Chapter Thirty-Two

Saturday, March 5th

Basketball semi-finals

“Daddy, you remember Carson?” Gabby says, trying to sound all calm.

Gabby, her dad and I sit in the stands at Fenton High, site of the state girls’ basketball semi-finals. Fenton plays later this afternoon, but Gabby, her dad, the coach and a few other players showed up early to scout the possible competition for tomorrow if—I mean, when—they win later today. The finals are tomorrow at the sports arena.

“Sure, Carson,” Mr. Gibson says as his big hand covers mine. It’s loaded with the calluses of a working man. He doesn’t squeeze hard, trying to crush me, so he must have believed every lie Gabby told him. “Hope your car made it. You covering the game?”

“As always, sir.” I try not to crack even a smile or look at Gabby with lust in my eyes.

“Look over there, Gabs. You see those women?” Mr. Gibson says, pointing to the other side of the court. “Those are recruiters. I’m not sure from what college.”

“I’m just gonna play my game,” Gabby says.

Her dad smiles, but I hope he doesn’t read behind the look on my face. He talks to his daughter about her future. I gaze at his daughter, remembering the recent past. How can I smell her scent and not remember her taste?

“If you do that,” her dad says, “then they’ll sign you up for sure.”

“Here. These may help,” I say, then open up my backpack and pull out a folder.

“What are these?” he asks. Gabby also looks surprised, which was my plan.

“No offense against the person who wrote girls’ sports the last couple years for the paper, but they didn’t do such a good job at making your daughter look as good as they could.”

“I know that,” he says, then smiles again at his daughter.

“I did some rewriting and reprinting.” I hand him sports stories, which is my acceptance of my limits. “When she applies to colleges, you can include all of these stories I rewrote.” Since I couldn’t write a happy ending for Gabby, I created a happier past.

“We’ll take these with us, won’t we, Gabs?” he asks. She shrugs. Embarrassed.

“Take them where?” I ask.

“We’re going to visit schools in California on Monday, first day of spring break,” he says. “Gabs has always had California dreams, just like her old man, except she won’t blow it.”

I give Gabby my best sad ‘don’t leave me alone’ look. It nicely covers the ‘why didn’t you tell me about this?’ glare underneath. “My sister lives in San Diego. You going there?” I ask.

“There on Monday, then USC and UCLA on Tuesday, maybe some others,” he says. “We’ll end up at Long Beach State. They’re a small school, but a sports powerhouse.”

“I hope these articles help,” I say, handing him the rest of the folder. It feels like I’m handing him a loaded gun. I’ve known it in the abstract, but it’s never hit me until right now. Gabby’s leaving. I’m staying. We’re over. What did Carol say about learning to deal with loss? You get over it or it gets over you. It feels like I’m wearing an iron suit that weighs two tons.

* * * *

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say to Gabby when we sneak outside during half-time.

“I didn’t know, not until this morning, really,” she says. “He told me it was a surprise. It was our way of celebrating us winning the state championship.”

“But you haven’t won yet,” I remind her.

“That’s going to change by tomorrow. You watch.”

“I wish I could be as confident as you.”

“You can, Carson. Of course you can.” I think she wants to sneak a kiss, but I see some NHS juniors, including Thien. I assume she’s glaring at me big time through her tiny glasses.

“No, Gabby, I can’t,” I say. “I’m not arguing with you, just setting you straight.”

“So, I’m good at sports, big deal. You’re good at lots of things,” she says.

“Name one,” I demand.

She looks around like a spy making sure the coast is clear, then flicks her tongue against her top lip. “Okay, other than that,” I say, blood rushing to and from my face at the same time.

“Okay, writing—you’re good at that,” she says.

“You mean for the paper,” I say. “The stories are good because they’re all about you.”

“No, I meant your stories. Your novel about Autumn—”

“I’m done with that.”

“What?”

“I’m done,” I announce to myself as much as to her. Unrealistic ambitions hurl you in the wrong direction, like how Caitlin’s star dreams led her to my computer screen. I’ve wasted so much time for so little results. The math doesn’t work about words.

