Chapter 5 #2
They were both freshmen and centers, so they were in competition, I explain.
How do you know all this? she asks.
Jordan told me, of course. He asked me not to talk about it, so that’s why I didn’t tell you before. But now, I really need to talk to someone. You’re my best friend, so I want you to know why I feel the way I do about Mats.
Becks walks in circles to stay warm, but she doesn’t say a word.
Well… should we head back? I ask. She nods and we set off. I’m disappointed that she hasn’t responded to everything I’ve told her. It’s pretty shocking, and I was hoping to finally get her on my side and not have to hear about perfect Roy anymore.
We run in silence for a quarter mile, which is pretty unusual for us. Then Becks turns towards me. Don’t take this the wrong way, okay, Nellie?
My breath hitches. This does not sound like the sympathy I was hoping for. What is it?
I don’t know. I just… find it hard to imagine that Mats had some kind of vendetta against your brother.
And he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to lie to get an advantage.
He’d double down on his training to be better.
Besides, Jordan played fourth line minutes last year, when he wasn’t a scratch.
Whereas Mats was recruited and he played every game. They weren’t in competition.
What’s your point? I demand.
My point is that I don’t believe Jordan’s story. It doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry, I know he’s your little brother, and you love him.
I exhale. Okay, here’s the part I really didn’t want to share. The case against Jordan was that he made racist comments towards Mats. I pause, because this is the most upsetting part. You know he’s not like that.
Becks looks shocked. Shit. Well, I’ve never heard him say anything racist, but I’m a white woman.
He’s open-minded. He’s always been completely supportive of all my lesbian friends. Jordan came to the rescue of one of my high school teammates when she was getting hassled at a party. That’s the kind of guy he really is.
Becks stops and puts her hands on my shoulders. Am I the first person you’ve told this to?
I nod.
I appreciate your trust. And I believe that you believe everything you’ve told me— she begins.
I recoil. That’s a weird way to phrase it. So, you don’t believe the truth?
All I know is that your brother is a bullshitter. I’ve seen him con you because you’re so trusting and generous. Maybe you should ask Mats about this. And really listen to whatever he says.
Before I say anything harsh, I pull away from her hands and start running.
Nellie, stop, Becks calls after me.
But I run faster. I’d hoped that telling her would make me feel better, but now I feel even worse.
Yes, Jordan can act like a prick. And yes, I can be overprotective, but I’ve felt responsible for him since our parents split.
My parents were happy that Jordan was going to Monarch so I could look out for him.
And then my dad was so disappointed when Jordan dropped out.
And now even my best friend isn’t taking my side.
Ooof. Suddenly, I’m sprawled facedown in a snowbank with Becks sitting on top of me.
Fuck! Did you just tackle me? I brush snow off my face and twist around so I’m facing her. Get off. You weigh a ton.
I’m not getting off. You’re just going to run away again. Not that you can run from me, I’ve always been faster, she brags.
If we were on the ice, I would be faster, I grumble. If I promise not to take off, will you let me go?
She holds out her gloved hand. Pinkie promise?
I hook my pinkie into hers. We stand and brush the powdery snow away, then resume our run at an easy pace.
Nellie, you know I’ve always got your back.
Yeah, I know. I sigh. Of course I won’t get unquestioning support from Becks, she’s way too opinionated. And who would want friends like that anyway?
I continue, I guess I feel guilty. I always had to look out for Jordan when we were kids. When our parents split, I went with my mom, and he went with my dad. Whenever we were together, I was in charge. So, even now, if Jordan has problems, I try to resolve them.
Becks nods. You’re a good big sister. But you’re not his mom.
I know. It’s just that the guilt sometimes clouds my thinking. Jordan was the sweetest little kid, and that’s what I see when I look at him. But I’ll think about your suggestion—straight talk with Mats.
We cut back towards campus, and on the way, we see the St. Viola animal shelter. There’s a familiar figure in the fenced yard.
