Faith.
Beau doesn’t drive a white panel van. His vintage Mustang remained hidden on the other side of the vehicle favored by serial killers. He claimed he couldn’t resist teasing me after I put up such a fuss about getting in his car the night we met, proving we share the same sense of humor. The butthead.
We’ve been inseparable since we met a week ago.
The front of the school’s Gladiator Colosseum resembles its ancient namesake in Rome. The scoreboard stands between two asymmetrical columns. While we wait in line at Will Call for our tickets, I study the pillars and vaults that tower five stories above me. I run my hand over the porous surface and wonder if I’ve stumbled onto a Hollywood movie set. An absurd mix of school pride bubbles within. Its beauty staggers me.
“Do they release hungry lions at halftime?”
Beau grins. “We should be so lucky.”
Once through security, we wander onto the concession concourse. The Stinking Rose sells bagna calda. The aroma nearly brings me to my knees with longing. My grandmother makes the best garlic dip I’ve ever eaten, and I’m fiercely homesick for the family I left behind.
“Do you want to stand in line for the Stinking Rose?” he asks.
“No. I’m not hungry yet.”
Beau and I venture into the student section above the band. Rows of curved stone pews sectioned into large stalls comprise open seating in each end zone, while all other seating in the arena appears standard for a sports venue. Beau and I venture into the students’ section above the band.
Today, the Gladiators play the San Jose State Spartans, our rivals. More than a game, it’s a Greco-Roman grudge match.
We return the ball for a fifty-four-yard gain at kickoff and Beau asks, “Explain to me why we’re here instead of catching the latest Mark Snow film in IMAX?”
“I like football. It’s homecoming, Beau.” Curiosity, too. A chance to watch Sinjin in his element, but Beau doesn’t need to know everything. My presence at the game doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about guys, except the one beside me. “Concentrate on the shape of their butts in those tight Gladiator-gold pants.”
“Yes, well, there’s that. However, I believe there’s an ulterior motive in play here.”
We join the rest of the crowd chanting, “Defense, defense” at the top of our voices. The stadium is loud, frenetic, and filled to capacity.
I tell Beau, “It’s part of Kirsty’s freshman can’t-miss list.”
He leans in to speak directly in my ear. “A directive from your soul sister.”
“Wait. Is that snark? After our FaceTime call, you said she was adorable.”
He drapes his arm around my shoulders, stares at the field, and raises his voice to pitch over the noise of the crowd. “Kirsty is a charming mix of social director and devoted sidekick.”
Beau reads people well, but our roles are backward. “Don’t be absurd. I’m her sidekick. Patrick to her SpongeBob, only with an IQ higher than a starfish and not as annoying.”
“I disagree. Not about being irritating. I’ve seen the dynamic. You let her be in charge.”
Ridiculous. “She’s my driving force. Without her nagging me to join a campus group, we wouldn’t have met.”
His attention remains on the field. “I imagine we’d have found each other regardless. We are yin and yang.”
Warmth spreads up my neck. “Light and dark? You think of us as opposites who complement each other?” I scream, “Go,” when a Gladiator carries the ball twenty-four yards before being tackled.
“As a metaphor, yes, I do. Most pop-culture friends end up falling for each other. Not a good comparison in our case.”
“Harry and Hermione were best friends. She was essential to his quest to find horcruxes and nobody got naked.”
His eyes light up. “True. No hint of unrequited love either.”
“Let’s not forget a few notable boy-girl friends-only matchups on The CW.”
“You win. Tell me the real reason we’re cheering on our boys in black and gold. Don’t try to push school spirit.”
“I like football.” I glance down at the field. Caleb St. John wears number eighty-three. He hasn’t played much, but that’s normal for a freshman. Four other tight ends—all upperclassmen—would hit the field ahead of him. I studied the roster this week. I understand the game since Dad and I watch the Patriots together. After I embarrassed myself in class, I paid attention to some of the commentary made by Gabe, the boy who worships Sinjin in calculus.
I admit I was taken aback by Gabe. He’s not a traditional fanboy. Body language suggests all-out worship, but Gabe’s pithy analysis works in direct contrast. I’m surprised Sinjin puts up with the guy’s endless critique without telling him to shut the hell up or slapping him stupid.
Sinjin doesn’t share the stereotypical traits of a football player. For one, he lacks the monumental ego I’ve come to expect from the species. That’s why I’m here. In observation mode, safe in the stands and far away from the potential predator.
