Page 3 of Perfect Playbook

Shay’s gaze is caring and kindred. Fiona said we’re here for camaraderie, and I feel that from Shay. Maybe I feel even more than that because she knew the exact man I’m talking about. He went to her ranch more times than I can remember; our parents even traded cattle. She’s met him. She knows my whole family and I know hers. Something about having permission to open up to this circle and having someone like Shay to do it with helps the words flow more easily.

“I think the thing affecting me a lot right now is the guilt. Everyone back home is dealing with the loss firsthand. They have to have his things all around and be reminded of him in a way I don’t being away. It feels like I get a vacation from it or something and I’m getting some unfair advantage. It’s complicated to explain why, but I know I feel guilty.”

Shay nods compassionately, and that’s when Casey speaks up.

“I really get that. Like it’s not fair that you get to run away to some adult playground while they’re working in the trenches. Or something like that.”

I nod. “Yeah. Something like that. Don’t get me wrong, I think about Dad constantly, but when I somehow manage to have a good time, it makes me feel bad. Like I shouldn’t be having any fun at all when they have to deal with the suffering more than I do.”

The woman to my right with bright-blue dyed hair chimes in. “I think that’s totally normal. I did this.” She points to her cobalt locks. “I just did it for fun, to do something young and dumb like a person my age might do, and my sister said I was attention-seeking. I’m thinking, gosh, I’m just trying to be a normal college freshman and do stupid things like everyone else, but because my cousin died, should I not? How long do I have to wait before I can live my life again?”

The room comes more alive with allied nods, and it’s like suddenly, we’re in a house of mirrors.

I let others take over the conversation, but Shay and I continue ours across the room. A silent knowing, more powerful than any spoken language could communicate, travels across the space between us.

Coach was right. Coming here was good for me. The energy in this room right now could never take away the ache. But knowing others are going through the same thing, and with Shay sending me a subtle smile across the circle, everything feels less daunting. It’s a bittersweet realization that sharing tragedy can somehow transform us. I don’t want any of these people hurting, and yet, because they do it makes me feel better. I don’t know if a problem shared is aproblem halved but a spoonful of life pours back into me as the session progresses.

When the hour is up, Shay moves quickly, shoving the business card Fiona gave us in her backpack and making a beeline for the door.

I catch her up and gently grab her arm. “Hey.”

She’s startled.

“You’re Shay, right? Shay Mendez?”

She pulls her lips into a thin line and hugs her backpack. “Yeah. Logan, right?”

“Yeah… from…”

We both say it at the same time. “Starlight Canyon.”

“Sorry to hear about your mom. I knew Carmen was sick but I had no idea it was that…”

“Terminal? Yeah. It was.” Her eyes grow glassy, but she quickly blinks away the film. “Sorry about your dad, too. Billy used to really make me laugh when he’d come over. He had that dad joke book…”

I nod, and my heart winces, recalling that book. He got it for Christmas just the year before. I didn’t know he ever used those terrible jokes on anybody but us.

She adds, “He was a really nice guy.”

A metallic feeling builds behind my eyes. I’m grateful that she knew him. “My dad loved your cupcakes. But he did support the conspiracy theory that there was something addictive sprinkled in them.”

She blows a laugh out of her nose and quirks the corner of her mouth. I’d love another one of those.

“The MSG scandal? That kind of thing would only make headlines in a small town.”

Some parents thought Carmen and Shay Mendez used either additives or voodoo to win the bake sales year after year.

“Hey,” I bump her arm, “MSG or not, I’d give anything for another one of those cupcakes.”

She purses her lips and nods. “Thanks.” She tucks hair behind her ear and heads to leave. “Well, I guess I’ll see you next week.”

“Wait…” The word and my hand on her arm extend involuntarily. I don’t want her to go. Not without me, anyway.

She flicks her eyes to my hand on her arm, and I remove it.

“I have to eat like six or seven times a day…”Why on earth am I divulging this?Nerves. That’s why.Real slick, Logan.“For sports… anyway, do you want to get something to eat? It’s that time of day.”

“I would, but to tell you the truth, I haven’t been hungry for like, a month now.”

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