Freshman Year Read online

  The thought has crossed my mind. What if I told my mom I was gay, or whatever…that I thought I liked a girl? Would she kick me out? Would she send me off to get electroshock therapy? The worst thing she could do to me, though, is be disappointed. The worst thing she could say would be, “I’m glad your father isn’t here to see this.” I’d rather be put out on the street than hear that from her.

  Garrett tears off the pass and hands it to me. The signature is totally unrecognizable but looks very grown up. “Thanks, G. See you guys at practice.”

  *

  Since we have a game on Friday, we’ll be spending the next four days running our plays. And since I’m no longer injured, I finally get to be part of the team again.

  “Hey, Crutch, welcome back to the court,” Garrett says and the other girls laugh.

  Eva high-fives Garrett and says, “Excellent. From this point forward, Abbey will be known as Crutch.” Eva laughs and slaps my butt, which I am still not really used to, but I roll with it.

  “Okay, I guess I deserve that one,” I say to her, like I’m bugged by it, but inside I’m actually ecstatic. The only other team nickname I’ve had was Amelia Earhart, which I got from the Doolen mathlete advisor because my mom and I got lost on my way to the middle school mathlete finals in Scottsdale and missed the whole thing. Now I’m not only Amara, but I’m also Crutch. And I like being these people so much more than just plain Abbey.

  Later at practice, after a painfully boring hour of watching my teammates run plays, Coach finally says, “Brooks, you’re in for Galvan.”

  “Yes, Coach.” I quickly stretch my quads and take my position on the glossy painted floor. We run through the play and, as my virgin sneakers squeak on the court, I imagine the stands full of cheering fans screaming my new name: Crutch, Crutch, Crutch. I’d get a behind-the-back pass from Garrett and go in for a layup but then slam dunk it instead, shocking the crowd. There would be postgame interviews in the locker room with Channel 4 and replays of my sweet moves on the ten o’clock news. And of course I’d give my adoring fans waiting outside all the autographs they want.

  Back in the real world, though, I end up on the wrong side of the key, which causes me to ram right into Garrett as she’s running by trying to set a screen for Stef. Garrett lands hard on her butt and, instead of cheers, all I hear is my pathetic voice apologizing profusely, as I help her up. “I’m so sorry, G.”

  She laughs and pats my head. “It’s cool, Crutch.”

  “Brooks! What the hell are you doing?” Apparently, Coach doesn’t think it’s at all cool. “Where are you supposed to be right now? Can you at least tell me that?”

  I start to speak and point, but before I can make a sound, he blows his whistle. We all head toward the baseline to get ready for another set of suicides, which is a fitting description for the endless running on the court from end line to end line that we’re about to do.

  I only run half the lines at half pace due to my healing ankle, but we run for so long I’m convinced I’ll need new shoes before the end of the day. However cruel and unusual Coach’s punishments are, they definitely work because I don’t mess up again.

  At the end of practice I get another chance to redeem myself when Coach puts me back in during a rundown of our full-court press play. I took meticulous notes on this play and can do it with my eyes closed.

  Tori slaps the ball to signal the play, so I set the screen for Eva, fake out Natalie, break through the press, catch the long pass from Tori, and make the layup at the other end. My teammates give me high fives and Coach nods in approval. It feels so amazing, and I can’t hide my smile as we set up to run it again.

  Then I see Kate standing in the locker room doorway. She’s grinning and clapping quietly like a golf fan. I know she’s teasing me, so I curtsy and blow a kiss in her direction, which is a little risky considering the latest rumors, but I’m too happy to worry. She’s my best friend again, and I know I have to make sure I tell her the truth. Or at least make sure she never finds it out from anyone else.

