Chapter Seven
The buses have left for the day, my best friend is getting high, and because the universe is clearly working against me, my parents won’t be off work until tomorrow.
I live almost five miles away. Don’t get me wrong, some people run five miles for fun. But I bet they don’t do it with three textbooks, two binders, a lunch box, and a forty-ounce water bottle on their back.
I stop at the edge of the field hockey pitch, the scrimmage in full swing.
Almost immediately, I spot Hannah running up the sideline in my direction.
She shouts to her teammate, “Ohio, Ohio.” It’s one of their plays, she explained to me over the summer.
The code name keeps the other team from knowing what they’re doing.
Predictably, the Cuyahoga Falls offense flanks Hannah, since she’s calling the play, leaving the backs open for a pass.
Cuyahoga tries to recover by crossing the field, but just as their goalie starts calling out, the ball is passed back to Hannah, who’s now unattended, and she scores.
Hannah pulls out her mouth guard to cheer with her teammates, and as she’s sweeping one of her smaller teammates into a hug, she turns and sees me.
She stands in place, staring, while the rest of her team runs to the other end of the field.
“Hannah, come on,” someone shouts as everyone gets back into their starting positions.
Hannah holds a thumbs-up, questioning. I nod. She jerks her head in the direction of the stands, but I shake my head no, fine staying by myself. I put my bag down and try to wave her on, not wanting to distract her from the game.
It’s even more exciting than she made it sound over the summer.
When the final whistle blows, Ridgeway winning 16–4, the girls line up to high-five and say “Good game.” Hannah quickly runs over and grabs her stuff from the bleachers, not even changing out of her uniform before she jogs back to where I’m standing.
“That was awesome,” I tell her.
“Thanks,” she says, breathing heavy. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, self-conscious about how cold I’ve been to her today.
“Why are you here? I mean, I thought you had to ‘catch your ride.’ ”
“Plans changed,” I admit. “I know I’m not in any position to ask for favors. And I’m sorry that I’ve been unnecessarily rude to you since… you know. But… would you be willing to give me a ride home?”
She uses the hem of her jersey to wipe some sweat off her forehead. “Oh,” she says, pushing some loose tendrils back from her face. “Well, I do have this team dinner to get to.” She gestures behind her to where I can see some of her teammates already headed to the student parking lot.
My heart sinks into my stomach. I can’t blame her for not wanting to help me out. Seeing as I’ve been doing my best to push her away, I’d be wary of me by now too.
I bend down to grab my bag, figuring I might as well accept that I’m about to walk five miles. “I understand,” I say, looking down to hide the heat rising to my face.
“Clarity, wait.” Hannah reaches for my bag. “If you come with me to the dinner, I can drive you home after.”
“Oh, but I’m not on the team.”
“That doesn’t matter. Plus, I kind of already told them you’re coming. And it sounds like you don’t have any other options,” she says, smiling coyly. “It’ll also give us a chance to talk.”
As much as I wanted to avoid it, I knew having a chat would most likely be the toll for a ride home. But after not recognizing my best friend this afternoon, the indisputable, comforting familiarity Hannah offers isn’t such a red flag anymore.
As Hannah watches the road, I wonder if us being together in her car reminds her of the nights when we were bold enough to drive away from camp to stargaze through her sunroof and talk for hours about nothing, nothing that made up everything.
“It’s actually at Rowena’s house,” Hannah says, her voice cutting through the familiar images in my mind. Rowena is Hannah’s best friend, her Kristen equivalent.
We turn onto a street that faces the sunset.
As we descend the hill, some of Hannah’s teammates trail behind us in their cars, and I watch the houses that we pass.
Some people sit in chairs on their porches: reading, resting their eyes, or just watching the view.
I can see families sitting down for dinner through bay windows.
One mom and dad are playing with their kids, passing a Frisbee around on the front lawn.
I wonder what it would be like if both my parents were home more often, if family dinners were normal instead of a stroke of luck.
