know that.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re like the best person I know. Since the day you pulled me up into this tree.”

  I ran my hand along the stump. “I can’t believe it’s gone. I can’t believe this is all that’s left.”

  “Yeah. I was here when they took it down. They used chainsaws to cut off all the branches and they went right through the trunk. That tree must’ve been here a hundred years. It was gone in less than an hour.”

  I started to cry, and Archie ripped a blank page from his sketchbook. “Sorry,” he said, handing it to me to wipe my nose. “It’s the best I can do.”

  I smiled. “I miss the pictures you used to draw me.”

  “I still draw them.”

  I touched his sketchbook. “I know a lot of people,” I said. “I don’t know anyone in the world like you.”

  I leaned my head against his shoulder. My eye was practically swollen shut and my mouth felt like it was full of glass, but Archie felt warm and comfortable. I turned my head and my lips touched his cheek. We lingered there, barely moving, barely breathing. He tilted his head slowly and brought his soft lips to mine. Our kiss was gentle and slow. It felt so different from everything that happened with Coach. I knew this was someone who really cared for me, who would never hurt me.

  When we broke apart, I turned around and ran home. And then I cut Archie out of my life again. I ignored his texts and calls. When he came to the house, I told Jack to send him away. From my window, I watched him head home on his scooter and I hated myself even more. But it’s what I had to do to survive.

  I never stepped on a softball field again. Just like that, the most important thing in my life was over. Putting on that uniform, standing on the pitcher’s mound knowing what I’d done … I couldn’t anymore. So I walked away. I told Daddy I was afraid of getting hurt again. It was the truth. I’d never seen him so disappointed in me. But I knew it was better this way. I was protecting him from something much worse.

  And slowly I started making myself into someone who wouldn’t be that snail without a shell, someone who would take control so she’d never be hurt like that again. Mom never asked why I gave up softball. I don’t think she cared. She actually seemed happy when I started to change. She finally had a girly daughter to take shopping and treat to mani-pedis. That’s the thing about parents. If you don’t cause any trouble and you act happy, that’s usually good enough for them.

  Even Jack didn’t really ask questions. He was too busy going through his own changes. Overnight, he started growing in all directions. He didn’t come to my room for help quieting his brain anymore. Instead he went to the gym. He joined the football team and shaved off his hair. My runty twin brother became someone people were afraid of. And I became someone they wanted to be.

  When you’re Josie Clay, people are always watching, always looking for the cracks. Did she already wear that skirt this week? Do her eyes look puffy? And after the crash, it only got worse. More eyes, more whispers. I couldn’t afford to let those cracks show, because once they did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold them closed anymore. Only a few weeks ago, my parents died and I dropped underneath the water. If I let go again, I knew I’d slide back under and sink to the bottom, the way Mom and Daddy’s plane had. And like them, I might not come b
ack this time.

  Cody pulled me aside before school one day. “I think we should take a time-out, Jos,” he said.

  “You’re breaking up with me?”

  “We’re just both going through a lot of stuff.”

  “My parents died. What are you going through?”

  “Your psycho buddy punched me in the face, for one thing. Even Siobhan says it. You’re changed since, you know…”

  “The plane crash?”

  “No. Since you got famous.”

  * * *

  Famous. People were crazy about the Orphans of Sunny Horizons Preschool: “The Sunnies.” I got more friend requests than I could keep up with. A photo of me in a little black dress at my parents’ memorial service became a thing. I got offers to publish my diaries and post style videos on my own YouTube channel.

  Famous. Except my boyfriend broke up with me, and my best friend thought I’d changed. Maybe I had. I couldn’t sit at my lunch table anymore. Because every time I was near Archie or Harrison or even Dayana, I felt people watching us, covertly taking photos on their phones. So I stayed away from them, too. I told Jack I was going to start going out for lunch. Instead, I’d go into the bathroom, sit in a stall, and wait for the bell to ring.

  At 1 A.M. the night before homecoming, I was picking out my clothes for the next day, when I heard piercing squeals and thumping bass coming from the yard. By the time I got to the porch, Jack was already there and the cheerleading squad was zooming away in their cute little cars. Our entire yard was covered in toilet paper. Jack held out his hand and looked up at the sky. “It’s about to pour,” he said. “If it gets wet, this crap’ll be stuck here forever.”

  “I’ll help you clean it up.” I wasn’t going to sleep anyway. Jack turned on the Jeep’s headlights and we assessed the damage. Every branch on the big oak tree had toilet paper dangling from it. “Was this Siobhan’s idea?”

  “I don’t know. We broke up.”

  “You did?” I asked. “But you guys were such a good couple.”

  “No we weren’t.”

  “I can’t believe neither of you talked to me about this. If you were having problems—”

  “Problems?”

  Jack carried the metal ladder out to the tree and slammed it open.

  “We can fix this. Let me text her.” Jack never made these decisions without talking to me first.

  “I don’t want to fix it. I want to get the toilet paper out of the trees. Go. I’ll hold it.”

  I climbed up the ladder. Except for the porch light and the Jeep’s high beams, the neighborhood was dark and quiet. We were the only two people in the world. I wondered if Jack was having the same trouble sleeping, the same nightmares about sinking into the ocean. That happens with twins sometimes. Did he miss Mom and Daddy as much as I did?

  “You skipped a branch,” he said.

  I reached out for the paper. “Maybe it’s good for you to be single during the season,” I said. “You can concentrate on impressing college coaches.”

  “Who cares?”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, stepping down a few rungs.

  Jack shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? Football. College. We’re going to have plenty of money once the life insurance comes through. What’s the point?”

  “The point is you’re great at it. Daddy said you were a natural.”

  “Daddy said.”

