Page 18 of The Handoff

Chapter 9

Lisa

Weateinsilence, tasting everything and giving it to each other to try. I couldn’t deny between Dane feeding me and vice versa, no more did I feel anxious about the whole date. I enjoyed it, and I let all my defenses down.

At first, I wondered if it was all some sort of trick, or if he was bi-polar. One minute he was so full on, like when we were texting, and the next, he was as cold as ice.

I stopped thinking about what he was like before and just enjoyed the date. I hadn’t been asked on one in so long, and I was happy to feel normal again. No one looked at me like I was a freak or accused me or my family of being thieves. College had been everything I’d dreamed it would be and so much more. Mom had told me to have confidence, that we could put the past behind us, and until now, I hadn’t thought it was possible. But now I knew she was right. I just had to stop being afraid that someone would find out my secret and everything would blow up in smoke.

I was craving more, it all tasted too good. I had a tendency to overeat, especially when I got nervous—like I was whenever Dane was around. I shook the idea of being this scared little girl and remembered how I was before. I didn’t want to be the arrogant rich girl I was before, but to keep having this new confidence and erase all doubts about my body and if my secret would come out. I craved it so much, it hurt my head at times.

I laid down, and he laughed as I did, but followed suit.

“There’s something different about you today,” I said as he turned to face me, and I did the same.

“What?”

“Earlier today when you saw me, it was as if you didn’t recognize me or forgot about me. I even thought maybe you were bi-polar because we’d been sexting each other, and it was as if I was a stranger to you,” I said but immediately regretted it as he turned to lie down again and realized maybe I’d said a little too much, too soon.

“Ah, I have a lot on my mind.” He sighed and closed his eyes briefly, and I felt as if I’d given him a rude awakening.

“It’s just that Mom works so hard and sometimes, people think that I’m the all-star player, so I have no problems. My future’s all mapped out and everything’s great… but it isn’t.”

“Is this why you go hot and cold? You get stressed cause of your mom? Parents… you can’t choose them, right?”

“No. Besides, Mom’s not like that. I don’t want you to think of her being that way, she’s not.”

Again, he went quiet, still not looking at me. I was too direct; I was hoping we could talk, maybe he could get rid of the little paranoia in which I have about him being cold the other day. He only spoke about his mom, which made me think his dad was not around in one form or another. Maybe they were going through a bitter divorce, and this was why he didn’t mention him at all. Or even worse, dead. I wanted to know everything about him, but I had to stop asking so many questions. At the end of the day, I wasn’t an open book—I’d told so many lies to my one friend—and I shouldn’t expect everyone to tell me their life story when I could never really tell anyone mine. I realized as he said nothing, I’d ruined the date. The one I was loving so much until now.

He jumped up and faced me once again. “So, tell me about yours.”

Shoot!

Now it was my turn to spill. I felt like jumping up, stripping off, and swimming to God knows where. Here comes the lie, the one I’d repeated so many times. I said it so naturally that at times, I wondered if I’d said it so much that I’d started to believe it.

“Dad left a couple of years ago, and Mom found it hard, so we had to move to the farm to stay with my grandparents where she was a stay-at-home mom. Not used to having to pay bills or anything, but she’s changed so much. It’s amazing how one tragedy ends up being a blessing for her. I think she’s a lot more confident and stronger as a result of it. Even though it was hard at first, she really embraced it. I can’t tell you how proud I am of her, and I think being back home with my grandparents has made her feel like a better person. I think deep down, she missed being on the farm, even if we hardly went to visit it when Dad was around.”

He sat up, not facing me, but it was as if he could relate to my story. I sat up, wanting to know more about him.

My lie wasn’t exactly a lie. Dad did leave; he was sent to prison. The Feds took everything we owned, so we had to go live with my grandparents—we had no choice. Dad used to hate Mom going to the farm or having any part of it. He used to call my grandparents ‘backwards and out of date,’ something our city folk were not like, and he hated being reminded of her past. He wanted us to be rich city folks, but in the end, we were classed as nothing but thieves.

“That must be tough. Our dad left, too. Ran off with his secretary, leaving Mom bankrupt. He forged her signatures and took every penny they owned with him and the secretary. He didn’t care about me or my brothers. I don’t even think about him… if anything, I hate him for what he’s done.”

“What? You have brothers? I never knew that. Are they in college, too? How old are they?” I said, firing so many questions.

As his mood changed, I realized I’d gone overboard again. He didn’t even look at me anymore, he just stood as if he was ready to leave. “It’s getting late,” he said as he cleared his throat and motioned for me to get off the towel.

“I thought you wanted to see the sunset?”

He shook his head. “I better take you back to campus and get home. Mom would be worried.”

At his age?

I shrugged, and then slowly stood and helped him pack up. I’d said something wrong—it was clear by the way he got anxious.

So what if he had brothers?

Shit, of course!

Maybe something happened to them. Maybe I’d awoken not only one painful memory, but probably two, and that was why he wanted to leave. It sounded rough; his dad stole all their money, and he and his brothers were homeless?

What happened to them?

I couldn’t ask him. I was annoyed more with myself than with him. Such a romantic setting and my big mouth had to spoil it. He didn’t look at me again; no more was he smiling as we packed and he put everything in his bag. When we arrived at the beach, he was holding my bag and wanted to be all romantic. Now, he was treating me like a girl he couldn’t wait to get rid of as he picked up the pace in front of me. I found myself out of breath, rushing to catch up with him as we headed to the bus stop.

I wanted to say something, anything to make it right.

But I knew I was too late.

The damage had already been done, and it had ruined our date. I hoped he would ask me out again, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t. I didn’t know who I hated more at this point—me for opening my big mouth or him for making me feel like such a fool for thinking the quarterback was hot for me.

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