Playing Defense (Corrigan Falls Raiders) (16 page)

I didn’t answer, and he smiled a bit sadly.

“Yeah. So…whatever. We can still hang out, and I’m still going to care about you because I don’t seem to be able to stop. But I don’t think we should have sex.” He frowned as if wondering whether he should say the next part. “And just so you know, I’m going to be working pretty hard to not care about you quite as much. I don’t think it’ll take, but if it did? I think it’d be good. Because there’s no way you and me are going to last long term, is there? You aren’t going to let that happen.”

“So you’re sorry you met
me
?” I whispered. The words were too horrible to say at full volume.

But he shook his head. “No. I’m not sorry, and I don’t think I ever will be. But that doesn’t mean I have to be stupid about it, right?”

“So…what does that mean?” I was still whispering.

He looked at his hands. “I don’t know. I guess it means—do you want to go find Tyler and Karen and play pool?”

“It’s that easy for you?” No more whispering. Now my voice was loud, and getting louder.

“What do you want to do?” he asked quietly. “Do you even want to be here, or should you be home, studying?”

“That’s not fair. We’re working around
your
schedule here. You’re the one with all the practices, and the games and the road trips. Have I ever once asked you to skip anything to do with hockey?”

He shook his head. “No. You haven’t.”

“So don’t lay that on me. I’m not the only one who has other things to worry about.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

I had no idea where to go from there. I almost wished he hadn’t backed down, because then at least I’d know he cared enough to fight with me about it. Instead, he’d just sort of mentally walked away. “I have about two hours before I’m supposed to be home,” I said. “Can we just…go somewhere? Out to the lake, or something? I don’t want to be around other people.”

He nodded and put the truck into gear. It felt good to be moving, at least, even if I didn’t really know where we were going.

Chapter Fourteen

We were sitting in the cafeteria Monday morning, Claudia and me and most of the rest of the Sisterhood, when the principal came on the PA system. We’d all heard about the accident on the highway the night before; Claudia’s parents had freaked out because they hadn’t been able to get through to her phone, since we were out on the back roads where there was no cell coverage. They’d thought maybe she’d been involved, she’d told me that morning.

As soon as the principal started talking, before she even said what the announcement was about, we were all looking around the cafeteria, trying to spot any missing faces. An accident the night before and an unscheduled announcement meant only one thing: somebody wasn’t going to be at school that day.

But even though we were all braced for it, it was still a shock when the principal finally worked up to giving us a name. “Ms. Coyne was airlifted to the hospital, but her injuries were too severe. Please join me in a moment of silence to honor the memory of a vibrant member of—” The principal’s voice broke for a second, then came back. “Of the school community.” There was, literally, a
moment
of silence, and then the principal said, “All scheduled guidance appointments are canceled for today. We will have grief counselors in the guidance offices; if anyone, students or staff…”

She kept going, but I wasn’t listening anymore. I was watching Claudia. Ms. Coyne had been my teacher the year before, and I’d liked her well enough, but she and Claudia had been way closer. Karen was crying, and Tyler had his arm around her, but Claudia just looked kind of numb.

I leaned over, my hand extended, but she stood up before I could get to her. “I need to go,” she said. “I need to finish up some homework before calculus.”

“Dia,” I started, but she shook her head hard. She wasn’t going to hear my sympathy, because that would make it real. I guessed it made sense, at least short term. I thought about offering to go with her, but it was pretty clear she didn’t want me to.

She dodged me the rest of the day. I went to the library at lunch in case she was there, but she didn’t show. Karen said she’d been in English and bio, but she didn’t come to chemistry. “Take notes for us,” I told Oliver, and I grabbed my backpack and went to find Claudia. The teacher didn’t give me any trouble about leaving; on a day like that one, they let us do what we needed to.

I found Claudia in the library, in her carrel, staring at the flyer for the poetry slam. “You okay?”