  *

  “Listen up people,” Mr. Zamora says at the start of bio. “So far, only three of you have turned in your project. Now, I don’t know what you’re doing with yourselves after school, but you might want to consider…”

  And that’s right about where I lose interest. I used to be one of the students who did the homework, but now I’m the one ignoring the lecture that’s supposed to inspire me or scare me into doing my work. I should probably feel like a loser, or at least a little ashamed, but I’m feeling…I don’t know, okay about my life. Like, it’s finally on the right track. I love being a part of the basketball team, Kate and I are friends, I’m successfully avoiding serious contact with Keeta, and my mom is too busy finishing a painting for an art show to notice I’m not spending much time on homework.

  Then, just as Mr. Zamora concludes his rant and tells us to read silently as a punishment, in walks Tai. Of course, Tai and Keeta are, like, best friends. And I’ve seen her with Garrett in the hallway but have been too shy to approach them when they’re together, so I always avoid them, which seems stupid now that I think about it. Tai’s as tall as me, maybe even taller. And, to quote Garrett, Tai’s skin is “the color of dark chocolate.” What I notice most about her is the way she walks into a room; like Keeta, Garrett, and Stef, she’s got so much confidence.

  Tai hands Mr. Zamora the note and I glance down at my book so it won’t look like I’m staring, but when I look up again, she’s the one staring at me. I hold my breath until she leaves the room, and then I sort of freak out because the last thing I need is for a rumor to go around that I’m after Garrett’s girlfriend.

  “Abbey, you’re needed in the office. Finish your chapter, then come and get your pass.”

  “Okay, Mr. Z,” I say.

  I shade my eyes with my hand and to try to focus on the small textbook print, but now I’m too nervous to concentrate. Since the day of my dad’s accident, being called out of class has made me feel sick with anxiety. So instead of reading, I twirl a clump of hair and move my eyes over the words to fake it because it’s all stuff my dad taught me before he died. He used to buy old high school science books from the Salvation Army thrift store, and for fun, we’d read through them and then he’d quiz me at dinner. My mom entered us into the father-daughter Jeopardy tournament, but we weren’t selected because I was too young. I bet we could have wiped out the competition and taken home thousands.

  When I think an appropriate amount of time has passed, I pack up and get my pass from Mr. Zamora. It says to report to Ms. Morvay’s office “at the teacher’s convenience,” which makes me feel a little relieved.

  This time there’s no line, so I walk right up to Ms. Morvay’s door and knock.

  “Come on in, Abbey,” she says.

  I enter and close the door behind me. “Hey,” I say and do my usual hair-twirling, spastic-leg-shaking thing right after I take the seat in front of her desk. “What’s up?”

  She does her leaning-back-in-her-black-leather-chair-while-drinking-coffee-and-looking-at-me-thoughtfully thing then says, “Well, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

  I feel a little more comfortable with her this time, so I get us right to the point. “Is this about my grades?

  “Yes, that’s part of it,” she says.

  “Okay, I’m totally going to fix everything. In fact, I’ve already talked to Señora Cabrera and Mr. Hughes and they gave me due-date extensions on my late work.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Cabrera told me you’ve been very distraught about your dad and that it has been causing you to get behind in class.” Then she gives me a look that says something like and we both know what a bunch of bs that is.

  So my lying either has to continue, or I can try telling Ms. Morvay the truth…the whole truth instead of the little bits I tell everyone else. I take a few breaths to summon my courage and say, “Um, do you have, like, a patient-doctor confidentiality rule or something?”

&
nbsp; “Well, kind of, but you’re not my patient and I’m not a doctor. I am required by law to report if a student tells me they have been physically or sexually assaulted by someone or if they plan to hurt themselves or others. But”—she glances at the door to be sure it’s closed—“if you just want to talk about what’s on your mind, I can listen and maybe even help.”

  I decide I can trust her. “My dad didn’t die in November,” I confess.

  She smiles and nods like she’s proud of me for telling the truth.

  But I don’t feel at all proud. All I feel is my stomach knotting up. “You probably think I’m pretty pathetic.”

  “Well, I suspect you have a good reason for lying.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “No, actually, I don’t.”

  “Really? Because I think I know what it is.” Ms. Morvay leans forward in her chair. “Let me give it a shot.”

