Ghosting Page 6

  So I take it,

  setting it on the floor

  at my feet.

  Then I open

  the car door.

  I’ll be right back, I say, sliding my camera out of my pocket.

  ANIL

  1. I watch the girl named Maxie

  as she stops just short of the playground.

  She holds a camera to her eye.

  Flash.

  Chloe has popped open her can of MoonBuzz.

  I can hear her take a few gulps.

  Then she says,

  C’mon, Anil, I want to swing.

  I follow Chloe as she runs,

  childlike and a little clumsy,

  to the swing set.

  As I pass Maxie she gives me a small,

  almost embarrassed, crooked smile.

  That’ll make a nice shot, I say, with the moon and all.

  It reminds me of dinosaur bones, she answers with a laugh.

  I look over at the swing set,

  where Chloe is waiting for me.

  I see that, I say.

  And I do.

  We exchange smiles again.

  Anil, Chloe calls. Come push me.

  Chloe is wearing a white dress tonight

  and flying through the air on the swing,

  she looks like the goddess Lakshmi,

  the Hindu embodiment of beauty,

  or she would if the goddess Lakshmi

  had honey-colored hair.

  2. Automatically I push Chloe,

  high and higher,

  but for some reason

  all I can think about is

  that small, embarrassed, slightly crooked

  smile on Maxie’s face.

  Hey, Chloe says, I said stop.

  And I realize that I’ve been pushing

  while she’s been trying to slow down.

  Sorry, I say.

  I look over at the SUV,

  thinking about the MoonBuzz

  and how I do not want to drink it.

  You’re not mad at me or anything? Chloe asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  Huh? I say. Uh, no, I’m not. But, hey, Chloe, maybe don’t drink too much of that stuff of Brendan’s. It’s especially dangerous for girls, I mean, because you’re smaller.

  I know. I won’t, she says. You’re so sweet.

  And she slides out of the swing

  and comes right up to me,

  wrapping her arms around my waist,

  her head nestled at my chest.

  It feels good.

  Sometimes I still can’t believe

  that Chloe Carney wants to be with me.

  I put my arms around her,

  but out of the corner of my eye

  I catch sight of Maxie getting back

  into the car.

  FELIX

  while the anil kid and chloe carney are off at the swing set, probably making out, brendan’s cell buzzes. he gets out of the car to answer it. max reappears, sliding back into her seat. she doesn’t open her moonbuzz and i can tell she doesn’t want to drink it. not my favorite brew either, but no big.

  up front, emma is slowly, steadily drinking hers, quiet, watching brendan through the front windshield. suddenly she turns around and looks me straight in the eye.

  Why’d you quit soccer, Felix? Emma asks.

  Tore my ACL, I say.

  she keeps looking at me. then shakes her head.

  That was sophomore year. I saw you play since then, that game with Harvest Prep last year. You were amazing. A rock star.

  i was, too. got a recruiting e-mail a week later from georgetown.

  So? she says.

  Never healed right. And I reinjured it.

  she turns back to looking out the front windshield. i can tell she doesn’t believe me.

  That was some game, she says. That Harvest Prep game.

  she’s right about that. some game, best i ever played. best night of my life, until it turned into the worst night of my life. the night my world went away. vanished. kerflooey.

  Anyone want a hit? I say.

  i can feel max looking at me, puzzled. she still wears how she feels on her face, even when she’s trying not to. one of the things i always liked about her. nobody else says anything. until emma pipes up, her voice a little fuzzy already.

  Too bad about that ACL. Bet you would’ve gotten a full ride.

  Yeah, I say with a shrug.

  would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.

  MAXIE

  Ever since he got in the car

  I’ve been trying to figure out

  Felix.

  What’s different about him,

  other than

  the pot.

  And suddenly

  it hits me.

  Underneath

  the grin

  and the nonchalance

  and the smoke,

  Felix is sad.

  I mean really sad.

