Nothing Else Matters (5 page)

"I wrote a song for the school band. We're gonna play it at the winter concert," he said after a few moments.

"That's awesome, Stu. That's amazing." I
paused
the game and looked at my brother. "I didn't know you wrote music, too. I just thought you played instruments."

Stu didn't respond to my adulation. He continued to stare in front of him. "I told Sam. She laughed at me."

"I'm sorry, Stu. She just doesn't understand."

"Or maybe she just doesn't love me as much as she loves you."

Love? Was it really
love
that motivated Sam to drive me to the brink of exhaustion day in and day out? I had never really thought about it. Over the years, I had just come to accept our way of life. I knew it wasn't normal. But what is a normal relationship for a teenager and their parent? I didn't know the answer to that, but sometimes I did envy the close relationship Reyna had with her father. She told him everything and he always listened to her problems without being the least bit overbearing and deciding what she should do for her. He gave her options and let her find her own path in life while supporting her decisions.

"Stu, that's not —"

"Whatever. It’s not like I need her approval." He stood to leave. “I thought you might be drinking tonight so, I left a urine sample in your bathroom in case she asks for one in the morning. You should rest. Sam's got a long day planned."

  I tried to rest, but I couldn't. I just kept thinking of Reyna. Why would she think I was playing her? Had I really turned into that guy? The stereotypical, shallow jock that turned out to be the jerk in every teen movie ever made? If that was the case, Reyna would never date me. After fighting stereotypes every day of her life, she would never succumb to dating one.

  I rolled over and looked at the clock. 2:45. I wondered what she was doing. She was probably up studying. Reyna Luz Lewis, the only high schoolgirl I know who would do homework on a Friday night. I wanted to call her. I wanted to see her. And more than anything, I wanted to kiss her.

 Nov. 1

 At five in the morning, Reyna gave up on trying to sleep. Instead she rose from her bed and started working on the "I Voted" buttons she had decided to make for every teacher and student at Charleston Prep that voted. That was another one of her missions, to make sure that everyone possible fulfilled their civic duty. She had posted flyers, held registration drives, and even personally called each student that was over eighteen to convince them to vote. During this process she never influenced people on who they should vote for. She was completely neutral at school, but on Sundays she volunteered for the Obama campaign.

  Thankfully, Charleston Prep was a relatively small private school with only 83 seniors eligible to vote and almost 200 faculty and staff. Given that she had been working on these buttons for two weeks, she was nearly done. After finishing the last one, she looked at the clock. Scottie was probably already up and getting ready to run the
Ravenel
Bridge. She wondered if he would swing by the center later. He did that sometimes.

  Reyna placed the buttons in a box, and then sat back down at her desk. She sighed, desperately wanting something to do so that she would stop thinking of Scott. She reached for one of her medical textbooks and flipped it open to a random page. Though it was a disease she was already familiar with, she continued reading anyway. She had read every book in her collection cover to cover when she couldn't sleep at night and was slowly becoming an expert in rare diseases. She wished she had developed this habit before her mother died. But then again she had been only five.

She wondered if she would be able find anything about what had been ailing Scott. Ugh, she was thinking about him again. She slammed her book shut and got ready to head to the center.

  Reyna turned the key to the Raymond Lewis learning center on America Street in downtown Charleston. Nothing happened. Jammed again, she thought. She pounded her fist on the door in frustration. The center named for her late grandfather frequently had problems with this door.  It was still a little dark outside, which unfortunately made her nervous. America Street was one of the most dangerous areas in Charleston. She hated feeling afraid around her own people, but she did. The center had been robbed three times already and she didn't want to have to hang around outside and wait for a locksmith or someone to help her in. Instead, she walked around to the side of the building and found a window that was probably unlatched. She built up three milk crates, climbed them, and then forced the window open. As she dangled half in the window and half out an eerie feeling befell her. It was kind of like déjà vu but in reverse. It felt like a future memory.

It took a great deal of upper body strength but she somehow managed to pull herself up and crawl through the window. She was grateful for the pull-ups Scott made her do when she sat in on practice with the football team sometimes.

Once in the building, she was able to jimmy the door open from the inside to let in the students for the Saturday help session. Reyna started this Saturday ritual three years ago when she noticed that the black students consistently made lower grades. She also noticed that the white students had more access to help. She decided she wanted to level the playing field. Three years later, nine of the twelve black students were on honor roll or Headmaster's list. And she and Clayton, another black student, were candidates for Valedictorian.

  "I can't do this, Reyna. I'm stupid,"
Shawan
said with tears in her eyes.

  "You're not stupid and I don't ever want to hear you say that again." Reyna sat down next to
Shawan
at the table cluttered with geometry books and notes. She wrapped her arm around her and let her cry.  "Look, you're gonna get the hang of it. We'll figure it out together," Reyna assured her as she wiped the tears off of
Shawan's
chubby round cheeks. She knew how overwhelmed she felt. Reyna could remember her first few weeks at Charleston Prep in the sixth grade. She felt lonely, unsure, and lost. If it hadn't been for Scottie's reassuring friendship she may have crumbled under the pressure as well. He probably didn't even know what an effect he had on her.

