Page 35 of Lovely War
“Are you?” He studies me. “On principle I now feel obligated not to pick Jasmine or Brianne.”
“Do your principles usually lead you to crushing defeat?”
He laughs again, his face glowing orange under the streetlight like a friendly demon.
This conversation is going too well. It’s going so well that I have to ruin it.
“I wish you would’ve been honest with me from the beginning.” The words gush out on a single breath. “I wish we could’ve agreed that we were in a shitty situation, but we weren’t going to take it out on each other. I think we should try to do that now.”
My statement is ill-timed, because Sasha still isn’t moving forward, so we don’t even have the walking as a distraction. We’re stuck standing there. She takes a few steps to the left, into the grassy area near the curb, and squats. It’s silent except for the sound of her peeing.
Ben looks down, scuffing one shoe slowly, dragging a pebble along the sidewalk with his foot. “I don’t know if I can.”
Hot frustration builds in my head like an unopened soda bottle rolling around in the trunk of a car. “Why not? I can’t figure you out. We used to worktogether! Mom and Dad, right? Will you just admit that even though you want everyone to think you’re so nice and charming, you’re really a petty asshole like the rest of us? Even on day one, you couldn’t stand to look at me. You told Verona and Lufton I didn’t deserve to be here. That I was a bandwagoner. What did I ever do to you?”
He gives Sasha a tortured look, a call for help, like maybe she’ll chase a squirrel and they’ll have to run. But Sasha is an elderly tyrant who walks with slow, arthritic steps and digs her heels in whenever she wants. He’s going to have to answer the question.
“I can’t possibly trust you,” he finally says. “I thought that would be obvious.”
“Why would that be obvious?”
He raises his eyebrows. I raise mine, or try to, but it’s so frigid I’m not sure if my facial muscles are doing anything. In my pockets, my fingernails stamp half moons into my palms.
“You want me to—okay.” He clears his throat. “Annie, youleft.Senior year, middle of the season, after the team lost five games in a row. Right when it was becoming clear that we weren’t going to be any good. You say we were Mom and Dad? Well, you walked out on our family. I know this is a cutthroat line of work, but personally that’s not how I operate, and I didn’t think it was how you operated either.”
A group of students walks toward us on their way to one of the bars, the guys in nearly identical puffer vests and the girls coatless, huddled together against the wind. He pauses as they pass, rubbing his face. When they’re out of earshot, he continues.
“Nobody knew how to do your job. When you left, it all fell on me. I tried to make a video once. It took four hours and was eight seconds long. That all sucked, but it wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that I thought we were a team. I spent three and a half years in awe of you, did you know that?”
I should shake my head, but I’m too stunned to move. Thepart about us being a team makes sense. I felt the same way. I can believe he respected me. I can believe he liked working with me. Butaweis a big word.
“I still remember the first time I saw you. This girl in a blue dress with matching sneakers, marching onto the court with a camera and bossing around the starters with complete confidence, this look in her eye like she had a vision in her head and she was going to make it happen. Which you did, of course. All those years I felt lucky to work with you. I thought we werefriends.” His voice turns rough. “We spent more time with each other than we did with anyone else in our lives. And you left and never looked back, never answered any of my texts. Just moved on, like it never mattered.”
When he’s finished, he brings his hand to his mouth and squeezes his bottom lip between his fingers.
My throat seizes up. “We were never friends,” I manage.
He stares at me in disbelief. “Okay,” he says, like it’s not true. Like he’s humoring me.
“I mean it,” I snap. “We didn’t hang out outside of basketball. We didn’t know each other that well. We weren’t friends.”
If we were, maybe I could’ve asked him for help.
If we were, maybe it would’ve made a difference.
Eric was one year older, so he was gone by senior year. I thought I was close with lots of other people who were part of the program. But when I needed someone on my side, I was alone.
“Fine.” He shakes his head. “Regardless, I never would’ve done that to you. I wouldn’t have left before the end of the season, even for a good opportunity. I wouldn’t haveabandoned you to pick up the pieces. Call that whatever you want.”
A car turns the corner, headlights curving on the asphalt. A sharp thread of anger laces itself through me, pulls tight, ties a knot. A hot squeezing sensation grips my head.
We have to wait for the light to change. I’m shaking like I’m about to blast off. “I don’t even know where to start with how fucking off-base that is,” I spit.
“Jeez, Radford.” He reaches out as if to steady me.
“No. Stop. You think I left for anotheropportunity?”
“Um. Well. It was a long time ago. I think Coach Maynard told me you found a full-time job and were going to graduate early so you could take it?”