  “I thought you loved football.”

  “I love hitting people.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “No,” said Jack.

  “It made Daddy so proud to see you out there.”

  “And that’s all that mattered in this house, right? Making him proud. Making sure he wasn’t disappointed in us? Who gives a shit now if I play or quit?”

  “You’re going to quit? You can’t do that!” My voice came out louder and screechier than I expected.

  “You did.”

  In that moment, something jarred loose. I forgot that we were standing on our front lawn at 1:30 A.M. I jumped off the ladder and pounded on Jack’s chest.

  Yes, I’d quit softball, but only because I had to. I gave up the thing I loved most because it was spoiled forever and it was killing me. I quit softball out of survival. This was different. This was—

  “A slap in Daddy’s face. That’s what this is. You think he’d want you to quit?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jack. “Why don’t we ask him?”

  “What is wrong with you?! You can’t talk like that!”

  Jack’s face was dark red in the headlight beams. He grabbed the ladder and flung it across the yard. It landed with a loud clang. I’d only seen him this angry after one of Dad’s rants. “You telling me how to talk is what’s wrong, Jo. We’re walking around pretending like it’s normal around here. It’s not normal.” He yelled it again so the whole neighborhood could hear. “It’s not fucking normal!”

  “Stop saying that,” I begged him. I had to get this back under control.

  “See? That’s what we do. We keep quiet. We stuff shit inside. Grandma’s happy, as long as people give her compliments about Dad. And Grandpa spends all day in that shed pretending to be busy. And you? As long as your hair and makeup look good and you’re wearing a new outfit, it’s fine. It’s not fine, Jo. It’s fucked. It’s fucked forever and there’s nothing we can do about it!”

  Across the street and next door lights were going on in bedrooms. We weren’t the only people in the world anymore. Jack started toward the Jeep, but I threw myself in front of him.

  “You know what the real problem is?” I said. “You’re lost. You need me to tell you what to do. You always have. And when I’m dealing with my own stuff you don’t know how to handle it. You throw away your perfect girlfriend and now you’re gonna do the same with football. Since the minute we were born, you followed me. I don’t care how big you are. You can’t do it on your own. You don’t know how. You need me to make you a whole person.”

  “And you don’t?” Jack hopped in the Jeep and drove off, leaving me alone with the darkness.

  * * *

  I waited up all night for Jack, but he never came home. I was surprised to see him at school the next morning, but he didn’t bother telling me where he’d been. He barely spoke at all. He’d never done that to me before. When he walked away I stood there, frozen, in the middle of the hallway, watching him disappear around the corner.

  I drove myself to the football game that Friday night. I arrived just as our players were running out of the locker room onto the field. When everybody was out, I scanned the numbers. No number 74. Jack wasn’t with the team.

  I started heading for the field when I spotted him slowly walking out to join his teammates. When he reached the sideline, he shielded his eyes over his facemask and looked up into the stands. As I spun around to see what he was looking at the stadium lights blinded me, covering everything in bright, blurry halos. In the middle of the glowing blur, I swore I saw my parents sitting in their usual seats.

  Daddy sported a red RBHS baseball cap and Mom wore a replica of Jack’s jersey, number 74 over her turtleneck. Daddy gave me a wide smile and waved as Mom blew me a kiss. I blinked away tears, big, wet tears, and they were gone. They were gone.

  Eyes still cloudy, I raced down the stairs, twisting sideways to knife my way through the entering crowd. I kept my head down, hoping no one would notice how hard I was crying.

  When I finally made it under the bleachers I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated on staying at the surface. I don’t know how long I stood in that spot. The game was in full swing and the bleachers above me were pounding with the sound of a mob stomping its feet. The PA announcer’s voice echoed from the speakers. “Tackle by number 74, Jack Clay!” When I heard shuffling feet, I opened my eyes and realized I wasn’t alone down there. Dayana and Harrison were staring at me.

  Dayana took a hit of her vape pen. “Thought we’d lost you again, Jo.” I could barely see
her in the dim light. Harrison peered down and studied me like a science experiment.

  “What are you doing down here?” I asked.

  Harrison’s eyes looked wild. “I’m not technically allowed to attend school functions during my suspension, so I have to keep a low profile, but Dayana said I shouldn’t be alone, so she invited me to come along with her while she sold some of her father’s pills to—”

  She punched his arm. “I was just … meeting some people. Why aren’t you up with the screaming douchenozzles? Sorry, I mean, your friends?”

  “That’s not a nice thing to say,” said Harrison.

  “You want to know what those douchenozzles say about me? Or how about what they say about you?”

  “They like me. I’m one of the Sunnies. Well, they did before I punched Josie’s boyfriend in the face. Is he still mad about that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He broke up with me.”

  “Sorry,” said Dayana. “He seemed … whatever.”

  A voice cut in from the entrance. “Hey, it’s—it’s me. Sorry.” Archie walked out of the shadows holding his sketchbook. “I saw you run down here. I wasn’t following you or anything, but I saw you were … you looked like you were … Not that it’s any of my business. I just … I’m glad you’re all right. Are you all right?”

  A loud roar above us startled him and he dropped his book.

  Harrison picked up the book. “I’ve always wanted to know what you have in here,” he said. “I never see you without it.” He opened to the page with a ribbon bookmark in it. His eyes went wide. “It’s you, Josie. It’s … beautiful.”

  Before I could see the drawing, Archie snatched the book from Harrison and slammed it closed. He looked at me for a second and then quickly turned his gaze toward the ground. “Good thing nobody knows we’re down here, huh? This would be a prime photo op. ‘The Sunnies reunite to watch Jack play ball. News at 11.’”

  “That’s not funny,” I said.