She looked up at me as if I were a stranger, and she crumpled the flyer as she spoke. “She was coming home from dinner with her partner,” she said dully. “That’s what I heard. They went over to Barrie to try some new place, because that was her awesomeness challenge, to eat different foods.”

“It was icy last night,” I said. “People get in accidents when it’s icy. It’s got nothing to do with trying to be awesome.”

“Really? Because I can’t think of why they’d have driven to Barrie if it wasn’t for the food.”

I sighed. “Yeah, okay, it’s
related
. But not in, like, a direct way. She didn’t die because she was trying to be more awesome.”

“I think she did,” Claudia said. She looked down at the books open in front of her. “This whole thing has been a mistake.”

I froze, waiting to see exactly how she was defining “whole thing.”

“Annalise was right; I haven’t been acting like myself. And it’s not making me happy. I need to change.”

I felt like it had been coming ever since the math contest, and I’d thought I was ready for it. But now that it seemed to be happening, I just wanted it to stop. “You’re upset,” I said quickly. “It’s not a good time to be making big decisions, probably.”

She shook her head. “I think I have to do it now.” She took a deep breath, then looked at me and said, “I don’t think I should see you anymore.”

My nod felt kind of jerky, like maybe my head was going to fall right off my neck. “You don’t think you should? Jesus, Claudia, could you at least have the guts to just
say
it? Say you’re dumping me.”

“It’s not really a
dumping
,” she said lamely.

“You’re doing it because of Ms. Coyne? Or the math contest?”

“I just…this is a crucial year for me, Chris.”

“Sure, Dr. Waring, I guess it is.”

“Okay, yeah, it’s what my mom’s been saying. But she’s been saying it because it’s true.”

“Really. This year is special somehow. All you need to do is get accepted into Waterloo, and everything’s easy after that. Oh, no, wait, I heard a lot of people flunk out of engineering their first year. So next year’s pretty crucial, too, isn’t it? And then the year after, and if you want to do your biotech stuff you need to get really good grades
every
year, right?”

I wasn’t really arguing with her. I’m not proud of myself, but I wasn’t trying to change her mind; I was trying to make her as upset as I was. “So
every
year is a crucial year, for a long time. And you know what, Claudia? Maybe you’re just not smart enough for it.” I liked seeing that expression on her face, like nobody had ever dared to suggest that before. “I mean, if you have to work
this
hard just to get
in
to the program? If you have to sacrifice every part of your life that isn’t school or studying? What’s it going to be like next year, when everyone
in
the place is as smart as you? How are you going to compete with them? What are you going to give up then, to give yourself
more
time for studying?”

I stood up. “Whatever. Maybe it’s not about needing to study at all; maybe you’re tired of me and looking for a way out. So, fine, go ahead and take it. But I don’t think it’s cool to use Ms. Coyne as an excuse for this. I bet she’d be pretty disappointed if she knew you were this much of a chickenshit.”

“Well, Ms. Coyne is dead,” Claudia fired back. “So I’m not really worrying about her right now.”

“Yeah. You’re worrying about yourself. Okay. Sorry for distracting you.”

I turned and headed out of the library, and then right out of the school. There was no way I was going to go and sit through chemistry, not right then. I needed to go to the gym and work up a sweat.

I thought of Claudia, thought of never getting to touch her again, or see her smile at me. I sped up to a jog, heading for my truck. Working out wouldn’t help much, but it’d be something. Something better than remembering Claudia’s smile, or the way she’d gasp when I touched her just right.

Damn it.

I slammed the door of the truck and peeled out of the parking lot. Claudia had made her decision; now I had to find a way to live with it.

Chapter Fifteen

The next day at school, I didn’t plan to go to the cafeteria in the morning before class. I intended to go to the library. But instead my feet took me over to our regular table. And Chris wasn’t there.
That
was when I realized what I had done.

Stupid, right? What did I think breaking up with someone meant?

I guess I’d known it was over in my head, but standing there in the cafeteria, waiting for a smiling face that never appeared? That was when I knew it in my heart.

