Chapter Twenty-Eight

CeCe

Playoffs were the peak of our season and demanded nearly 100 percent of our time. My head was clogged with game plays and my time was claimed by two-a-day practices. I managed to squeeze in a few hours to study. Sleep was negotiable. I appreciated the distraction, which left zero time to dwell on all the mistakes I had racked up in the course of the semester. As athletes, we live off of statistics: wins, losses, digs, serves, assists. We are carefully viewed, judged, and analyzed based on a series of numbers. From that perspective, I was on the top. I had always been comfortable with this type of criticism because it came from a logical source.

If our emotional lives could be categorized the same way, I would be barreling along the bottom of the human chain. Statistics for heartache, disguises, betrayal, hurt, loneliness, denial. Regret. I was racking up huge points in the I SUCK category.

Watford was right. Shakespeare was alive. His characters were real. I was living proof of that.

Our first game of the playoffs was up against a top seed, Milwaukee Central. They were armed with a middle hitter, Audrey McFrey, ranked number three in the nation. We spent the weekend studying game tapes and planning our defense around Audrey.

Her agile body was nearly impossible to predict; she could twist her shoulders and rotate her hips in mid-swing to change her shot. I looked for different ways to read her—her approach, her knees, or her eyes. After eight hours of watching game tape, and three hours of meetings and defensive strategizing with coaches, we had a game plan.

In the final game of the match, Central was up by two. It was rally scoring, and the first team to twenty-one points continued to the semifinals.

The fans in the stadium were on their feet. From my vantage point, they looked like a patchwork quilt of waving colors. The UW Field House was packed, and I knew recruiting coaches from around the country were in the stands. The coach of the UW-Madison volleyball team stood out in a red Adidas jacket. He sat behind our bench, and even though I could usually block out the attention of the fans, I couldn’t help feeling the pressure of his stare.

Music flooded out of the speakers during our time out. We were huddled by the sideline, trying to ice the server. I had requested the DJ to play “Valhalla” by K-Os for this exact moment. I rallied the girls in a circle and we shook our fists to the beat. It was like a war cry gearing up for the final stage of battle.

A referee blew his whistle, and the fans screamed as we took the court. Practically every high school student from Edgelake sat in the stands, decked out in maroon and white T-shirts. I recognized friends from the soccer team, basketball team, and the football team. One football player in particular stood out from the rest. I wouldn’t let my eyes wander over the stands for too long. This was not the place to let my emotions take control.

The time out worked—Central’s server buckled and hit the ball into the net. The room erupted into a violent cheer. We got the point, and the ball back.

It was my serve. I stood behind the red line. My body felt battered and bruised. My wrists and my serving shoulder were taped to give my muscles more support. Two of my fingers were taped together that I had jammed in the last match. But in the heat of battle, you never show weakness. I eyed the court for my victim. I found my target—a sophomore outside hitter whose passing game was average. She was the weakest point on the court.

I took three steps back and began my approach. I nailed the jump serve and the ball sailed across the net. The fans were silent. I could almost hear the ball cut through the air with a hiss. I put enough topspin on the snap that it rolled off of the player’s arms, out of bounds into the stands.

The crowd was on their feet, screaming. Bryn, VanBree, Aisha, Tuba, and Schmitty bounded toward me and slapped high-fives. I wiped sweat off my forehead and returned to the serving line. Our fans quieted down, but the rival’s picked up the volume. They heckled me to blow the game-point serve.

I adjusted my wristband and bounced the volleyball three times. I looked across the net and narrowed my eyes at the six opponents. I served again, but the player corrected her positioning and passed a decent lob over to the setter, who placed it low for the middle hit. I crouched down, trying to read Audrey’s approach.

Time seemed to slow down. For a moment, there was music in my head. Audrey’s feet hit the ground like piano notes. Mac and VanBree moved up to the net for the block, and their feet and hands added more music. The tempo rose in my mind. I started to understand how Emmett read the field. Audrey’s body seemed to move in slow motion.

She jumped and squared her shoulders at the opposite side of the court. I lunged, but a second before her wrist snapped down, she changed her angle. Shit. I sprinted forward, just as the ball snapped over the net. She cut a short spike and aimed it well, right at Tuba. Tuba tried to correct herself, but the ball bounced awkwardly off the side of her arm and headed straight for the stands.

I sprinted after it and jumped as high as I could, setting the ball back toward the net, as high as I could to give Mac time for her approach. I had so much momentum I flew straight into the bench and nearly collided with a row of fans that moved before I dove into their laps. I hit the wooden bench with a bang, but barely noticed the pain that shot through my leg and the bruise that was already forming under my shorts. I picked myself up and turned just in time to watch Mac hammer the ball on the line.

The fans roared over our win. I sprang off the bench and Mac swept me up in her arms. Tuba and Bryn threw their arms around us and we all toppled onto the ground, laughing and shouting at our victory.

All my problems, my mistakes, my face, were insignificant. I soaked in the winning high.

…

Emmett

I sat on the couch in the living room and watched two of my roommates battle out a video game on our flat screen TV. I wasn’t really watching anything, but these days I preferred the distraction of being around people. It helped me to avoid being alone with my thoughts, which always filtered down to one person. I wanted to wipe CeCe’s existence from my mind but I still hadn’t so much as erased a single text. Every time I tried to delete one, I’d end up rereading everything and the entire cycle of anger and confusion started all over again.