Of course, I’m lying to myself. Character and motive won’t be determined from a distance. I should pay attention to the game instead of one particular player.
Beau says, “Hmm. Football or someone on the field?”
“Shhh. Watch the game.”
It’s fourth down with six yards to go. Instead of calling in the punting team, they send number eighty-three into the game. The quarterback snaps the ball. Sinjin rushes forward to block then continues running. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at the passer and spins around to catch the football aimed between his jersey numbers. Sinjin turns with remarkable agility and runs for eighteen yards before getting slammed between two San Jose State players who bring him down from either side, high and low.
Sinjin retains possession of the ball on the play, but stays on the ground, motionless.
My heart jumps to my throat, and I squeeze Beau’s forearm. “Is he hurt?”
One of the assistant coaches runs out to Sinjin along with two trainers. I can’t tell what’s happening other than Sinjin’s complete stillness. One minute is a long time to watch someone remain inert. Finally, his helmet shifts from side to side. He tries to raise himself off the ground. They help him sit. After another thirty seconds, they bring him to his feet and walk beside him as he crosses the field.
The crowd erupts in applause. “Thank God.”
Beau pries my fingers off his forearm.
I didn’t realize I’d gripped him hard enough to leave impressions. “Oh crap, I’m sorry.”
“A hit like that can make you forget how to breathe, how to move your body, and your own name.” He points at the field below. “I’m sure you remember. What’s his name?”
“What?” Damn. “How do you know how it feels? Did you play football?”
“Yes. Stop stalling. Number eighty-three, how do you know him? Why do you care, beyond common decency, that he’s not hurt? Come on, Faith. There’s something you’re not telling me. I hate a secret when I’m not in on it.”
“Give me a minute to watch. I want to make sure he’s going to be okay. Then I’ll spill.”
Beau will help me put this into perspective and be the voice of reason. Tell me to stop obsessing about someone clearly out of my dating stratosphere. The last time I showed interest in a jock, life bitch-slapped me. I need to quit humoring my hormones and use common sense.
Sinjin sits on the bench, speaking to the trainer, drinking Gatorade out of a squirt bottle. He appears to be fine. More than fine. The guy is superb, which makes me question the motive behind his interest in me. Why doesn’t Amazon sell Wonder Woman’s lasso of truth? Every girl should be issued one on her sixteenth birthday. I’d tie it around Sinjin and force him to tell me the truth. Then I’d kiss him stupid. Wow. Dangerous thought. Just because someone acts charming, doesn’t mean he’s a prince.
“Faith…talk to me!”
I jump. Beau sounds exasperated, but so am I. “Why didn’t you tell me you played?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Come on. Why didn’t you mention it when I dragged you into the Colosseum? What position did you play?”
“Quarterback. Before you ask, I started rec league at the age of five—up through junior year of high school. Enough about me. I’m waiting…”
I fill Beau in on my calculus class fiasco with Sinjin.
“Tell me why you’re avoiding the opposite sex. Something or someone prompted it.” He nudges me with his elbow. “I need the backstory.”
That’s the thing about friendships—if you don’t go all-in, you risk undermining their value. Kirsty knows my secrets, and I trust her completely. There’s honesty, and then there’s total wart reveal. My stomach cramps. Am I ready to share my scars with Beau? For me, it’s the emotional equivalent of being naked, turning on the brightest lights, and allowing someone to examine all my imperfections.
I’m not ready for full disclosure to Beau about Dimitri, but I can tell him why the kids back home call me Fat Faith. “After that hit, they won’t send Sinjin back in the game tonight. It’s too loud in here. Want to find food somewhere—my treat?”
“How about street tacos at Goose’s? The guacamole is a work of art.”
“Perfect.”
We cross through the grove of bay laurel trees where alumni and fans tailgate. The peppery smell of the leaves mixes with the scent of charcoal and grilled meat and makes my mouth water. I gather my thoughts, wonder where to begin, and realize sharing something painful doesn’t require a linear timeline.
“I don’t want to talk about why I’m avoiding guys.”
“Fair enough.”
I take a deep breath. “I wear extra-large-sized clothes to hide myself.”
“Why?”
Conscious choice. Determined decision. “It’s my armor.”
He wiggles his fingers at me. “More.”
“A defense against the taunting,” I say in one quick breath.
He nods. “I imagined you had a reason.”