And I suddenly couldn’t breathe. It took a while for anyone to notice, since they’d all pretty much taken Chris’s side in the breakup and were giving me the best cold shoulder they could without being totally cruel.

But finally Oliver stopped telling his tale of guy number four and said, “Shit, Claudia, are you okay?”

I sank into the nearest chair, letting my bag, including my laptop, drop to the floor. I didn’t have enough breath to speak, and even if I’d had the air I wasn’t sure what to say.
Everything’s gone wrong
.
I can’t breathe without him. Ms. Coyne is dead. I pushed Chris away. I don’t have a life. Chris hates me.

And of course that was when I saw him. I’m not sure how word got out that he and I had broken up; I guess he must have said something to Tyler, because Karen knew by fourth period the day before. But now it seemed like everybody knew, including other girls. Chris was walking in from the parking lot, Faith Davis skipping along beside him to keep up, and she was laughing, her hand on his arm.

Which made sense, because he was available now. His insane girlfriend had chosen cold numbers over his warm smile.

“Breathe,” Oliver said gently. He laid his arm on my shoulders and squeezed, like he was trying to push me back together. I took a shaky breath. “Good. Now let it go. Exhale.”

I managed to do that, too. “Good girl. Another breath, please.”

I did it, and breathed it out without needing instructions. Okay. I could breathe. I looked out the window, but Chris and Faith were out of sight now. Maybe he was walking her to her locker. Probably he’d already realized how nice it was to be around someone with normal social skills. Now my breathing was turning into sobs, and Oliver sank down beside me, his arm still holding my shoulders.

Another warm body on the other side, and I heard Karen murmur, “Oh, Dia. It’s going to be okay. It’ll be okay.” It was nice that she cared enough to lie to me.

The three of us sat there together well into first period. It wasn’t like I wanted to rush off to English class, not when Ms. Coyne wouldn’t be there to greet us.

That was when it hit me. My day was back to being flat, even flatter than it had been before Chris. I’d thrown out the flyer for the poetry slam, and I couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to do with the Sisterhood. I had no interesting English class, no squirming through biology waiting to see Chris at lunch, no anticipation as I went home and got my work done, looking forward to his text to tell me he was done with practice. None of that anymore. I’d chased it all away. That was what I’d wanted to do—what I’d needed to do—but I hadn’t realized just how empty I’d feel without it all.

I eventually pulled myself together and went to second period, then cried my way through lunch, then let Karen help me get cleaned up before chemistry. But when I walked into the lab, Chris wasn’t there. Not in his new seat at the front, not in his old seat at the back. I looked at Oliver, who winced sympathetically, then offered, “Maybe he’s got a hockey thing?”

But Cooper was there, sitting in the back row, so it wasn’t like the whole team was busy. I took a deep breath and made my way back to him. “Where’s Chris?” I asked, trying to sound casually polite instead of nearly hysterical.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, is it?”

“I don’t want him to fall behind,” I tried.

Cooper just shrugged. “If he does, they can hook him up with another tutor easy enough. Tutors aren’t exactly rare, you know.”

I was nothing special. That was the clear message, and I couldn’t blame Cooper for making it. “Can you tell him I was looking for him?”

Cooper looked at me for a long moment, then shook his head. “No. You should leave him alone and let him get back to normal. He doesn’t need this crap.”

It hurt. A lot. Chris might have said he wasn’t sorry he’d met me, but that was before we’d broken up,
and
it was coming from him. He might not have wanted to hurt me, but Cooper clearly didn’t have the same restraint. I made my way back to my seat at the front of the room and tried not to think about the times Chris had sat there beside me. It didn’t work. I had no idea what we talked about in class that day; at least we weren’t doing a lab, because I probably would have mixed the wrong chemicals and set myself on fire.