Sometimes teachers didn't realize that every factor of a teenager's life played into their academic performance when they piled on the work.
Shawan
might never succeed at Charleston Prep if she didn’t feel she fit in or didn’t feel comfortable. Reyna wanted to make sure she got the reassurance she needed.

  After giving her a few more problems to work on, Reyna made her way to another table where two freshmen worked on Physics. Andrea, a brilliant, highly motivated, and determined girl, helped Tommy with a projectile motion problem. Unfortunately, Reyna noticed that Tommy was more interested in the physics of Andrea's bra than anything else. She could tell he would probably be asking her to the Fall Ball. Not a bad call for Tommy. Andrea was pretty cute and very curvy for a 14-year-old. But right now, he needed to concentrate on his grades.

  "Tommy, eyes on the book." Reyna gave a stern warning, then went and sat next to John and Troy. "Hey guys, what are we working on?”

  "Latin test on Monday. We're quizzing each other on verb conjugations," Troy began. He went into some other details, but Reyna found it hard to focus on his words. Her thoughts were back on the Fall Ball. She wondered who she would go with. She nearly jumped out of her skin when an image of Scott popped into her mind. They had never gone to a school dance together before. She shook off the thought and tried to concentrate on Latin verbs.

***

I awoke to pounding on my door at five in the morning. I didn't even have to guess who it was.

"All right, rise and shine," Sam said as she opened the blinds. A pretty pointless gesture since it was still dark outside. "Pee in the cup and meet me in the weight room in ten minutes."

It didn't even occur to me to protest. It would do no good to tell Sam I wasn't in the mood or too tired to work out. And heaven forbid I tell my mother I was in pain and had been in pain one way or another for several months. I dreaded that day and hoped it would never come. Deep inside me, I hoped that this pain was a phase like a growing pain and that it would just go away with time. I would go off to a top school, get drafted into the NFL or MLB, and maybe win her a gold medal in something or another. Everything would go back to normal. Sam and I had a plan.

I stumbled into my bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I wished I could say I had gotten at least three hours of sleep, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop thinking of Reyna. I should have just called her. Why didn't I call her? She was my best friend. I talked to her about everything that bothered me. But this time, she was what bothered me. Why couldn't she see that we would be a perfect couple? At least as long as Sam never found out.

I did a mental evaluation of my body. Surprisingly, nothing ached or tingled. Maybe I could make it through the day after all. Maybe I was already on my way to recovery. Yeah, everything was going back to normal already.

After dressing in my Charleston Prep sweats, I found the jar of fresh urine my little brother had left for me. I tried to ignore how odd it was that I had to have my little brother pee in a jar for random drug tests administered by my mother, but I was pretty sure that no other teenager in the world had to go through this.

"And Lawrence of all people," Sam was saying as she flipped through her notes from last night's game. "Why would you let Lawrence get the touch down? Why not Harry or Ben or Andrew?"

"What's wrong with Lawrence?" I said, letting the weight bar clank back into position and staring at my mother.

"Black football players don't need any extra help. They have genetic advantages. You should've let Harry, Ben or Andrew gain some extra yards."

"Genetic advantages?"

"Yeah, they were made to run. It's a scientific fact that they have more muscle tone than their white competitors. That's why you and I have to work even harder to compete with them."

I resumed my bench press and tried to block out my mother's ridiculous nonsensical tirade.

"That's why I could never beat them when I was competing. They are taking over the world of sports. Look at track, football and basketball. Watching those sports is like taking a trip to the ghetto or a prison. And baseball isn't much better. I swear they need to make it an English only sport."

"Mom, I don't
wanna
hear this, okay?" I said through gritted teeth. It wasn’t like Sam had never voiced her opinions on these matters before, it's just that usually I was able to ignore her. Today for some reason she really annoyed me.

"Well, you need to hear it. If it were up to me, sports would be segregated so that we can have a fighting chance. But it's not, so you need to know what you're up against. You have to play smarter than them since it's nearly impossible to be faster or stronger than they are. Marathons and Triathlons are the only place I have a chance anymore.  Black registration is down twelve percent for the race in Italy I’m entered in for this month. I guess they’re too lazy for the long term commitment of a marathon."

"That's it! I'm done," I said as I slammed the bar down and stood up.

"The hell you are! You've only done three reps.
Haven't
you heard a word I've said?"

"Yes, I have. That's why I'm leaving."

"What is your problem?" Sam's tight thin lips curved into a grin. "Is this about that ghetto girl that thinks she's a doctor?"

"There's nothing ghetto about her, Mom. She lives five minutes from here. She lives in Mt. Pleasant in a house that probably costs more than ours."

"Then why does she look like she should be in a rap video? Listen, Scott, I know you two are close, but a relationship with a girl like that could ruin your image. Do you see Tom Brady or Brett Favre banging black girls in their spare time? No. But I'm sure Michael Vick did and where is he now? Huh? Jail."

I stared at her stunned. Where did she get this stuff from? What century was she living in? "That doesn't even make any sense."