Oh my god, it’s fate, Becks exclaims. You have to talk to him.
Not now. I’d like to be less… sweaty.
I don’t care how I look for him, but I’d like to be better prepared for a talk this huge. Of course, Mats looks perfectly put together. Even now, just throwing a tennis ball for a dog, he’s wearing dark jeans and a fancy jacket. I hate his perfect wardrobe.
Hey, Mats, Becks calls out as she halts by the fence, cutting off my escape route. Jesus, this is the second time she’s forced me to spend time with him.
He looks up and smiles at Becks. His eyes flicker over me and that smile fades. I try to shake off my disappointment. Of course he should hate me the way I hate him. Why should things change just because we have to spend more time together?
What are you up to? Becks asks.
He motions towards the dog. Bruno here is not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
He wants me to throw the ball, but then he can’t find it in the snow.
So, I have to retrieve the ball too. The brown dog in question gallops over, eyes bulging and tongue lolling out.
I can’t help laughing at his goofy face.
He’s not going to win any beauty contests either, Mats says. But he’s got a very sweet personality.
Mats walks over and digs the ball out of a snow drift. Bruno enthusiastically follows him there and back, leaping and barking.
Again? he asks Bruno, and gets happy yips in reply. He throws the ball and Bruno runs after it, only to circle in puzzlement when he can’t see the ball anymore. Mats once again trudges through the snow and retrieves the ball.
Okay. New plan, Mats tells the dog, then throws the ball in a perfect arc so it lands on a tiny bare patch of patio stone. Bruno bolts over and gleefully pounces on the ball, then races back to Mats, dropping it at his feet and looking up with that lopsided grin.
Who’s a good boy? Is Bruno a good boy? Mats coos as he caresses the dog’s ears.
Becks fans herself and mutters, Am I the only one who wishes she was a little brown dog right now?
Ew. It’s just you, I reply firmly. Mats must save that velvety voice and loving touch for animals. And girlfriends.
Hey, Mats, what happened to the kitten that you rescued? Becks calls out.
Minnie? She’s in foster care right now. If you’re interested in adopting her, I can let you know as soon as she’s old enough. His tone is cajoling, like a used cat salesman.
We haven’t asked our roommates yet, Becks replies. But we will.
Great. Her foster parents love her, but she gets into everything. I knew she was a survivor when I met her. He enthusiastically tells us how Minnie fell into a full bathtub, then ran around the house dripping everywhere.
You sound like a proud father, Becks says, then pokes me with her elbow.
I reluctantly ask, Mats, I’d like to talk to you about something. When would be a good time?
His cat-dad smile fades, and he checks his fancy watch. I’ll be done my shift in ten minutes. Would that work for you?
Yeah, sure. Of course, there are a million things I’d rather be doing, including a proper cool-down and a hot shower, but it’s better to do the unpleasant things right away. Also, Becks will probably smother me in my sleep if I pass up this opportunity.
She takes off for home, and I sadly watch her disappear. Mats pockets the ball, then clicks a leash onto Bruno.
We go into the shelter, which is a pretty bare-bones operation.
It’s just me, he calls out, and a female voice replies from down a hallway.
You can wait here. Mats motions to a couple of plastic chairs in the tiny lobby.
But I hate sitting around, especially when I’m nervous. Could I shadow you instead? I wouldn’t mind seeing the animals.
He shrugs in reply, but I take that for a yes and follow him down a dim hallway. Mats grabs a towel and wipes down a wriggling Bruno, who can’t stay still even for a millisecond.
He loves the attention, I say.
Yeah, he’s into people. I’m sure he’ll get adopted quickly, Mats replies.
He opens a heavy door and loud barking can be heard.
I follow them into the dog area where there are large cages.
When Mats opens the door of one cage, Bruno looks up at him with eyes wide and one ear drooping. Are you putting me back in jail?
Sure, buddy. Break my heart every time, why don’t you? grumbles Mats.
