The Truth About Alice(43)

We’d practiced throws so many times. I could catch any of his throws with my eyes closed. Literally. Sometimes I would dream about catching his throws. Swish, thump. Swish, thump.

That night, right before the big play, there was no sound in my ears. Just like there never is during a big moment in a game. There was just me, and the smell of the grassy field, and the thud in my chest as I got ready to run.

It was a perfect spiral. It was a perfect Brandon throw. It was like every throw we practiced in my yard or his yard or after practice on the field. Like I said, it was perfect.

And I missed it.

I don’t know how. Not even today could I tell you how or why I missed it. But I did. I crashed into the end zone and the ball landed next to me. I still grabbed it. Like somehow that would make everything okay. I still grabbed the ball like a moron.

Man, people gave me shit over that for weeks. I was benched for the next game. I mean, my own dad was all over me for it.

But not Brandon. Not even once.

“Dude, it happens to everybody,” Brandon had said that night in the locker room after some of the seniors had given me grief and Coach Hendricks had acted like I didn’t even exist.

“It doesn’t happen to me,” I answered. “Not when you throw like you throw. That was a perfect ball and I missed it. Damn it!” I punched my locker with my fist and it didn’t even hurt I was so mad.

Brandon put his hand on my shoulder. My pads were off and I was naked from the waist up. My body ached like it always does after a game, but I can still remember now how good it felt to have Brandon’s grip on my shoulder. Like a steady weight. Like a small hug.

“Look, man, it isn’t anything. Don’t let this mess with you, man,” he whispered, right into my ear. “You and me, we’re gonna take this team to state by senior year. I’m not kidding around, man. We’re gonna do it and you know it. Now shake this off, buddy.”

Of course, we never got the chance to. Take the team to state, I mean. But that’s the moment I try to think about when I think about Brandon Fitzsimmons. Not those last, stupid, crazy moments in the truck or my lies about him and Alice. I try to think about his whisper in my ear. He could be a jerk sometimes, I admit it. But he could also be a real friend. He was my best friend, and I’m so sorry he’s gone. I wish like hell that he was still around.





Kurt

As I explained to Alice about the night on the rooftop with Brandon so many months ago, I could tell she wasn’t reacting well. I could see how quickly the warm, friendly moment we’d just shared was leaving us. First of all, she kept bringing her eyebrows together in a frown. Second, she finished the can of Lone Star too quickly and stood up to get another one before I was halfway done with the story. Third, when I finally finished illustrating—in halting, nervous words—the fact that Brandon had admitted to me that the entire event at Elaine’s party had been a lie and I had known this all along, all throughout our young friendship, Alice Franklin exhaled and then said softly, almost as if she were about to laugh at something that wasn’t funny at all: “Are you kidding me?”

I said nothing. I simply swallowed and nodded. It was over. I knew that right then.

“Wow,” Alice said, her expression darting between wounded and angry, “is there anyone in this crappy town that I can trust for more than five seconds?”

I wanted to tell her there had never been a time she couldn’t trust me and there never would be. It ached that she couldn’t see that. But confusion rested on Alice’s face; it was the same expression I had seen when she worked out a difficult math problem. She rubbed her thumb up and down the side of the can of Lone Star. Finally, she spoke.

“So you’re saying you had information that could have, like, cleared my name and you didn’t…” her voice trailed off. She broke eye contact with me and stared blankly at the kitchen table. “Not that it would have mattered, I guess.” That last part came out sounding as if she’d forgotten I was even sitting there. Detached. Almost cold.

“Alice, I just could never figure out the right time to tell you,” I said, surprised that I had the courage to keep trying to explain myself. And somewhat frustrated that I even needed to—that she couldn’t see just a sliver of my side of the story. “I wanted to tell you, but at the same time, we barely knew each other when I started helping you with math. And then as we grew closer, I wasn’t sure how to approach you about it. I almost did, that night I gave you your Christmas present. And the day we had grilled cheese sandwiches at my house. And about a dozen times in between.”

“And you didn’t because why?” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“Because the longer time went on without me saying anything, the stupider it seemed that I’d never said anything at all,” I explained. “And I was afraid this might happen.” At the word this, I motioned with my hand at the space between us. I could feel it widening by the moment.

“Well I guess it is happening,” Alice said, and I crumpled inside as I saw her eyes grow glassy with tears.

My heart was collapsing.

“Alice, if you want, I’ll put it out there. I’ll put it online. I’ll take out ads in the paper. I’ll hang banners from the front of the school.”

“And what are they going to say, ‘Alice Franklin Is Not a Slut’?” She squeezed her eyes shut to keep back the tears and then opened them and looked right at me. Then, in a voice she might have used in her past, she said, “Besides, who would believe you?” A huff escaped from her lips and she crossed her arms in front of her. And then she laughed a little. A cutting, mocking laugh.