The Memory Book(21)

“We put all our eggs in one basket.”

I was quiet. She continued.

“This year has been weird. I…” She blew out a breath. “I feel like I can do a lot of the things I do because I usually go after stuff that I know I can do. I can act and run QU and make out with people not just because I want to, but because I know I can. You know? And lately this year, I’ve actually started to want things. And not just things that depend on me being able to be good at them. I want bigger things that have nothing to do with me.”

I believed her, though I was surprised. I knew why I wanted this, but never really thought Maddie was as wrapped up in this world as I was. Then I remembered the other day at practice, her jacket over her head. Last week, inviting me to places even though she didn’t have to. We were in this together.

“I’ve noticed that,” I said.

“Yeah?”

I swallowed. I hoped this is what she was talking about. I hoped I wasn’t going to sound stupid. “You used to make fun of me for being so invested in debate. Even when you were super good at it. But now you’re as crazy about it as I am.”

She laughed, almost her regular cackle, and I joined in, and there’s something about laughing on your back that makes you keep going long after anything is funny. It’s like something solid from your back and shoulder and chest is being released in the air to dissolve.

After the laughter faded, it got quiet again. We could hear the elevators whoosh.

“I actually want Stacia,” Maddie said quietly, almost as if she were talking to herself. “Not just because… whatever.”

“I know what you mean,” I said after a while. “I actually want to win. Not just because I’m competitive. It doesn’t even have to do with anyone else. I just want it for me. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” Maddie said. “I want it, too.”

Soon after that, she fell asleep. I can almost see all the stuff we laughed about hanging in the air, rising, moving elsewhere through the walls, and I think I’ll sleep, too.





SUCK IT


FIRST ROUND


Madeline Sinclair and Samantha McCoy, Hanover High School, Hanover, NH

vs.

Thuto Thipe and Garrett Roswell,

Stuyvesant High School, New York, NY


Hanover High School: 19 Stuyvesant High School: 17


Yep. Staying focused. Victory meal at Legal Sea Foods.





SECOND ROUND


Madeline Sinclair and Samantha McCoy, Hanover High School, Hanover, NH

vs.

Anthony Tran and Alexander Helmke, St. Louis Park High School, St. Louis Park, MN


Hanover High School: 18 St. Louis Park High School: 16


Two down. Had a splitting headache last night, so we were worried, but it went away by round time. Would normally be judging Maddie right now for taking a phone call from Stacia outside, but I can’t freak out about that. Whatever we’re doing, it’s working.

In the elevator just now, two eliminated dude debaters reeking of cologne got on, not even seeing me.

“Did you hear about Hanover’s pair?” one of them was saying.

“The girl with a Mohawk? And the one with the ass? Yeah, dude.”

“They’re in the finals.”

“My money’s on Hartford.”

The doors opened.

As the doors closed, I called out, “You’re mistaken!” and flipped them off.

Watching Caddyshack with the sound off on the hotel TV, gargling with salt water. Trying to keep my mouth limber. I’m on edge but not nervous. I’m feeling blank but not scattered.

Third round’s tomorrow at ten a.m. When we win that, we go to the championship round.





UNTITLED


Remember this, Future Sam, because so help me God and Jesus and all the other saints, it will never happen again. This morning I first looked at the clock at exactly 7:56 a.m. Maddie spiked her hair like always and I slicked my curls as tight as they could go back into a bun at the nape of my neck. We went down into the lobby and split a bagel from the continental breakfast. We went outside briefly to pose for a picture in front of the WELCOME DEBATERS sign. I remember there was a maroon Corolla idling in front of the Sheraton, just outside the sliding doors. I remember there was a man in a Carhartt jacket smoking a cigarette. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m not crazy. My brain still works. It was a poppy seed bagel with plain cream cheese, I remember that. And I remember that the carpeted halls smelled like they had just been shampooed, and the sun coming through the big windows in the lobby was so bright, people were shading their eyes with their hands. We rolled our tubs into the Paul Revere Room. The Hartford team was comprised of a sharp-faced Nigerian girl and a chubby white kid, Grace Kuti and Skyler Temple, respectively. The chairs were filled with eliminated teams and their families, some of them staring us down, some of them laughing and screwing around, relieved to be done. The lights dimmed in the huge hall and they flicked on the hot stage lights, and after the short-haired woman in dress slacks and a linen shirt welcomed everyone, there were about SEVEN SECONDS of applause. The moderator’s name was SAL GREGORY. And he had a BALD SPOT and a ROLEX WATCH. I’M CAPITALIZING EVERYTHING TO EMPHASIZE HOW DEEPLY I REMEMBER EVERYTHING. MADDIE CLEARED HER THROAT BEFORE SHE STOOD UP, AND AGAIN AFTER SHE GOT TO THE PODIUM. SHE LOOKED DOWN, AND WHEN SHE LOOKED UP, SHE SAID, “LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, ACCORDING TO A RECENT ANALYSIS FROM THE CENTER FOR ECONOMIC AND POLICY RESEARCH, THIRTY-SEVEN PERCENT OF AMERICANS WHO GAIN THEIR SOLE SOURCE OF INCOME FROM MINIMUM-WAGE JOBS ARE BETWEEN THE AGES OF THIRTY-FIVE AND SIXTY-FOUR. LOW WAGES AREN’T JUST FOR TEENAGERS LOOKING TO EARN SPENDING MONEY. THESE PEOPLE ARE MOTHERS, FATHERS…”