  Hey, douche bags, let’s go, calls Brendan to Anil and Chloe, who are entwined by the swing set. Axel said to get over there, party’s starting to rock.

  I am so not looking forward

  to this

  so-called “rocking” party.

  It’s not that I’m anti-drinking.

  Don’t mind a glass or two of wine,

  getting a little tipsy

  like we sometimes did

  back in Colorado.

  But kids at these kinds of parties,

  the kind Mr. MoonBuzz,

  cocaine-in-a-can Brendan,

  would want to go to,

  well, we’re not talking a little buzz.

  We’re talking a messy,

  drink till you puke

  all over yourself

  booze fest.

  And somehow it’s just

  not the way

  I want to meet and greet

  these kids I’ll be seeing for

  the first time

  in four years.

  The party house has tons of cars

  parked in front and

  music blaring from open windows.

  Brendan has to park

  a few blocks away

  and just as he turns off the motor

  I spot a kid

  throwing up

  into a neighbor’s

  pot of geraniums.

  Nice.

  Welcome back to Illinois, Max, says Felix, who saw the guy, too.

  I take a

  deep breath.

  As everyone begins to pile out,

  Felix looks sideways at me.

  Hey, guys, he announces, I’m feeling a little trashed. Think I’ll stay here. Keep me company? he adds in my direction.

  I nod,

  relieved.

  Lightweight, Brendan says but tosses Felix the car keys. Lock it when you decide to come in. Just don’t be going joyriding or anything. And guard that MoonBuzz with your life. If any’s missing when I get back, you’re dead meat.

  Anil and Chloe climb past us again.

  I’m getting used to her

  sweet, fruity perfume

  and his

  clean, soapy smell.

  Thanks, I say to Felix after they’re gone. You must be a mind reader.

  Your face is pretty easy to read, Max.

  I know, I say. It’s really annoying.

  No, I like it. Besides, I’m not that into partying.

  I look at him,

  skeptical.

  Well, not this kind of party. Stoner parties are a lot mellower. Speaking of which . . .

  He pulls out a plastic bag

  and some papers.

  I watch him expertly

  roll a joint,

  then light it.

  So, Felix, how are you really? I ask.

  Good, he murmurs. Better now, he adds, inhaling deeply.

  He has a wide

  blissy

  smile

  on his face.

  Are you and Emma friends sti
ll? I ask.

  Nah. Not since 5th grade, he says.

  That’s not true, I say. The three of us would hang out in middle school.

  Not really, Max. I’d tag along sometimes. But she was gone, for me. On her way out with you, too.

  I nod.

  Felix is right.

  I had tried to hold on, but it was

  a losing battle.

  I cried a lot about it.

  Mom said I was too

  sensitive.

  Emma will always be your friend, she’d say.

  Like I said,

  clueless.

  Felix passes me

  the joint.

  I take a very small hit.

  I’m not too into pot.

  You like Brendan at all? I ask.

  Dude’s a jerk, he says.

  What does Emma see in him? I say.

  Felix gives me a look.

  Okay, right. He’s hot, I say with a grin.

  And Brendan is hot,

  I mean right-off-the-TV-screen kind of hot.

  Dimples,

  perfect nose,

  tousled hair.

  Six-pack

  and then some.

  Only the best for Emma, Felix says, but not bitter.

  Bitter’s not Felix’s style.

  I laugh.

  She always had to win everything, didn’t she? I say. Board games, races, hopscotch.

  Climb the tree the highest, swing highest, throw the ball farthest, Felix says.

  Get the most valentines, I say.

  A pause.

  It’s why I was so good at soccer, Felix says, unexpectedly.

  He looks a little surprised

  at what he said.

  Why? I ask, curious.

  She was always after me to play, had to beat me of course. And I couldn’t let a girl do that. Sorry, he adds, but it’s a fact.

  I smile.

  Then it hits me

  what Felix said,

  that he

  was so good at soccer,

  not

  am so good at soccer.

  Seems like it bothers Emma you don’t play anymore, I say slowly.

  Felix is quiet.