I’m infused with the sense Beau won’t share my secrets, but deep down I worry Beau will think less of me. “I haven’t lived with my mom for ten years. Or been in the same room with her for the past five.”
“Abuse?”
“She never laid a hand on me, but she filleted me with words.” It’s difficult to explain our strange dynamic. “I’m not able to examine my relationship with her objectively.”
I meet Beau’s gaze. “In my mother’s eyes, I commit a fashion crime by dressing this way. She writes for Totally Teen and happens to be the teen advice guru.”
His nostrils flare and his cheeks flame with color. “There’s nothing wrong with casual dress. Except your choice has nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with concealment.”
My instinct screams at me to shut my mouth and stop here, but it’s not an option. “The answer is yes, but it’s only half the story. The year after my mom left my dad, I started puberty. In third grade, I wore a C-cup bra. My classmates were relentless.”
He shakes his head. “The other half of the story becomes clear. Faith, damn it, you let shitty people win by continuing to shroud yourself each day.”
I shrug my shoulders pretending a nonchalance I don’t feel. “Life sucks when your body morphs into adulthood at nine. Boys followed me home from school, poking and grabbing at my breasts then ran away shouting, ‘I touched them.’”
Beau’s face mirrors his shock. “What did your dad do about it?”
Most people have abandoned their tailgate spots for the action inside the stadium. I’m wary of someone overhearing us, but no one is near. “I didn’t tell him.”
“For real? You have zero survival instinct. He had the power to stop it.”
I breathe in and hold the air to ward off the hiccups. His anger scorches me. While I don’t want to lose his friendship, I’ll choke if he blasts me for my past choices. “This is history. It can’t be rewritten now. You either want to hear about it or we’ll talk about something else. But I won’t be able to have this conversation if you don’t hit your mute button.”
Beau stops walking. “What did you say?”
I stare at the trash can next to me, overflowing with beer bottles and empty chip bags. “You heard me.” I’m sickened by the thought he’ll decide being my friend is too much work. I start walking again but turn to glance over my shoulder when he doesn’t keep up.
He has his fist pressed against his mouth. His chest shakes as he tries to contain his laughter. “This is a first. No one has ever told me to hit my mute button.”
A laugh tickles my throat. “It won’t be the last if you don’t shut up.”
He grins and poof. Situation defused. He reaches me. “Last question. Seriously, why not involve your father?”
I squirm under his glare. “If I told Dad, he would have enrolled me in the Catholic school.” Uniforms. “Knee socks and skirts are not my style. And I couldn’t leave Kirsty.”
“You chose friendship over self-preservation?” Beau shakes his head.
“Look, without Kirsty, I would have been shattered. She helped me face things head-on.”
“It takes immense courage to stand up to your bullies,” he concedes.
“Not really. I lived one minute to the next. I locked my knees and used sarcasm to get through. Back home they call me Fat Faith.”
“You can’t be serious!” He explodes. “You’re not fat.”
I hunch my shoulders. “I’m not skinny.”
He grabs my hand and makes eye contact. “Knock it off.”
We leave campus and head toward downtown. Twilight paints the sky purple. The pervasive smell of exhaust fumes assaults us. Cheers erupt from the sports bar we pass. “Each year, Mom and I spent a week together, bonding in Boston. The year I turned fourteen, she made a critical error by using a picture of herself along with a model she claimed was her daughter Faith, in a special Mother’s Day column. I showed Dad. I was no longer obligated to spend a week at the Fairmont Copley Plaza pretending she wasn’t a monster.”
“You’re joking.”
I shake my head. “I wish.
“That kind of pain leaves a residue—a sticky adhesive your thoughts land on from time to time. That day I donated every piece of clothing she’d ever sent me to the Salvation Army. For the next two years, I tortured myself by comparing every shortcoming of mine to that counterfeit daughter Mom paid to impersonate me. I followed the model on Twitter. On my sixteenth birthday, I stopped following Fake Faith on social media. It became the day I stopped caring about Mom’s inability to see me.”
Beau wraps his arm around me. “I don’t know what to say.”
I lean into his side, drawing comfort from him.
We arrive at Goose’s, a triangular-shaped building with a thatched-hut front. I order chips and guacamole along with two baskets of shrimp tacos while Beau nabs a picnic table away from a crowd of students. By the time I pick up the order and meet Beau at the table, I’m in control of my emotions.
I take a bite. The flavors of grilled shrimp, onion and cilantro burst inside my mouth. I’m stuffing my face to buy time.