“What? Done writing? No, Carson, that’s who you are. That’s one of the things that—”

“When I heard Josh read his first story, I think I knew then I had to quit,” I explain. “I knew then I wasn’t the best, not even close. If I can’t be the best, then why bother?”

“You can’t quit something because you’re not the best.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Gabby, because you are the best at something.”

“For now, maybe. I know college ball will be harder. I don’t plan on quitting then.”

“So you don’t mind being a loser?”

“My field goal percentage is fifty percent. I miss half the shots I take. I’m not perfect.”

“I missed all my shots,” I say. “I’m done wasting my time. I’ll find some new dreams.”

“Don’t let guys like Kirk—”

“I don’t have the talent or the temperament,” I say, recalling Dr. Draper’s words. “Maybe Kirk was right. If I can’t be the best writer even at Fenton, how do I think I’d ever make it, especially up against guys like Josh who have everything going for them? I’m done.”

“Carson, come on. Don’t talk this way.”

“Did you know in the morning before the alarm goes off that you actually hear a little click inside the clock? It’s the click that wakes you up. Creative writing club was my click.”

“Carson, but—”

“There’d be no pro athletes if there weren’t people paying to watch them,” I say. “Just the same, without readers, there would be no writers. I know my place now. I accept my limits.”

“It was just one year, one club,” Gabby says. “Give yourself a second chance.”

Her father calls her name. As she walks away, I know that I have to follow her. Not now, but to California next week. I’ve given everyone a second chance except myself. I want a second chance with Caitlin now that I’ve learned so much in these past three months. She never called back or picked up, yet I know her birthday call was her way of keeping connected. But connections are not about wires, apps, vids, phones, texts, IMs or Facebook, but being face to face with someone as you each write the story of your lives. I need a second chance to give the book of Caitlin’s life, my life, my parents’ life, a happy ending.

While Gabby watches the game, I call Tim and ask him to meet me at the gym. As I wait, I call the Excalibur and learn Callie is dancing on Tuesday. I next call Southwest Airlines to get the info I need. I wait for Tim to get the money I need as well.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tim says through heavy breathing. “When I was coming in, I noticed that NHS juniors are working the concessions and I noticed Thien was working, so…”

“Méfiez-vous de la femme!”

“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Did you go crazy since we last talked?”

“It’s French for ‘beware of woman’,” I explain. “Thien speaks French. It was a joke.”

“What’s going on?” He’s headed on Monday to check out MIT.

“When you go away, are you taking a computer?” I ask.

“What are you talking about?” He seems confused. I don’t blame him.

“Would you like to buy my Mac? I know you want it. I’m done with the online world.”

“I already have a computer for college,” he says, but I have my best begging eyes staring right at him until he finally asks, “Okay, how much?”

“Six hundred.” I don’t tell him that’s the price of the plane ticket, a hotel and money for food.

“For a four-year-old Mac?”

“Please, Tim. I need your help.”

“You could just ask me for the money, Carson,” he says. “I’d loan it to you.”

“I can’t ask you for money. My dad says never let money come between best friends.”

“Carson, no offense, but we really haven’t been best friends for a while,” he reminds me as he stares at the floor. “You got involved with the paper, creative writing and Gabby.”

“I’m sorry, Tim, but about the Mac… Whatever you’re willing to pay.”

“Like I said, let me just loan you the money.”

“I need to earn the money! I want you to buy something from me and this is all I have!” Images of Callie Bangs dancing on stage and fucking on my screen click in my head.

“Okay, I’ll buy it, but only if you do something for me,” Tim says.

“Anything.”

“I decided to ask Thien to prom, but I know she won’t go with me, if…” He lets it dangle like a piñata. I need to hand him the club.

“If she thinks we’re still friends,” I finish it. “Why don’t you just tell her that we’re not?”

“I don’t want to lie to her,” he says. “I mean, is that any way to start with someone?”

I’ve soaked myself in so many lies, I can’t answer that. “So what can I do?” I ask.

“I don’t know, but I do like her and I think she likes me,” he says, then we both go silent.

