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Pain slugged my chest like a heavy mallet. I had to stop and grip the flagpole outside the gym, shocked at how much power Mom’s diagnosis still had, even weeks later.
My “big brain” that Coach liked to fill with complicated plays recycled the events of this last summer like a film on rewind. My mom, looking fit and happy in the pool, laughing with my little sister, Amelia. Amelia’s laughter fading when she pointed out that she could see the outline of Mom’s stomach…
Mom had been losing weight and didn’t know why. She brushed it off as a mysterious diet she didn’t know she’d been on. Then came the weakness. And pain. So much pain. The diagnosis came less than a week later.
Six months. Maybe more. Probably less.
Nearly gone.
I blinked stinging sweat and tears out of my eyes and joined the guys in the locker room. They were showering, walking around bare-ass naked, crowing about the last play, giving each other shit, or talking about girls. Locker room talk that would make most parents weep for humanity.
As always, I kept my head down, eyes averted, wearing my exhaustion like a heavy coat so no one would wonder why I wasn’t joining in.
“Yo, Whitmore!” Donte called as I passed him on my way to the showers. “Plans tonight? Maybe with that sweet little Violet McNamara?”
A chorus of oohs and laughter went around. Despite all of us at Central practically growing up together since preschool, Violet McNamara was new to our group. Earlier this summer, Evelyn Gonzalez—the queen bee—had pulled Violet from behind her books to reveal a stunning girl with raven-black hair and intense blue eyes.
I slipped on my king-of-the-world smile. “Maybe.”
“Maybe,” Donte laughed. “He’s such a smooth player, our boy, Whitmore.”
“Lucky bastard,” Chance said. “I shoulda claimed her first. Who knew she was so fucking hot and un-tapped, if you know what I mean.”
They all laughed. My ears reddened.
I’d only hung out with Violet a handful of times this summer, but I liked her. Shy but also capable of holding her own. I thought she was sort of brave.
And maybe my last chance.
I tried to date girls from Central High or nearby Soquel and never felt a connection. Maybe Violet would be different. She wanted to be a doctor. Maybe I could have a real conversation with her, and something would happen between us. Maybe I’d finally feel the spark of something—anything—and then the nagging anxiety in the back of my mind would go away.
I stripped out of my sweat-soaked gear and claimed one of the showers. The cold water flowed over my skin, raising goosebumps. I turned my face to the spray, and the echoing voices, slamming lockers, and laughter were distant sounds from an alien planet.
“Hey, River. You coming to Chance’s back-to-school rager?” Isaiah, our star running back asked later, while I dressed quickly at my locker.
A beefy arm slung around my shoulder, jolting me.
“Of course he is,” Chance bellowed in my ear. “Wouldn’t miss it. Right, Whitmore?”
I gritted my teeth and threw off Chance’s arm with more violence than I meant to. A low rumble of whoas issued from the guys in the vicinity. I rarely got pissed. Never lost my temper or my cool, or showed any emotion other than calm, casual confidence.
“Asshole,” I said into the awkward silence that followed, a smooth grin on my face. “I just fixed my hair.”
The guys busted up laughing and Chance’s wide, ruddy face broke out into loud guffaws. He acted tough with me, but by some twist of fate—or maybe because I helped win us games—at Central High, I was king.
When the other guys went back to their business, Donte sidled up to me. “Hey, man. You okay?”
“I’m good.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, grinning. “The gentlemen among us Neanderthals. If you’re really into pretty Miss Violet, just say so. We’ll cut the shit talk.”
“I’m good,” I said again. “It’s stuff with my mom that’s rough, you know?”
“I hear you. Sorry, man.”
“Thanks,” I said, and for a split second, his earnest tone and serious eyes made me think I could have a real conversation with him. Then his face broke into a wide grin—the charming, mega-watt smile that made him so popular with girls.
“Chance’s rager is just what you need,” he said. “Get fucked up and forget shit for a while.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Maybe that sweet Violet McNamara could help you in that department.”