  Is that really why you stopped, because you tore your ACL?

  There’s a pause.

  Then he says, No, it’s not.

  FELIX

  thing is, i don’t know if it was the weed (it was some strong shit). or the combination of weed and moonbuzz. or if it was seeing max after so long. but it all came pouring out.

  for the first time i told someone. i told her.

  about how the best day of my life turned into the worst.

  mom said afghanistan changed my dad, which i didn’t believe at first. seemed like too much of an excuse. but he did get angry a lot. he’d yell at my soccer games, got thrown out a few times. he was there that night we played harvest prep, nothing to yell about that night, but he did anyway.

  mom dragged him away so neither of them even saw the last goal i scored, amazing shot. trapped a pass on my chest then did a bicycle kick, my back to the goal, lasered it in. i could tell i’d scored from the swell of cheering as i landed flat on my back, the wind knocked out of me. got the whole hero thing, up on the shoulders, paraded around like i was a rock star.

  went to a party afterward and this girl betsy comes up to me and kisses me, just like that. right away she apologizes but then blurts out that she was tired of waiting around to see if i’d ever kiss her first. she’s cute. i’d noticed her before. not emma, but nice and for the first time i’m thinking maybe it’s time to give up on that old dream of emma and me ’cause it’s never gonna happen. maybe i’ll give it a try with betsy. hang out with her some. the kiss felt nice.

  but then i come home.

  it’s one in the morning, and i’m feeling good, nice good, not drunk or anything, and i go up the stairs and suddenly there’s this crashing sound from my parents’ bedroom, then dad letting out a bunch of cuss words. i kind of freeze, standing there in the hall, and that’s when the bedroom door flies open and mom is standing there and all she’s wearing is a bra with a strap missing and the hall light shows her face, swollen up and some blood around her lip. but even worse, much worse, is the blood i see trickling down her leg, the inside of her thigh. then i hear dad’s voice yelling i’m your husband, you frigid bitch. husbands and wives have sex, that’s what they do, and don’t you fucking call it rape. that’s bullshit.

  i’m getting this prickling psycho feeling all over my skin and i feel like every muscle in my body has turned into stone and i couldn’t move if i wanted to. then my eyes meet mom’s eyes and she lets out a little sound, a whimper, like a hurt animal, and she rushes past me to the bathroom. she shuts the door behind her and i can hear water running.

  then dad comes lumbering out of the bedroom, dressed in t-shirt and jeans. he sees me. his face is red, his eyes wild. looks at me like he doesn’t know me. pushes past me and runs downstairs, through the kitchen, then out to the garage. i can hear the sound of the garage door opening and the car start. i still can’t move. next i know, it’s backing up and he’s gone.

  i knew dad yelled a lot but i’d never seen him hit mom. then i remembered seeing a big purple/green bruise on her arm, that she said was from bumping into something. there was another one on her leg. she had an excuse for it, too.

  finally i can move again and i go to the bathroom door.

  mom?

  no answer. the water’s still running. maybe she’s in the shower. i try again, call her. no answer again. i stand there. think about going after dad. think i might want to kill him and if i hadn’t been turned to stone like i was, i would have.

  finally the water stops. after a few minutes the bathroom door opens and mom comes out, wearing a robe, her hair wet, her eye still swollen shut. but she’s calm. too calm.

  she says, felix, honey, i’m okay. don’t worry. can i fix you a sandwich?

  i nod, numb. and it’s like we’re two people who barely know each other, chatting about the weather. i can tell she wants it this way, really bad. so i let her. let her make me a grilled cheese sandwich, watch her slice the cheddar cheese, watch her heat up the small blue skillet she always uses for grilled cheese sandwiches, watch her butter both sides of the bread, watch the butter sizzle when it hits the pan, and even though it’s a perfect grilled cheese sandwich, oozy cheese, bread nicely browned, not burnt, i can’t eat more than one bite and that one bite tastes like hot glue, burning my tongue and sticking in my throat.