If we could watch movies without being interrupted by a call from the hospital or a beep on the pager.
“Cool,” I say, but my thoughts have taken me back to Kristen’s house.
I’ve always appreciated the way Kristen’s parents welcomed me.
Being their daughter’s best friend has always meant more than just playdates.
When I was too young to stay at home alone, they’d let me come over for dinner after school, and our classmates thought we were super lucky to have so many sleepovers on school nights (which only happened when both of my parents were scheduled overnight).
For the most part, I always belonged. Not like an actual member of the family, but like I had a place in Kristen’s home.
I used to feel like my parents chose their patients over me. Kristen was the friend I could go to when I felt alone, and now she’s chosen Vincent. Not fitting in with my best friend, on the farm that’s felt like my second home, stings.
I’m not ready to think about what my seeking Hannah out means, especially in terms of where we stand, but I’m thankful she’s around.
Even though I want to hold on to my resolve, staying far away from a relationship and all the ways it could go wrong, I can’t ignore the fact that Hannah made room for me.
Before I asked for a ride, before she came across the field and found out something was wrong, she’d already made a place for me…
“It’s cool how we used to talk about you meeting the team, and now it’s finally happening.” Her excitement makes me smile.
Then it hits me. I’m about to meet the entire field hockey team, which is like meeting her second family. And even though she’s not introducing me as her girlfriend, I still feel the pressure.
“What if they don’t like me?” I ask, the residual out of place-ness lingering from before.
“They’ll like you,” Hannah says, parking in front of Rowena’s house.
“How do you know?”
Through the windshield, some of her teammates hobble to the house, sore from the game and covered in dirt from the field.
“You’re my guest,” she says, turning off the car.
I take a deep breath. “You know, I, like, suck at talking to people,” I remind her, thinking back to how I never really meshed with the other counselors at Camp Refuge… and that was before I became the sinner.
Hannah smiles and I look away. Her smile reminds me of the sun, its warmth a magnetic pull that I don’t want to break away from.
“That’s why you have me,” she says. Before I can stall any longer, she throws open her door and adds, “Come on, I’m hungry.”
Rowena lives across from a farm that raises cattle. Outside the car, the smell of dirt and manure is overpowering. The house itself is white, with blue shutters framing the windows and a matching blue door with a silver knocker.
The front door opens, and a boxer bounds down the front walkway, knocking over the solar-powered pathway lights as she excitedly greets teammates. Rowena comes out, having already traded her uniform for an Ohio State T-shirt and a pair of Nike shorts.
“What’s for dinner?” Hannah asks when we step up to the door.
“No ‘Hello, this is my friend, hope that cleat you took to the shin doesn’t bruise too bad?’ ” Rowena asks, laughing.
“Hi, Rowena. What’s for dinner?” Hannah asks, mocking.
“You know where the kitchen is, girl. Go on.”
Hannah leads the way.
Rowena touches my arm. “I’m glad you could come!” she says as I pass over the threshold.
“Thanks for having me,” I say, hoping my response isn’t too formal.
Rowena winks before focusing on the teammates behind us.
Hannah and I pass through the living room, where some girls are already gathered around the coffee table with plates of pasta.
In the kitchen, Rowena’s mom stirs various pots brimming with pesto, marinara, and what looks like meat sauce.
Notes of basil and Parmesan float through the air.
We help ourselves, Hannah going for the meat sauce while I let Rowena’s mom spoon dark green pesto over my spaghetti.
With plates of food and plastic cups of cherry cola, Hannah and I weave our way through the dining room and living room.
I’m surprised when she passes up an open spot on the couch to sit at the bottom of the stairs.
“It’s relatively secluded. Gives us space to eat and talk,” she explains.
The stairwell is narrow, so it’s a bit of a squeeze. But we manage to fit with our plates on our laps and our legs touching. I savor the thickness of the pesto, just realizing how hungry I was, and put off thinking about the inevitable subject Hannah wants to talk about.
It’s funny to see that Hannah still eats with a sense of urgency, like she hasn’t eaten in ages.
