Page 110 of The Way I Am Now
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Oh, don’t fish for praise, Miller. That’s obnoxious.”
“No, I wasn’t, I—”
He interrupts me by holding his hand up, silencing me. “Whatever you’re doing, just keep it up.” He gives me a firm pat on the back and walks off the court, satisfied.
WhatamI doing?
I’m hating myself every minute of every day for hurting the last person in the world I ever wanted to hurt. I’m also sleeping too much and letting my classes slide. I’m lying to my parents about Eden. And pretty much my entire life is in the process of going down the toilet. But, dammit, I can play basketball. The one place I know what I’m supposed to do and I can do it well and make the people around me happy.
We win our next two games. I’ve honestly never played better. I’m magically redeemed in everyone’s eyes now—at least everyone on the team. Even Jon has stopped giving the stink eye every time he looks at me. All I needed to do was be perfect. Easy.
But somehow it used to feel better.
That’s what I’m thinking about when I’m walking out to meet Dominic at his car after this away game—in which we crushed the home team, embarrassingly so.
“Hey, Miller?” I hear Coach call out to me in the cold.
I stop and turn around. He’s huddled outside the entrance with the assistants, talking with the coaches on the other team.
“Yeah, Coach?” I answer.
He takes a step toward me, bowing out of his conversation for a moment, to pay extra-special attention to me. Then he smiles, a rare genuine smile, and under his breath says something meant only for my ears: “Glad to see you finally got your priorities straight, son.”
He’s expecting a response, I know. But I can’t seem to gather enough fucks to give him one, at least not one he’d approve of, so I just stand there, seeing my breath surrounding me in a fog.
“Go on,” he says. “Get some rest. You’ve earned it. Enjoy Thanksgiving with your family.”
“Thanks,” I manage.
EDEN
I’m freezing on the roof at midnight. Just one more cigarette. Then, I promised myself, I’d go to bed. I’ve pulled one of the lawn chairs up to the edge of the roof, where I lean against the railing, letting my arm dangle over the edge.
As I inhale the mixture of cold air and smoke, tiny pinpricks stud the insides of my lungs. On the exhale, the cloud just keeps going, switching at some point from smoke to breath. I keep pushing out until my lungs feel tight, squeezed. The corners of my vision darken, until my body starts to burn and no more breath can come out. For a second I think about waiting just a little longer, letting myself pass out, find some kind of peace. But my body takes over and sucks in air, stubborn thing that it is.
Just as I’m putting out the cigarette, I hear a car door shut. Then another. Voices travel through the cold up from the street. The day before Thanksgiving, there’s not much going on. I lean over to get a better view. They had to park across the street and around the corner.
I watch him from up here. I know his walk, know his voice by heart, even when I can’t make out his words, I know it. It’s been two and a half weeks. As I watch him now, all I want to do is race down the stairs to meet him, jump into his arms, and tell him to take me to his parents’ house tomorrow.Let’s pretend, I’d say.Let’s take a break from this ridiculous break. I want it so badly. But even as I have that fleeting thought, a kind of paralysis takes over the lower half of my body, forcing me to sit, to remain still.Wait, my body commands me.Stay. It always wins.
It’s completely silent outside by the time it allows me to move again. When I look down, the pack of cigarettes is crushed in my hand.
As I promised myself I would, I go to bed.
When I come out of my room in the morning, Parker has a suitcase and carry-on by the door, ready to go home with her. She’s standing at the blender in her winter coat, filling two travel mugs with her classic green protein breakfast smoothie concoction, which she tries to foist on me every morning before she leaves for swim practice.
“You’re drinking this,” she orders. “You need the antioxidants with all the disgusting smoking you’ve been doing.”
“Actually,” I begin, but she stops me.
“No arguments, roomie!”
“What I was gonna say is, I quit. Again.”
“When?” she asks, side-eyeing me.
“Last night.”
