She Drives Me Crazy(51)

Danielle scoots closer. She kicks her sneakers against mine. “You’ll have nothing left of her, but you’ll have yourself, Scottie.”

I breathe in, breathe out. My knee-jerk response is to say Myself isn’t enough, but I can’t voice that aloud. I don’t want my best friend’s pity and I don’t want to burden her with my grief. It’s not her job to fill the hole inside my heart.

“Come on,” I say, standing up. “Let’s get a coffee. We promised Teddy a Sweet Noelle’s pastry.”

I can tell Danielle is concerned about me, but she doesn’t push it. I don’t bring up the Kevin thing, either. We get in her car and play our favorite eighties and nineties ballads playlist on the way to Sweet Noelle’s, but I’m not really there. I’m deep in my head, trying to figure out how to let go of Tally.



* * *



I can’t remember the last time I drove into Candlehawk. Probably over the summer, when Tally wanted to try that pop-up restaurant that sold overpriced ramen. I cruise down their pristine streets, knowing my hand-me-down Jetta looks out of place. The township is beautifully decorated for the holidays with string lights across the square and silver wreaths on the lampposts. It’s elegant, tasteful, picture-perfect. The exact opposite of the street in Grandma Earl where Irene took me to see the lights.

I’m not sure where to park when I drive into the high school lot. Everything seems so formal and structured. There’s a security guard driving around on a golf cart, but he doesn’t say anything when I park in a random space near the front. The marquee is almost a twin of ours, except the message reads WINTER RESPITE—PLEASE ENJOY. I have a sudden, mischievous urge to mess with it, but I don’t want the security guard to catch me. It’s not why I’m here, anyway.

The basketball game has already started by the time I get inside. I planned it that way. I don’t want Tally to notice me.

The stands are packed with Candlehawk fans. It’s more crowded than I expected, even on New Year’s Eve. I sneak up the side of the bleachers, past a well-groomed family and a college guy with a handlebar mustache. No one bats an eye at me, which is exactly what I want. For the first time in months, I have no role to play. I am free to sit here and simply watch the girl I used to love. I’m not sure this is what Danielle had in mind when she told me to do whatever it takes to cut the cord, but this is what I need, so it’s what I’m doing.

Tally’s hair is parted in twin braids. I remember a morning at her house, sitting on her bed in our pajamas, telling funny stories while her fingers instinctively braided her curls. Those were my favorite moments with her: When I had glimpses into the soft, simple, private Tally who wasn’t aware of her habits and quirks. The version of her that could just be.

She’s playing well today. Not the best I’ve seen her do, but still a strong performance. She sinks a few shots and snags a couple of rebounds. She looks completely at home, and I remember, with a bittersweet pang, that she is.

When the game ends with a decisive win for Candlehawk, I slip down the bleachers and loiter off the side of the court. Tally and her teammates are shaking hands with their opponents. They linger afterward, telling jokes while they chug their water bottles. It’s not until they head off to their locker room that Tally notices me.

She stops in her tracks. I stay planted where I am, hands at my sides, waiting. I’m not sure she’ll come to me. I know it’s her choice to make. But if she feels any ounce of the connection that I still feel, I know she won’t be able to stay away.

When she finally heads in my direction, I let out the breath I’ve been holding. She lopes toward me in that easy, languid way she has. Something tugs at my chest.

“Hi,” I say, hoping I sound more sure than I feel.

“Hi,” she says hesitantly. “What are you doing here?”

She stares at me with those striking blue eyes, the ones that made me feel seen and known and loved like I’d never been before. My heart thumps. My breath catches. It’s been months, but the sadness still hits me like a violent wave. I thought I’d pulled myself out of the water, especially after beating her in the Christmas Classic. Turns out I was just surfing between storms.

Tally’s expression softens. She knows me well enough—she will always know me well enough—to understand the things I cannot say.

“Needing closure?” she asks.

I swallow. “Something like that.”

She studies me. I let her.

“Come on,” she says finally, gesturing for me to follow her. “The backup gym is probably free.”



* * *



In the auxiliary gym, which is unsurprisingly nicer than Grandma Earl’s main gym, we shoot free throws and layups. Tally is still warm from the game, but it takes me a few minutes to pick up the rhythm. I’m hyperaware of every movement she makes, every flick of her eyes, every twitch of her smile.

“You played really great in the Christmas Classic,” she says suddenly. “You were, like, on fire. It was incredible to watch.”

The compliment shoots through me like a blast of heat. It feels like when we first started dating, when everything she said made me feel special enough to hang the moon.

“Thanks. You were great, too.”

She smiles wryly. “No, I wasn’t.” Her eyes flit over my face. “I always loved that intense side of you. I wish I’d seen it more when we were together.”