Page 5 of The Fake
“They didn’t—” I stop myself from sticking up for them or myself. She doesn’t want to hear the truth. “Stay out of my room and don’t touch my things.” I hurry into the closet, shut myself in, and press my back against the door.
Moving to Valley might have been the worst idea I’ve ever had. I know there’s no escaping your past, but is it too much to ask for a second chance?
3
Nathan
We’rea damn mess as we make our way through the crowd at the mixer. We need to check in with Coach so that he knows we were here, but I’m thinking him seeing us like this would be worse than missing it altogether.
The event is an annual thing. There’s a lot of handshaking and speeches about having another great year and winning seasons, yadda, yadda, yadda. I fully support my team and want the best for all the teams on campus, but I could do without the flashy show of support. The free drinks and food are welcome, though.
“This is bad,” Wes says and sways to the left. “My first official event as an assistant coach and I’m drunk. Coach is going to fire me before the season starts.”
“Oh, relax, you’re not getting fired.” Joel pulls a pack of gum from his pocket. “Here. Try and cover the beer breath until you’ve got a drink in your hand. Coach is busy schmoozing, so it’s our chance to be seen without having to stop and chat.”
Joel looks from Wes to me. “Ready?”
“Go ahead. I need to make a call first.”
“Make sure you check in with Coach,” Wes says, slipping right back into his assistant coach voice.
“Can’t I just check in with you?”
He flips me off but then straightens as if he just again remembered he’s a member of the faculty.
The event is held outside between the fieldhouse and the baseball field. It’s a grassy shaded area with tall, skinny cypress trees that make the spot a scenic backdrop. I know this because every year they force us to stand in front of it for a photo op.
Staying on the outskirts of the party, I find a quiet spot to make my call. My brother answers on the third ring.
“Hello.” Heath’s tone is sullen and disinterested, but I try not to take offense. He’s eighteen so the only thing that has his interest right now is girls and hockey. In that order, too. Also, he’s voiced his opinion on talking on the phone several times. You can fake a lot through text, though, so I keep calling him to check in periodically in addition to texting.
“Hey, what’s up, little bro?”
“Same ole.” He curses under his breath, and I hear the sound of a video game in the background.
“How’s camp? Your old skates working out okay?”
“They’re tight as fuck, but I’m managing for now. I’ll need new ones before the season starts though, and the team is ordering new warm-up jackets.”
I bring my thumb to the middle of my forehead and press in like it might relieve the stress rising up and trying to swallow me whole. “I sent money for the jacket. Mom didn’t give it to you?”
“She probably spent it on bills. She quit the cafe, said the long hours alone were making her depression worse.”
I jab harder against my skull. “I’ll talk to her. I’m sure she just forgot to give it to you.”
“The country club is hiring. I could get a part-time job to help out.”
We’ve had this conversation a dozen times. I know it annoys Heath to depend on me and Mom for money—neither of which are all that reliable. Especially now. Fuck. I need to let Frank know what happened and tell him I’m done dealing. I push all that off to worry about later. One problem at a time.
Heath can’t work, at least not during the season. Maybe he could find someone to work around his schedule and he could get an hour or two a week, but the paycheck wouldn’t make much of a difference.
“You know you can’t work and keep up with practices. Coach will either bench you or kick you off the team.” I shake my head. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Okay.”
We fall silent, and I listen to my little brother play Xbox. The noise from his thumbs stabbing at buttons and the sound effects of whatever game he’s playing. It’s such a normal, innocent thing to be doing that just sitting here listening to him helps me remember that against all odds, Heath isn’t totally screwed up. Not yet anyway.
I know selling drugs to pay for hockey equipment seems extreme, but it’s the only shot he’s got to get out of Michigan and away from our mother, who is spiraling faster with each lost job.
