One arm straight.
One elbow bent.
I fix my stance.
I swing from behind my ear and hear the whoosh of air as the stick cuts through the atmosphere. I bend my legs and arms, all to make contact with Alec’s core. The place where I traced the cut of his muscles, the soft of his skin.
He collapses as he comes at me, one arm ducking into the fold of his waist.
I clench my grip, raise the stick overhead again. I watch my target. Alec. I want to hurt him, hurt him the way he’s hurt me. I want to stop him from ever hurting me again. I swing my stick down hard and the force meets Alec’s back with a focused whack. I hear the crack of bone, the screech of his pain.
I step over him quickly, my stick again at the ready. But he doesn’t move. Only his lips. I hear it clear. The I love you.
Around me, the woods are silent except for a crow who caws from somewhere in the trees. I hear its mate answer. Their speech is a cold, desolate chorus.
And then there is the light that burns behind me, an approaching car shining its white glow over my father and Alec. Both slumped mere feet from my own. I drop to my knees and cradle my father’s head, telling him everything will be all right.
And then my mother is next to me. And she holds us both.
Together, she and I promise my father that everything will be all right.
The New Beginning
I pull on my jersey, number 11. Twenty-three was available when I made the team. So was five. But eleven was the number of years it took Sudbury to win a state championship and that feels worth remembering, even now. I tuck my shirt into my uniform skirt and my fingertips float over the tiny scar on my hip. Small and thin. This raised wisp of flesh stretches out from the past. My fingers go to this abrasion often, purposefully. This line in my flesh, it will grow old with me.
Reminding me.
I lace up my cleats and walk out of the gym. My superstitions no longer with me.
Drums and horns from the Boston College band invite players to the field, spectators to the stands.
“Ones!”
I turn to see Gregg with his arm slung around a girl. And as they get closer, as I see her clearly, I scream. I can’t help it.
Lizzie runs to me, arms open. We hug and she feels taller, grander. As if New York has stretched her, making Lizzie as sleek as the city. I pull away and even her face is longer, older. She wears her professionalism in her bones. “New York looks good on you, girl!”
Lizzie beams. “Yeah, well, I’m sort of head over heels in love with that smelly city.”
It’s been over four months since I’ve seen Lizzie, though we talk all the time. But to see her, here in the flesh, is huge. “How are you even here?”
She flicks her thumb at Gregg. “Ask Slice.”
Gregg’s smile creeps wide across his face. “First game of your college career, thought I’d bring in the big guns to cheer you on.” He gestures to the stands. “Even Olivia and Jimmy are in attendance.”
That I knew, but still. “You came all this way and I won’t even get to play.”
“So I’ll watch you warm the bench,” Lizzie says.
“How thrilling. The scoop of the century.”
Lizzie lifts her hands, shows open palms. “I’m off duty. I’m here only for you.”
Like she’s always been. In the days after Alec’s attack, Lizzie brought me information while my parents and the Slicers brought me comfort. Lizzie went to Phillips Exeter and met with Alec’s ex-roommate. The roommate never had a girlfriend in his room, but there was a girl. A girl Alec liked too much. She ended up leaving campus, even after Alec was made to leave. I wish I’d known her. Before.
And I hope Alec’s far away from both of us now, even though it’s impossible to say for sure. When he disappeared from school, I wondered if he was sent to live in the Far East with his father. Mom’s been convinced he’s somewhere less exotic but even her legal connections can’t pull the strings necessary to know if he’s locked away. He was seventeen, his record sealed.
Mom convinced me to press charges against Alec. For assault. For battery.
Dad made his own legal claims without Mom’s prodding.
Dad and I sat in the police station for hours that night, in separate small rooms. Mine smelled of burned coffee and stale air. That was the space in which I let go of my story, the story of Alec. Officer Lancel listened and never blinked. Made no judgments. She watched me as I wrote it all down on soft, yellow-lined paper. Watched me sign the bottom. My official statement.
I thought about the girl from Phillips Exeter as Officer Lancel collected my words. I wanted her to be with me in that moment. I wanted to know if she wrote it all down too. If she was as scared as I was.