Beau calls me on my shit by saying, “I assume there’s more to this story.”
“She tries to shame me into losing weight by sending designer clothing that’s much too small for me. I sell them on BlueStar and donate the money to places like Teen Space.”
“A philanthropist. It suits you.”
“More like a passive-aggressive jerk. I ask the charities to send the acknowledgments to my mother.”
He barks out a laugh. “Ahh. That suits you, too.”
“It keeps me out of the shrink’s office.”
Beau plunks his drink on the table. “Don’t rule out therapy.”
I’m going to develop a couch complex soon with everyone directing me toward one. “The director at Teen Space offered counseling services through their office. I declined.”
“You might want to reconsider.”
“Maybe. In the meantime, you can play the role of shrink.”
He lifts his soda in toast. “Count on me.”
Warmth spreads through my chest and down to my fingertips. “I hope you feel the same about me. Friendships are my lifeline, Beau. I’m trustworthy.”
“I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”
Beau walks me back to my dorm. We step off the elevator on three, and Raja isn’t roaming the halls. I’m a little disappointed. It would have been fun to see his reaction to Beau. I open the door, hoping Charlene isn’t back yet. I’m relieved to find our room empty.
“Have you ever thought about going the teen advice route yourself?” he asks.
“You mean compete with my mother?”
“No. The opposite. Offer compassion and assistance instead of beauty advice.”
“She offers more than beauty advice.” What’s wrong with me? Why the hell did I just stick up for her?
Beau appears to have read my thoughts. Or they’re written all over my face.
“Let me explain. She isn’t as completely one-dimensional as I make her out to be. I’ll show you.”
I reach under my bed for the bin where I keep my stash of articles. There’s one in particular I want to show him. I can quote it from memory. It’s from a girl who became disfigured in a fire. This article shows Mom’s compassion. I pass it to him to read.
“Tragic.” He hands the magazine cutout back to me. “Her advice offered real strategies.”
“Thanks. I used to read it to remind myself of her humanity. I kept waiting for her to share that side of herself with me. Never happened.”
“Her loss.”
Mostly mine. But I welcome his support.
I sit on the bed, and Beau drops next to me. “I’m sorry about your mom and the Neanderthals who were your classmates.”
Emotion seeps out of me like air escaping a punctured tire. “Yeah, high school didn’t end well for me.”
Beau rubs my knee. “No shit. There has to be a reason for your vow.”
I bite my lip. I miss having someone in my life to connect with on this level. Someone who knows everything about me and still wants to be my friend. Like Kirsty. But she’s not here. I didn’t want to talk about Dimitri, but the words find their way out of my mouth. “Just before graduation I fell for a guy. A football player who gave me a new nickname, Fellating Faith.”
Beau chokes on nothing. “Appalling alliteration.”
Charlene steps into the room with a gym bag slung over her shoulder. “Sounds like a dirty book available for download off the internet.”
Her duffel drops to the floor next to Beau’s feet. “Blow jobs?” Her nose crinkles. “That’s disgusting. Boys aren’t allowed in here. I thought we were clear on the Room Rules.”
Blood drains from my face. Oxygen whooshes from my lungs, and I nearly collapse on Beau. It takes me seconds to absorb the fact she’s now privy to something deeply private to me. Much worse than Charlene rifling through my belongings searching for secrets. I have zero control.
Beau says, “This is a co-ed dorm. There aren’t any rules against visitors.”
Charlene stands her ground. Twin blotches of red stain both cheeks. “No boys in my room. I won’t have it,” she says through clenched teeth.
“It’s Faith’s room, too. You don’t have the power to decide who visits your roommate.”
I lean against him, grateful for his support.
Charlene rears forward, ready to blast us both. I just don’t give a shit anymore. She lacks common courtesy and deserves the same.
“You paw through my things.” I grab my backpack and shove my laptop inside and sling it over my shoulder. I can’t stay tonight breathing the same air as Charlene. “Every thought you have gets vocalized no matter how hurtful.”
Beau follows me to the door. I turn back to Charlene and say, “Shove your rules straight up your ass. When we’re in here together, just shut the fuck up.”
I slam the door behind us.
Beau asks, “Do you need to crash somewhere else tonight?”
“Maybe I’ll sneak into Dad’s.”
“Or you can stay with me.”
I nod and will myself not to cry. “Thanks, Beau. You’re the best thing about this place.”