He has a very expressive face. I scratch Bruno on the head and he gives me a hopeful look, his tongue lolling out again. I don’t know how you can work here and not want to adopt all the animals.
Mats nods and fastens Bruno’s door shut. Now is a slow time for adoptions, and many of our animals are in foster. But there’s someone coming in this week who might be a good fit with Bruno, so he’s here. He’s not that happy about it, though.
I look over the other three dogs, all of whom look healthy and energetic. Mats picks up a broom and starts sweeping the hallway.
Let me do that, I offer, and reach out to grab it. Our hands touch and there’s the shock of warm accidental contact. I shake off the sensation. This is Roy Matsumoto, for fuck’s sake.
You don’t have to do anything. His voice is gruff as he turns away.
No, I insist. I’d rather make myself useful.
I sweep while Mats does something with clipboards and paperwork.
Then he has me fold aging towels fresh from the dryer.
After, we go over to the cat side of the building.
There’s a large room with couches and cat trees, and cats lounging around.
A friendly tabby rubs against me and flops down for tummy rubs.
It’s nice that they aren’t in cages, I say as I pet the cat. I can’t believe we’re chatting away so easily, but Mats seems more relaxed and friendly around animals.
There are cages too, but for new or injured cats, he explains as he straightens and tidies the room. He never passes a cat without giving it some attention. It’s oddly endearing.
Mats disappears into a back room and I can hear him talking to someone. A white cat comes over and now I’m scratching two furry bellies at once. I love this, and I start to imagine our house with Minnie zooming around.
I’m ready to go, Mats calls from the doorway.
Okay. Bye, guys. The cats blink at me. I get up and follow him out of the building. I look around the parking lot, but there’s only one old sedan here. Did you walk here?
Yeah. Do you want to go somewhere to talk, or can we do it as we walk back to campus? he asks.
Walking and talking is good. I prefer not to have to face Mats for this.
I dive in right away. Can you tell me what happened between you and Jordan last year?
Mats’s expression blanks like a door slamming shut. What do you mean—specifically?
I guess, what role did you play in his getting cut from the team?
Anything I do with the Athletic Council is completely confidential. Wow, I didn’t know that he could attain new levels of iciness. He sounds like a robot lawyer.
But I’m involved in this personally, I explain.
Then talk to your brother. Mats walks faster, like he can’t wait to get out of this conversation.
I have, but now I’m wondering if I got the full story. What if I tell you what he told me, and you can tell me your side?
For a second, Mats looks like he’s tempted. Then the shields go back up. Do you understand what the word confidential means? I can’t tell you anything about another student. Surely you’d appreciate this, if it was your own issue.
Whatever ease we’d had at the animal shelter is lost now. I’m sorry, I get it. I’ve spent most of my life looking out for my younger brother, and it’s hard to stop.
Mats doesn’t even respond to this, but, like Becks, I suspect that Jordan is not his favourite person.
Is that it, then? he asks.
Yeah. It’s so frustrating to be so close to what Mats knows and not get anything. Did I really expect him to tell me? This whole idea was stupid, Becks.
He clears his throat. Then I have a question for you. I know you don’t want to do this dinner thing with me. Is that only because of your brother?
Yes, of course, I reply.
And there aren’t any other issues? he presses.
Like what? We barely know each other.
He watches me closely. Like my being Japanese.
For a moment, I’m bewildered; I can’t believe he’s asking me this. It’s not something that’s ever occurred to me. But then, it clicks. He’s asking me because it’s what he thinks of my brother. Instantly, my anger against him returns full-force.
I turn to face him fully, hands on my hips.
Absolutely not! I’m not a racist, and my brother isn’t either. And if I needed a reason to dislike you, I could do better than that. You’re a stuck-up rich boy who thinks he’s God’s gift to womankind. You only date perfect Barbie dolls. And you have a weak fucking slap shot.
Thank fuck I still have enough energy to run home and escape this conversation.