“Hey.” Scott sat down next to me on the couch. “You still coming to my parents’ for Christmas Eve?”

I nodded. It was an easy drive from Madison to his house in Milwaukee.

“My girlfriend’s bringing a friend. Want me to hook you up?” He said it as casually as if he was offering me tickets to a ball game. Scott had offered to set me up last weekend. He claimed the only way to get over a girl was to see another one naked. It was a thoughtful gesture.

“She’s hot, look.” He shoved his phone in my hand and I looked at the photo. The girl on the screen was surprisingly tan, despite it being an outdoors shot in the middle of winter. Her blonde hair fell long and straight under her white stocking cap. It was striking against her black, puffy winter coat. Her white teeth glowed between pink lips.

I pushed the phone away. “You tried to set me up with her last weekend.”

He scrutinized the picture. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.” I laughed. “That’s the same girl.”

He shook his head. “No it wasn’t. That was Sarah. This is Sam.”

“Well, they look the same to me,” I said.

“Well, they’re hot. What else do you want?”

I shrugged. That was a loaded question. One I couldn’t even answer.

The guys around me hushed and everyone turned to look at the door. I followed their stares and CeCe stood in the open archway, in her volleyball game warm-ups. She must have jogged over from the stadium. The outfit gave her that confident air that I noticed the first time I saw her.

They all stared at her and a ring of congratulations went around the room on their win, which had put Edgelake further into the playoffs. She offered a polite thanks and her eyes went directly to mine.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked.

The guys all looked between me and CeCe. I stood up and followed her into the foyer. She pulled the front door open and we walked outside. She zipped her coat up to block the cold wind, but my anger kept me warm, like a furnace.

She stood across from me on the front steps. We could hear people talking down the street. A car drove by, crunching ice and snow under its tires. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

I could tell her that she played a great game. I could tell her that I couldn’t peel my eyes off of her when she was on the court. I could admit that my feelings for Bryn were shot because I found a warrior a hell of a lot sexier than a princess. But I was still too upset to say anything.

I raised my eyebrows and waited.

CeCe shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “There’s something I didn’t say when you came to my house. But, I need to go back in order to explain this to you.”

Back to the moment you started lying to me? I figured.

“Back to the accident,” she said.

This detail surprised me. I sucked in a breath and nodded for her to continue.

“I don’t remember a lot. Just this red heat when the dashboard hit my face. Then I was in and out of surgeries for a few weeks. I can remember waking up and feeling gauze on my face, like I suddenly grew alien skin.” She reached up and rubbed the right side of her face. “It’s weird, that feeling never really went away.”

She swallowed. I could tell she wasn’t used to talking about this. Maybe she had never talked about it before. I dug my hands in my sweatshirt pockets.

“I overheard my dad and my aunt talking in the hospital room when they thought I was asleep. My aunt said she thought I needed an outlet, something to keep my mind off of my face. She was worried how people would react. Then she said anyone who is worth anything would be able to see past the scars. That’s what my mom always says, too. That’s what everybody says, you know, like my face is some obstacle people need to get past.” CeCe smiled this sad smile. She lifted her shoulders and that confident edge filled her eyes. “But my dad said something that day that I’ll never forget. He said anyone who is worth anything will love me all the more because I have the scars.”

A single tear crawled down her cheek. I bit my lips together. It was killing me to see her break. Half of me wanted to forgive her, instantly. Half of me still felt betrayed. I knew she had a messed up past, but it didn’t justify her actions.

“It still doesn’t excuse what you did,” I said.

She nodded. “I know,” she said. “But you thought everything I wrote was a lie, and you’re wrong. It was all true. Every word I wrote was true. I was trying to tell you how I felt about you.”

Something inside of me started to shift. “Then why didn’t you just tell me? You used Bryn. You hid behind her.”

She nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

“Then why did you do it?”

She threw up her arms. “How else was I supposed to tell you?” she said. She looked relieved to finally come clean. “How else would you have listened?”

“I would have listened,” I insisted.

“You should see the way you looked at Bryn. Like she was a mythical creature you could barely accept as being real. I could see poetry behind your eyes when she walked in the room.”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t deny that I thought Bryn was gorgeous, but that’s not why I fell for her.

“I just couldn’t imagine that you would ever be able to look at me that way.”

I stared at her. It didn’t make sense. “Are you talking about your scar? Your scar’s never turned me off. If anything, it makes you stand out. It makes you who you are. Don’t you see that I get that?”

“Yes!” she cried. “You’re the first person who ever has. By the time I realized it, things were such a mess. I’m sorry, Emmett, I thought those first texts would just be harmless. I didn’t expect to fall for you.”

She shrugged her shoulders, helplessly.

“I didn’t know any other way to tell you.”

She turned and headed down the sidewalk. I watched her disappear down the street. I thought about her question. Would I have listened? Would I have noticed her while I was so captivated by Bryn?

I hadn’t forgiven CeCe, but I was starting to understand. I had a part to play in this, too.

Another thought surfaced in my head. If it was true, if she really fell for me, and everything that I wrote was true as well, where did that leave us?