I staggered home after school, cried for a bit in my room, and then dodged my parents’ inquiries. They’d clearly noticed I was upset, probably noticed Chris hadn’t called the night before and didn’t call that night, either, but I didn’t feel like giving them the satisfaction of a formal announcement. Even without hearing anything concrete my mom was having a hard time disguising her gleeful anticipation. She clearly thought this was a rough transition period, but when it was over, her studious, serious, just-like-her daughter would be back.

I was trying not to hate her for that.

…

“You’re not acting like yourself, son.” Coach leaned back in his ratty old chair and squinted up at me. He and Tyler were close and had a sort of father-son thing going on, but I’d never really felt too bonded.

So I just said, “Yes, sir,” and waited for him to let me go.

Instead, he kept squinting at me a little longer, then said, “You were doing great there for a month or so. Intensity like I’ve never seen out of you, and improved play to go with it.”

“I’m still intense.”

“You’re a bit
too
intense now.” Coach made a face as if he realized it was a strange sort of criticism, given the praise he’d just doled out. “In the last two days you’ve almost started three fights in practice, you’ve been late to both morning workouts and shown up looking like you already ran a half marathon, and your locker suddenly has a fist-sized dent in the door.” He shook his head. “There are guys on the team who do this crap all the time, Winslow. It’s annoying, but I’m not going to give you a hard time about it when I ignore them. So this conversation isn’t about you being in trouble. You understand that?”

“So what is it about?”

Another rueful face, another acknowledgment that he knew I wasn’t going to like what he said but he was going to say it anyway. “MacDonald says you’ve got girl troubles.”

MacDonald had a big mouth. I shook my head anyway. “No, sir. No troubles.” No girl, so how could I have troubles with her?

“Mrs. Davidson over at the high school says you were dating a nice girl, a good student. She said she thought that girl was helping you take things a bit more seriously.”

Another person who should have been keeping her mouth shut. I mean, it’s a small town, and pretty much everyone knows pretty much everything, but there’s also a nice tradition of people pretending they
don’t
know some stuff, just to give the illusion of privacy. Apparently that system had been canceled and nobody had bothered to let me know. “We broke up,” I said. “It’s not a big thing. We weren’t even going out all that long.”

He nodded like he’d heard the secret of the universe. “Still stings, though, doesn’t it?”

“I can take it.”

Another nod. “Yeah. You’re a tough kid, Winslow. Big, strong, tough, fast, good skills—sounds like a recipe for a great hockey player, doesn’t it?” He leaned back in his chair. “That’s what I’ve been planning to start pointing out to scouts when they come by. I know MacDonald’s getting most of the attention, but if you keep working like you have been,
without
the over-the-top crap, I think you’ve got a good shot at the show.”

It should have made me happy. Should have made me way more than happy, really. Pretty much every kid in the country plays hockey, plus quite a few from the States and Europe, and the NHL drafts a couple hundred a year. That’s all, and I was being told I could maybe be one of them. Having the coach’s recommendation would mean a hell of a lot to the scouts, so it should mean a hell of a lot to me.

But I just felt sort of numb. A few days ago, I’d have raced off and told Claudia about it, and she wouldn’t really have understood what a big deal it was but she’d have been happy for me anyway. “Thanks,” I mumbled. “Is there anything else?”

Another damn squint. “I use you as a rubber wall—did you know that?”

“A what?”

“A rubber wall. Like, when people are crazy or upset or whatever, they get put in a room with rubber walls. The walls are soft enough that the people don’t get hurt if they slam into them, and strong enough that the wall doesn’t get damaged. I use you like that, with your teammates.”

It wasn’t like I hadn’t noticed that I got assigned to deal with the hotheads a lot, but I didn’t really like hearing myself described as “soft.” I don’t think any hockey player would. “So you think I’m not doing my job now?”

“No, I’m just wondering…who do
you
get to slam into? You’re usually a happy guy, so you probably don’t have a lot of mechanisms in place for dealing with stuff. Does that make sense?”