I like that I know these little things about her and that she hasn’t changed much from the camp counselor I ate with.
She gets some sauce on her shirt and pays it no mind.
I watch as girls reenact moments from the game in the living room.
There was a high swing that the referee didn’t catch, and Olivia bodychecked the Cuyahoga Falls center so hard that she couldn’t keep the ball in bounds.
“I wouldn’t want to be on Liv’s bad side,” Hannah says, loud enough for them to hear.
I watch, somewhat fascinated, as she enters and exits conversations with ease. It’s a social grace I’ve never had. I’m so awkward sometimes; I either talk too much or not enough.
“When’s the last time you didn’t run off to immediately start your homework after school?” Hannah asks, nudging me with her shoulder. Her voice is quiet, creating a familiar sense of intimacy, like we are the only two people in the world.
“Um…” I try to think. I’m not some cookie-cutter perfect student. I’m just organized, and I like to get ahead. Still, I’m a little self-conscious when I admit, “The last day of junior year.”
Hannah raises her eyebrows, leaning back against the step behind us like my answer blew her away.
“Man, Clarity. Live a little. School nights can be fun too.”
I think about all the fun some kids get to have, staying up late watching TV with their parents or playing video games with their siblings.
Or the kids who have clubs and sports, or just hang out with their friends and don’t have to worry about how they’re going to get home because at least one of their parents routinely gets off from work at five, never working past six.
For me, between the bus, asking Kristen for rides, and always hoping one of my parents can pick me up, I can’t afford to go with the flow, to not think ahead.
“I know,” I say, looking down so that my face can’t give away my thoughts.
Rowena breaks out a soccer ball and most of the girls relocate to the backyard.
When Hannah doesn’t move to follow them, I stay glued in place, watching as Rowena’s dog, Blue, trots along after the last few stragglers.
Our invisibility feels charged. The smooth warmth of Hannah’s leg against mine makes me wish for something familiar but forbidden.
A clock begins counting down in my head. It’s time for me to pay up on the answer I owe her.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers in the quiet. The sound of Rowena’s mom cleaning up in the kitchen reminds me that we aren’t completely alone.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that,” I say, focusing on my shoelaces.
“You can tell me how you feel?”
Scared, electrified. Sad… but, in a weird way, at peace now that we’re spending time together. Confused, but feeling sure of one part of my identity even though it shatters the straight, unflinchingly Christian person I thought I was.
I want to say I miss her too. I’m terrified to say these thoughts and feelings out loud because I know Hannah will have a response for everything, and she might talk me out of the answer I’m desperate to give.
It’s one thing to dream of being together, to have been open and honest at Camp Refuge. But I can’t speak those same wishes into existence here at home, knowing what they might cost.
“I feel tired,” I say, thinking of the loose ends I must tie up to keep my secret: Mrs. Patricia, the festival committee, and eventually facing Jameson and Yasmin at church.
Hannah sighs. I know she’s not buying it.
“Clarity,” she says, some of the intensity leaving her voice.
“I can’t date you,” I add. It’s the only way I can stop this conversation before it starts, before it hurts too much. Though, I wish I was at home, saying this over text, not disappointing Hannah to her face.
“Guys, come outside! Stop being antisocial,” Rowena calls from the back door.
Since she can’t see us, Hannah grabs my hand and gives it a light squeeze.
“Be right there!” she shouts, her gaze locking on mine.
The sadness in her hazel eyes is unbearable. I can’t be with her, but there’s no way I can avoid her. Though… after tonight, I’m not entirely sure I want to avoid her anymore.
“Look, we have festival committee. Even though we aren’t in a relationship, it’s still a way for us to spend time together,” I say, hoping that it might count for something.
The discomfort that mounted behind her gaze eases up, which loosens the knot in my chest. As copresidents, we can be in each other’s lives without having to hide anything… at least, not anything new.
She considers for a moment, nodding to herself. “Okay, Clarity.”