Page 8 of Scoreless Nights

“Why don’t you tell them you have friends you want to stay with?” The answer seemed obvious.

“I met them online.” She gave me a pointed look, and I nodded, knowing exactly what the problem was. Not only that, but I agreed with our parents on that one.

“Fuck that. Stay here.”

“You know you don’t want me here, Cruz.”

I stood and started putting my sliders on and throwing a few things in my soccer bag that I would need at practice. “Yeah well, whatever.”

She stood there silent as she watched me leave, and by the time I was in my car and driving toward the field, I was lost in old memories. Lillian wasn’t my enemy, she never had been, but there were times I had to pretend she was, because being my enemy was safer than any other option.

Because of soccer, I never spent a lot of time at my dad’s. It was always soccer weather in Miami so I played year round, and Dad knew how important my games were to me. But there were times he insisted that I get on a plane and attend a family function that they had planned. My mom always made sure I went, too. She worked a lot, wasn’t married, and the small breaks she got from being a single parent were good for her.

The latest family function was a camping trip. I was sixteen years old, and my idea of outdoor fun was being on the beach, or the soccer field, not camping with my dad and two strangers. Yet, there I was, walking in the woods looking for something to start a fire with.

“Cruz!” My dad yelled through the trees. “We found some logs, let's roast hot dogs.”

“Great,” I mumbled.

It felt like Dad was trying too hard to have the big happy family he didn’t get with my mom. But he didn’t realize it was too late. I was almost a junior in high school, and Lillian was about to be a freshman. Not to mention, we weren’t exactly raised together, or even had very much in common. I had a lot of independence, while Lillian barely got to brush her teeth by herself. I was athletic. Lillian kept her nose in her sketchbooks.

In fact, the only thing we had in common was how much we wanted to make our parents happy. Lillian and I both grinned and bore whatever they asked from us because they had both been through hell before meeting each other. I was glad Dad had Gloria, I just needed him to understand that I wasn’t a baby. He couldn’t start from scratch.

I took a deep breath and made my way to the clearing where our campsite was set up. Lillian was wearing her usual large hoodie, even though it was 100º outside, and there was a damn fire three feet away from her. Gloria was sticking hot dogs on a stick and handed one to Lillian before holding one up for me with a big smile.

I took a chair across the fire from Lillian and we all four quietly roasted our hot dogs. When I looked over the top of the fire, I saw Lillian’s tired eyes and her pale skin. It made me wonder what her life was like when I wasn’t around. But I never asked.

“How’s the restaurant doing?” Dad asked me, making campfire conversation.

“Good,” I nodded slowly. “Mom practically lives up there.”

“You still helping her?” My dad beaded his eyes, warning me that my answer better be, ‘Yes sir.’

“Not as much,” I admitted, “Soccer takes up all my time.”

Lillian rolled her eyes, and didn’t even notice that I’d seen her. Dad had started to tell me how important family was, and to make sure I always helped my mom, but I was tuning him out. Lillian’s blue eyes finally found mine and I squinted at her, wondering what her problem was.

“Earth to Cruz,” Dad laughed, getting my attention.

“What?”

“I said that you and Lillian need to walk the trail back to the car and grab the sleeping bags.”

Lillian stood, instantly doing what she was told. “I can get them alone,” she said, walking toward the trail, and out of sight.

My dad narrowed his eyes at me, and with one finger pointing toward the path, I knew I needed to go help Lillian, no matter what she said. I threw my arms in the air, but stood and walked slowly, in no hurry to catch up with her. But eventually I did, and before she saw me, she lifted her hoodie over her head.

I froze and hid, watching her wave her arms in the air to cool them off and tying the hoodie around her waist. When she kept walking, so did I, trying to stay quiet so I could keep watching her.

I knew I was acting like a creep, but I was an adolescent teenager who wanted to see what his step -sister was hiding under her sweater. My dad would have killed me, and I would never have lived down how disgusting it was that I leered at her when she didn’t know.

A few steps from the car, she stopped quickly, and in response, I did as well, making a stick break underneath my feet. It was almost dark, but there was enough light for her to see me, and I raised my eyes at her as if I had been back there the whole time.

She stared at me for a solid minute until I couldn’t take it anymore, and walked up closer to her. I reached around her and opened the car door, grabbing the sleeping bags with an angry tug.

Then I turned back to face her, and just in case she realized I had been lurking, I mumbled,“que asco,”and kept walking back to the campsite. It took her nearly ten minutes to come back, and when she did, her hoodie was back on, and her eyes looked even more exhausted.

I hated myself, but it was better than my dad hating me for being so damn depraved.

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