I sighed. “Everything makes sense in the little bits when you say it. But I get the feeling you want me to glue it together into something bigger, and I honestly have no idea how it fits together.”

“Who have you talked to about all this?”

Well, I’d talked to MacDonald, but obviously I wouldn’t be doing
that
again. “There is no ‘all this.’ I’m fine. I’ll make sure I’m on time tomorrow. I’ll dial back in practice. Everything’s good.”

“Your parents coming to the game in London?” he asked.

Jesus, was he planning to talk to my parents? “I don’t know. They were going to try to make it.”

“You want to take some time off before or after the game? Go home for a visit?”

More time to lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling and think about Claudia? “No, I don’t think so. I’m good here.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay, if you say so. But, son, if you need someone to talk to… I know I might not be your first choice, but I’m available. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and I got the hell out of there.

Tyler was waiting in the locker room, reorganizing his gear like it was something important rather than just an excuse for sticking around and being nosy. I grabbed my bag and left. I didn’t want to deal with him, or with anyone else. I just wanted the whole mess to be over.

…

“Claudia!” my mother called from downstairs. I was tempted to roll over and pull my pillow over my head, but I knew she wouldn’t give up. She
never
gave up.

So I swung my feet over the side of the bed and stumbled toward the door. It was Saturday, midmorning, and she was probably going to give me another talk about it being time to stop moping, and how I was wasting valuable time. I didn’t want to hear it, but I decided to get it over with.

But when I got to the top of the stairs and looked down toward the front door, there was an unfamiliar woman standing in the foyer with my mother. I wished I’d taken the time to brush my hair or maybe even get dressed, but she’d already seen me, so it was a bit too late.

“This is Paula Hillroy,” my mother said. “She’s Ms. Coyne’s partner, and wanted to drop something off for you.”

“Hi, Claudia,” the woman said. She was pretty, with short dark hair that curled around her face. I noticed the bruise on her temple for the first time, and was tempted to turn around and run back to bed. Ms. Coyne had wanted this woman to eat more interesting food, and now Ms. Coyne was dead. Because of some stupid idea
I’d
come up with.

Ms. Hillroy stepped toward the stairs, limping a little, and I felt guilty about making her move. If she wanted to yell at me, I should go down and let her do it.

“I’m really sorry,” I said, shuffling down the stairs.

“Thank you. I miss her.” Then she forced a smile. “I’m trying to work through some things. We had the funeral out in Vancouver with Steph’s family, but there are people here who cared about her, too.” She peered at me. “Right?”

“Yes,” I said numbly. I’d mostly been wallowing in my grief over losing Chris, but Ms. Coyne had definitely been in my thoughts as well. “She was a great teacher.”

“I know she cared about you.” She pulled a little black bar out of her pocket. A thumb drive. “She was so excited about the Sisterhood. This is the work she did before she—” She stopped, frowned as if surprised she wasn’t able to say the word, then forced another smile. “This is what she was working on. And I’ve talked to the other sisters, and we’re going to keep it going. We’re going to keep trying to be awesome, in her memory.”

“But—the accident—it happened
because
you were trying to be awesome.”

“The accident was
an accident
. It happened because of bad luck and an unexpected cold snap. That’s all.” She sounded almost fierce, and I realized she might be fighting her own battle with guilt. We stood silently for a moment, then she said, “She was so proud of you. Talked about you all the time, you and Karen. She said you were both blossoming. Said it was a privilege to get to see you growing.”

I stared at her, then at my mother. Blossoming. Growing. I
had
been doing that. And now I was back to being dormant.

Ms. Hillroy brushed impatiently at her eyes and said, “Sorry. I have to get going. I just wanted to drop that off, and let you know—I’m not sure. Let you know how excited she was about you, I guess. I wanted you to know you touched her.”

“She touched me, too,” I managed.

“Good.” She was crying now, and she made a quick, embarrassed good-bye to my mom and then was out the door and practically jogging down the walkway to the street.

I turned to my mother. “I made a mistake,” I said.