  “Okay…” I say, baffled at how the entire world seems to know what’s going on with me, except me.

  “Everyone takes time to adjust to high school, Abbey. Everything’s confusing and you’re trying to figure out your place in the world.” Ms. Morvay puts down her mug. “What you’re going through is completely normal. I see it all the time with my freshmen.”

  The old adjustment to fill-in-the-blank theory? I’m disappointed but say, “You’re right. It is a lot to get used to, I guess. And it was hard at first, but things are getting better.”

  She nods slowly but doesn’t respond.

  I pick up my stuff to try to make a quick getaway and mutter, “Well, thanks for checking up on me, but I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure things are getting better, Abbey?” Unlike most of the adults in my life, it appears she’s not buying it. Then she asks, “Are you really doing okay?”

  That’s when my stupid bottom lip begins to quiver. I bite it hard to try and hide it but can’t.

  “Abbey,” she says softly, coaxing me in with her voice like I’m a lost puppy. “My office is a good place for crying. I own stock in Kleenex.”

  My eyes are welled up with hot tears, so I give in and sit down again. I don’t know where to start, so I just sit there looking at my hands, and we both listen to nothing for what seems like forever.

  Finally, Ms. Morvay hands me a tissue and ends the silence. “Why don’t you just tell me how you’re feeling at this very second?”

  I blow my nose and find my voice. “I don’t know. It’s like…like I’m trying to figure out who I am, but I don’t really know how to do it. I’ve become this giant liar and all I can do is keep on saying, I’m not like this, this isn’t me, but it must be me, because I keep on doing it.” I wipe more tears off my face.

  “What else, Abbey?” She asks like she can read the tear gauge on my face and knows I’m not even close to empty.

  I let out a gasping sob. “I mean, I think I like…this”—I can’t say it—“this person, but what if I’m just being influenced by, um, this person, I mean…her, and the other girls on the team? I just don’t know for sure if I’m that way. Okay, maybe I am, but what if I’m not? How can I risk everything for nothing? What if I’m totally crazy and imagining it all? What if it’s just a game they play with all the new girls on the team?” I look up at her. “But what if I’m gay?”

  I can’t believe I’m saying any of this out loud and I can’t believe Ms. Morvay is still looking like she cares. Or maybe she’s looking contemplative because she’s thinking up a list of insane asylums to tell my mother about.

  “I know you’re scared, Abbey,” she says, “but what you’re feeling is okay. You’re young and you’re figuring out who you are. It’s totally normal.”

  Normal? How can all this madness in my head be normal?

  Then I start to cry again and more truths make their way to the surface. “But I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to be stared at. I don’t want to be laughed at. And I could never tell my mom.”

  Ms. Morvay frowns sympathetically and says, “Let’s take one thing at a time here. First, try not to judge yourself. Just go with what feels right. I bet if you just listen to your heart, you’ll know all you need to know. But, at the same time, don’t be afraid to change your mind. You’re allowed to do that.”

  Her advice is kind of confusing, but once I figure out what she’s saying, I realize she’s right. I know the answer. I know who I am. I just can’t figure out how to be brave enough to accept it.

  “And,” she adds, “your mother doesn’t need to know everything that’s going on in your mind. But what makes you so sure that she won’t love you for who you are?”

  I finally look up at her. “I don’t know. I’m just scared.”

  The corners of Ms. Morvay’s mouth turn up in a slight smile, but not in a mean way. It’s like she really gets it. “Abbey, you have to believe me when I say it will be okay. Trust yourself and be true to who you are. You’ll see.”

  I take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay.”

  “And my door is always open, so come see me if you need to,” she says, as if she can tell I’m done crying for now, which I am.

  “Thanks, Ms. Morvay.” School is almost over, and I know I don’t want to have that emotional-basket-case look as I walk through the halls, so I change the subject and ask about my algebra class and if I’m going to be able to take it next semester.

  “Yes, we have a section of Accelerated Algebra and a new teacher already lined up.” Then she laughs and says, “Still hoping to graduate early?”