I realize my dark past with Thien can help with Tim’s bright future. “Let’s go see her.”

“Don’t embarrass me in front of her,” Tim says, but I’m in a full fast walk mode. We stand a few feet from where Thien works with a few other NHS girls. Tim waves. She waves at him. She sneers at me, and it’s time that Tim knows why. I step next to him, start it and end it.

“If you go to the prom with her, from experience, don’t plan on getting laid or even blown.”

“Carson, don’t talk like that.” Tim takes a step back.

“She’s going to tell you about last year’s prom, if she hasn’t yet,” I say, now in a whisper.

“I don’t care what happened last year,” Tim says.

I offer up my hand for him to shake and seal the deal for him to buy the Mac.

I pause for a second. I think about Tim, the meaning of friendship, the money I need, and I decide this is a case where the means to the end isn’t another lie, but for once, the truth.

“You promised me the money. You won’t back out?” I ask as he returns the handshake.

“I won’t back out,” Tim says. “What can I say so she’ll believe we’re not friends?”

“She wouldn’t even give me a hand job, so—”

“Carson, that’s enough, stop it!” he shouts. Thien and her friends are staring at us now.

“So I say fine, and we start making out again. Then when it’s time, I pull down my pants, and like I’d seen in porn, I gave her goo glasses by jerking off in her face.”

Tim pushes me and I hit the floor. Caitlin would have been proud of my acting. Just as Thien—who is running toward Tim, not me—must be proud of Tim. As I pick myself up, I suppress the crooked smile that comes with an order of ends and means.

* * * *

“I can’t believe it,” Gabby repeats every ten seconds as we burn up the phone deep into Sunday morning. She doesn’t need to worry about getting a good night’s sleep because the Lady Tigers won’t be playing in the state championship game Sunday afternoon.

“You played great, but you couldn’t do it alone,” I say, and it’s not just flattery. When Fenton’s playmaker guard went down with an injury, there was no one to get the ball to Gabby. With Cass Tech double-teaming her, Great Gabby or not, Fenton’s fate was sealed.

“But I lost,” she says. I’m sure not wanting to cry in front of me is one of the reasons we’re not together tonight. But she said she needed to be with her team, then later with her dad. It gave me time to come up with a cover story about visiting Tim in Boston over break.

“There’s no ‘I’ in the word lose, but there are two ‘I’s in the sentence, ‘I still love you, Great Gabby’. You’re the greatest Great Gabby ever.”

“Carson, doesn’t your back hurt from shoveling so much bullshit?” she cracks.

“Maybe so. Maybe you can come over here and rub it for me?” I say. “Then maybe there’s something of yours I can—”

“Carson, I just lost my last high-school basketball game and you want to talk about—”

“Fine, I’ll change the subject,” I cut her off. “I’m flying into Los Angeles next week.”

“Look, you can’t come with me and Dad to visit—”

If I can lie naked next to Gabby, it’s time to come clean. “Caitlin lives in Los Angeles.”

“What! How long have you known that?”

“Over Christmas I went to see her, tried to get her to come home, but I failed,” I say. “So, like you said how everybody deserves a second chance, I’m giving myself a second chance to say the right things to get her home, or I guess believe that she’s really happy out there.”

Gabby goes silent and I enjoy sharing it with her. “Where does she live in LA?”

“I don’t know. I just know where she works.”

“Where?”

“Are you sitting down?” I ask.

“Why?”

“Because I have a story tell you,” I start. It takes me about half an hour to tell Gabby everything about Caitlin I’ve learned since homecoming. I confess even to how I found the photo.

When I get to that part, she interrupts me, “Carson, that’s gross.”

“Gabby, there’s a name for a teenage boy who says he doesn’t jerk off to Internet porn.”

“What’s that?”

“A liar.”

She laughs. “Well, I’ll be in need of a good lie to tell my dad when it’s time to go to UCLA about why I need for him not to be there with me.”

“Why do you need that?” I ask. “Where are you going to be?”

“With you,” Gabby says. “I’m going to help you bring Caitlin home and get the happy ending that everybody wants.”