after our practice.” He extended his hand for me to shake. “Guys’ cross-country doesn’t exactly get much respect. I think it’s the lack of testosterone-fueled violence. So I know where you’re coming from.”
I gratefully took his hand. “Thanks,” I said. “We’ll be at your next meet, too.”
As he departed, the team stood in a circle, looking at each other, and the charge between us was palpable. But as people dispersed and the hallway grew more silent, it really sank in. I’d invited the whole school to watch us play.
“What do we do now?” Wendy said. “What if they all show up?” I couldn’t tell if she was excited about the prospect or dreading it.
“What if we lose?” Dana asked, as if this possibility only now crossed her mind. A loss, and my fear that we’d suffer one, had made sleeping hard for me.
“We give it our best,” I said, at the same time Bobby did. He gave me a faint smile and I returned it.
We split up, Bobby telling us all that he wanted us to rest that night before our game. Tina and I made our way toward my locker. We’d gotten in the habit of going to her house or mine to do homework before returning to school to practice, and I figured tonight we could just hang out.
I saw Candace at the end of the hall, closing her locker. She wasn’t with anyone, and a feeling of affection washed over me. Why had I been so horrible? Of course George really liked her. I’d known it all along—it was obvious even back on Lasagna Night. But fear of losing Candace for good when she found someone who liked her had made me treat George terribly.
“Candace,” I called. She glanced up from her book bag and started to lift her hand in a wave, then brought it down like she’d remembered she should be mad at me. I closed the distance and started to talk before she could walk away. “I’m so sorry,” I said, leaping into the apology with the same quickness I’d dismissed George. “You were right about everything. I suck at reality. I never commit to anything, and I was acting like you shouldn’t, either. But I think it’s great that you found someone who makes you happy, and you went for it.”
Candace was an easy crier, and she started to now. When she cried, her face contorted itself into a mask of agony. Once after we watched The Way We Were and she couldn’t stop crying, she’d caught her face in the mirror and had spent the rest of the night practicing crying prettier in case she ever had to sob in public. She was making no attempt to pretty-cry now, and tears streamed down her face, leaving trails of black mascara across her splotchy cheeks.
“But you were right, too,” Candace said. “I do ditch you for boys. I take you for granted. And you, too, Tina.”
I turned to see Tina behind me. “Well, we can all do better,” I said.
“I think we’re doing pretty good lately,” Tina said.
Squeezing Candace, I said, “And George is pretty nice, and his breath did get better, so good work.”
Candace smiled. “Yeah, it was touch-and-go there for a while, but it’s amazing how fast a guy will start using Listerine if you tell him it turns you on.”
“If Garbage Breath George can have a minty mouth, maybe we can beat St. Mark’s,” I said.
Tina nudged me with her elbow. “That’s gonna take a lot more than mouthwash, Suzie Q.”
Thirty-Five
The morning of the game, I woke up with a crick in my neck. I’d spent part of the night on the phone with Candace, bending my neck to hold the receiver between my ear and my shoulder. Despite the pain, I felt lighter, now that we knew everything about each other again.
Mom had heard from the female hiring manager—she’d left for her regular job early today so that she could take a train into the city later for the interview. I’d heard her rushing around but couldn’t force myself out of bed, where, in a half-sleep state, I was envisioning what I felt would be a win that evening.
I’d told her about the game, but I still wrote her a note to remind her, in case she forgot and came home from the interview and had time to get over to the field.
I packed my jersey and cleats and socks with solemnity, placing each item in my duffel bag