  I shrug and a tiny smile gets out. “No, I guess it’s not that bad here.” Finally, I’m not lying. I mean, minus all the things that are making me cry, I’m sort of enjoying high school.

  After my eyes clear up and my face feels less red, I leave her office with very clear sinuses and less worry. Talking to Ms. Morvay made me feel a million times better, so maybe it’s time I talk to Kate, too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I’m in the locker room changing for basketball practice when Garrett turns down my row and surprises me. I instinctively cover my chest with my shirt even though I’m wearing a sports bra.

  “Girl, how many times do I have to tell you?” Garrett says and sits down to tie her shoes.

  “Oh right”—I play along—“you’re taken. Oh cruel, cruel world.”

  “Yeah, someday you’ll get over me, Abbey. In the meantime, what did Ms. M want with you yesterday?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just checking in,” I say. It feels like more than a day ago that I talked to Ms. Morvay, and I thought telling her the truth might have a more permanent effect on me, but my lies continued as soon as I got home. I wonder if my mom even believes me when I do it. Like when she asked me last night if I did my homework, and I told her I finished it before practice. Did she believe me? Or when she came into my room before going to bed and asked if I was okay, and I said I was fine. Did she buy that or has she figured me out, too? Sometimes I feel like I’ve told so many lies that if each one were a snowflake I could cover Gila’s football field with a six-inch layer of powdery white…lies.

  “Come on, Abbey. Ms. Morvay doesn’t pull kids out of biology just to check in and say hi.”

  It bugs me that, thanks to Tai, Garrett knows my every move, but I play it cool. “So, Tai tells you everything, huh?”

  “Yep. Everything. Speaking of my g.f., I’ve never asked you what you think of her. Pretty hot, huh?”

  I wager the risks of telling the truth and decide Garrett will probably like to hear it. “Yeah, she’s a total hottie,” I bravely say. “How long have you guys been together?”

  “It’ll be ten months next week.”

  “Wow.” I want so badly to know how it all happened. Like, who asked who out? And how did Garrett know Tai liked girls, too?

  “Go ahead. Ask me.”

  “Ask you what?” I say as I brush my hair, wondering how all my friends can read my mind so easily.

  “Whatever it is you’re trying not to.”

  I’m scared to ask t
he questions, but here’s my chance. “Okay.” I put down my brush, lean back against the lockers, swallow loudly. “Did you think she was, you know, cute when you first met her? I mean, did you like her, like her, right away?” With that simple question, I feel like I’ve just given Garrett the final confirmation she needs that I’m a you-know-who girl, too.

  “Yeah, I guess I did like her, but for a long time I just thought it was because she was so cool and she was paying attention to me. It’s nice to be the object of someone’s attention, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I say, way too dreamily.

  “I bet you do,” she says, then continues with her answer. “Anyway, it all started on this road trip to Douglas last year. I was a freshman and Tai was a sophomore. So, Stef and I were sitting together, and then Tai and Keeta sat in the seat behind us and talked to us the whole ride there. Mostly, though, Tai talked to me, and Keeta talked to Stef. But it wasn’t just talking going on. Tai did stuff like try to braid my hair, feed me Doritos, and make me laugh every time I drank my Gatorade. By the end of the trip, I realized Tai was doing more than being nice. Of course, Stef helped me see the light because that same night Stef confessed to me that Stef and Keeta had messed around a few times already.”

  As Garrett tells her story, I am right there with her on that bus. But instead of seeing Garrett and Tai talking and flirting, I see Keeta and me talking and flirting. Everyone else on the bus becomes fuzzy and soft around the edges and everything sharp and mean about them disappears.

  I must look as far away as I feel because Garrett clears her throat loudly and slaps my forehead.

  “What?” I say, jumping back into reality.

  “Girl, you’ve got it bad.”

  I bend forward to look for something in my bag so she can’t see me as I add another white lie to my snowstorm. “Whatever, G, I don’t have anything.”