Page 47 of Love in Training
I look down at my black button-up pencil dress and basic pumps. I wore my hair down, styled in loose waves for a change,but I appear more like I’m going to a funeral than a celebration. And I wonder if she would be so chill if she knew what the dog did to my Louboutins.
“Thanks,” I say, trying to ignore the way Rufus whines, following me with his eyes as I let myself out. “Call me if he becomes a problem. And remember, he can’t be left alone if you value anything in your house.”
I drive Lydia’s car along the same route I took every day as a teenager. Out of our cramped little neighborhood with the sagging RVs in the driveways and the Christmas lights still up in March, across the highway to Castle High School, where the ceremony is being held. The building had been state-of-the-art fifteen years ago and surprises me now by looking almost exactly the same.
I haven’t walked through the blue front doors since the day we graduated, and I’m unprepared, because the second I do, I’m surrounded by ghosts.
Of Kyle. Of myself. Of the past.
I can almost feel his strong arm slipping around my waist as I enter the main hallway. His voice a deep and raspy greeting in my ear, his lips grazing my hair. We both played every sport we could fit into our schedules, and on the way to the auditorium, I pass the gym doors where we used to meet up after practice. The little hallway outside the locker rooms where we would steal an extra kiss. Gooseflesh rises over my body with each step.
There’s a bigger crowd in the auditorium than I expected. And so many familiar faces. I almost turn around and run back out to the car when they start to register. It’s funny, Denver sits barely thirty miles to the north, but it’s an easy place to disappear just a stone’s throw from my past. I notice friends of Kyle’s. Friends of ours. Some of them already hardlyrecognizable eleven years after graduation; some still exactly the way they appeared last I saw them. I lower my head. I don’t want to look into these faces and see their sympathy—or judgment, I guess, depending on what stories they heard after we departed these halls.
Hell, maybe that already happened. They were all probably at the memorial service a year ago. But that whole experience was like moving through a black cloud. I’m not sure I would remember if someone had come up and slapped me in the middle of it.
“Caprice? Oh, my gosh.” I should probably be grateful Tania Riley is the first person to talk to me. She falls into the camp of people who look mostly unchanged. Her natural hair is pulled back in braids, highlighting the gorgeous tone of her dark brown skin. Her eye makeup is more sophisticated than I remember, her frame a little curvier, but I don’t see any other notable difference. We weren’t super close growing up, but we offered each other comfort by mere existence, as two of only a few non-white faces in our very suburban school. Tania wasn’t a member of any particular clique—she’s one of those people who gets along with everyone, and wants everyone to get along. It was always a relief to be paired with her for a group project. She’s good people.
“Hey, Tania,” I say, accepting an awkward hug.
“I’m... I’m sorry we’re here for this,” she offers, and while her sentiment is clearly sincere, it’s also obligatory. She might have heard what happened with the wedding, but she also knows Kyle and I were inseparable during eleventh and twelfth grades.
“Me too.”
We file down the aisle of the auditorium together and she clears her throat, gesturing toward the stage. “My, um, cousin is receiving the scholarship.”
I follow the direction she points to the small group clustered at the front of the room. The instant knot that tightens in my stomach makes me glad I skipped breakfast. Because there are the Doctors Forbes. Her, a slim white woman in a dark skirt suit, her short, practical hair a little grayer than I remember. A white lily dominates her lapel. Her husband stands next to her, tall and distinguished, but less broad than their sons. His light eyes and silver mustache project authority, though he’s somehow slightly warmer than his wife.
They stand with a well-dressed young Black man whose face definitely contains some echo of Tania’s. They share the same broad cheekbones and handsome arched brow. His stance is a little stiff, but his easy smile tells me this is not his first award and certainly won’t be his last.
“Congratulations,” I say, then decide to feign ignorance. “And it’s a scholarship for... ?”
“Kenyon’s going to Northwestern, pre-med,” she says, her whole face lighting up. “Smartest kid in our family. None of us were sure how he’d ever pay for school, so this award is pretty game-changing.” She hesitates, casting her eyes down. “Obviously, though, we all wish Kyle hadn’t...”
My throat burns, but I lay a gentle hand on her arm. “Kyle had a lot of demons.”
The back of my neck prickles just then, and as Tania says goodbye to join the rest of her family, I turn and scan the room. It only takes two seconds to find Drew Forbes leaning against a wall, staring right at me. He stands out in this crowd, even with his shoulders hunched. The few times I’ve seen him, he’s been casual, in jeans and T-shirts with a few days’ stubble. This afternoon, he’s clean-shaven and dressed up in a slim-cut gray suit. Perhaps the only nod to his more casual lifestyle is the dark, slightly too-long hair curling against any attempts to be styled.
I raise my chin and meet the stormy eyes boring through his glasses. His gaze drifts down to my side, mouth pressing into a hard line, and I wonder if he’s looking for the dog. Like I could have brought him here.
Someone taps the mic, and I glance back at the stage, to his mother and father now gazing out at the room next to Principal Beck, waiting for everyone to finish taking their seats. For a second, I wish Ihadbrought Rufus. My mouth quirks. Kyle would have enjoyed that.
When I look back, Drew has slunk out of view. So I find a seat on the aisle and shift into journalist mode, taking out a notebook and pen as our former principal welcomes the attendees.
The auditorium isn’t full, but it’s a decent crowd. Upon closer inspection, mostly friends and family of the Forbeses and Kenyon Riley. But I spot a photographer and a few journalists I recognize. That doesn’t surprise me. I’m sure the whole point is to publicize the Forbeses’ generosity. After a few brief words, mostly about Kyle’s athletic stats in high school, Beck turns the mic over to the waiting doctors. Watching them approach the lectern hand in hand, with their stiff upper lips, you might easily pity them. Look at these good people who lost a good son in such a terrible personal tragedy.
If I weren’t one hundred percent certain their utter rejection of who Kyle was—who he wanted to be—played a major part in the spiral he eventually got lost in, I might feel sorry for them too.
But I set all that aside as best I can because it won’t bring Kyle back, and there’s a pit in my stomach reminding me I still need to do my job. Actually, if this didn’t hit so close to home, I might enjoy writing about something other than Unmatched.
I jot down a few pleasant details as they weave a brief tale about Kyle Forbes, the hero, before quickly shifting focus to Kenyon Riley’s achievements and potential. There is a round ofapplause, after which Kenyon says a few words about his dreams and ambitions for medicine, which are inspiring, and I decide that’s really all my article needs to be about.
The next thing I know, people are applauding, and Drew is up on stage with his parents, posing for photos and shaking Kenyon’s hand. The Forbeses’ smiles are all so practiced and plastic, my stomach is starting to feel sick. Kyle hated that his parents could make themselves look so open, loving, and supportive when they were rarely that way at home. Someone announces that the ceremony will be followed by light refreshments in the cafeteria, and this seems like a great time for me to jet back to my mom.
Rather than walking up the center aisle to the back of the auditorium with everyone else, I duck out a side door. One I know snakes around by the drama department before emptying back into the main hall.
I’m almost to the front doors, desperate for a clean breath of air, when I hear the soft slap of footsteps coming up behind me. I wince and turn back, ready to apologize to Tania for leaving without saying goodbye. But when I turn, I find myself facing down a storm in Drew Forbes’s eyes.
We both open our mouths, but I shut mine again, deciding it’s best just to leave.
