Better Off Friends

  My parents let me drive my new car to Thanksgiving. I should’ve been excited for this rather adult responsibility, but I was nervous. For the first time since I’ve known the Dietzes, I wasn’t sure how to act. This needed to be a great Thanksgiving for Macallan. I didn’t want to do anything or say anything that would upset her.

  What I did want was for us to figure some way to get back to normal. To pre-Levi-being-an-idiot. To pre-Ireland. Maybe even to pre-Emily.

  Adam opened the door with a giant smile. “Happy Thanksgiving!”

  Guilt stabbed me as I thought about what Keith had said.

  We all exchanged holiday greetings and unloaded our winter coats and gifts. We’d brought the centerpiece, pumpkin pie, shrimp for an appetizer, and some adult beverages for the grown-ups.

  The amazing smell of the holidays greeted us as we stepped into the living room.

  Mom set out the shrimp cocktail on the coffee table next to Macallan’s offerings: spiced pecans, bacon roll-ups, and, I was beyond thrilled to see, her cheese ball.

  “Yes!” I sat down and grabbed a cracker.

  “Get your own!” Adam gently shoved me as we both started helping ourselves to the food. If only Thanksgiving happened in the summer, I would never have had a problem putting on weight for football season.

  “Macallan!” Mom greeted Macallan with a giant hug as she entered the room. “This all looks wonderful. What can I help you with?”

  “Nothing, really.” She glanced at her watch. “I don’t have to worry about anything for at least thirty minutes.”

  “Do you want me to be on turkey duty?” Mom offered.

  “Turkey’s done. I cooked it yesterday.” Macallan popped a bacon roll-up into her mouth. “I did the fancy turkey last time. This year I wanted to do my aunt Janet’s recipe. Cooked the turkey yesterday, then marinated it overnight in gravy.”

  “It’s so good,” Adam said as he took the knife away from me to help himself to more cheese ball.

  “Don’t eat the entire cheese ball! You know I’ve got a ton of food for dinner: stuffing, wild rice, macaroni and cheese, sweet potato casserole, glazed carrots…. I think there’s a green vegetable somewhere in there. I’m not sure, it’s a holiday!”

  “It all sounds fabulous.” Mom rubbed Macallan’s arm. “You look gorgeous, sweetie.” She really did. She had this green dress on that accentuated her red hair. “We’ve really missed you. All we keep hearing from Levi is how busy you’ve been.”

  The cheese ball got caught in my throat. I didn’t want the day to begin with me getting caught in a lie. I wanted this to be a fun meal like we always had together, even though I knew my mere presence was enough to prevent that from happening.

  I studied Macallan’s face to see if she was going to give away the fact that I’d been using excuse after excuse for reasons why Macallan wasn’t around. Why we couldn’t do Sunday dinners anymore. I kept saying Macallan had this cooking thing or that academic event.

  But the real reason was that I was being selfish. I didn’t want anything to take away from my time with my guys. I didn’t want to be attached to Macallan. Like she was some sort of tether weighing me down. But it was my ego, my insecurity about where I fit in that was responsible for my stupidity.

  Macallan smiled. “Yeah, it’s been a crazy few months.” She took a handful of pecans and headed into the kitchen.

  “Ah, I’m going to see if she needs any help,” I said as I got up. I ignored the sarcastic comments from my dad, as it was pretty clear that the only help I could give anybody in the kitchen would be to exit immediately.

  Macallan was washing a pot. Her back was to me. I couldn’t tell if she was angry.

  “Do you need help?” I offered.

  Her shoulders tensed up. “No, I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?” I approached the side of the sink and picked up a towel.

  “Suit yourself.” She handed me the dripping dish.

  Macallan jumped up to sit on the kitchen island as I began to dry off the pot.

  “Did you invite Stacey for dessert?” she asked.

  When Mom had talked to Macallan to see what we could bring, Macallan had invited Stacey to join us later when she was done with her family.

  “Nah. I thought it would be good to be only family.” I hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be together.” Which was true. Stacey was a cool girl, but I was with her because I thought I should be with a cheerleader. That was what most of the varsity athletes did. That was what Keith did. Plus, I thought it would be easier to have a girlfriend to keep my feelings for Macallan in check. And that wasn’t fair to Stacey. Or to me.

  “That’s too bad,” Macallan replied. There was absolutely no emotion on her face. I couldn’t tell if she really thought this was bad news or if she was being sarcastic. Usually, it was pretty clear when she was being sarcastic, mostly at my expense.

  A smile started to slowly spread across my lips as I thought back on some of our epic bantering sessions. Guys think they can talk crap, but they’ve got nothing on Macallan in terms of wit and a rapid-fire reflex.

  She looked confused. “You’re smiling over your relationship ending?”

  “No, no.” I didn’t need her to think of me worse than she probably already did. “I was thinking about the time we went to that Brewers game —”

  “And you dropped your hot dog,” she finished for me.

  “Yes! And you would not let me forget it because I —”

  “Still ate it!”

  “Yeah!” I said a little louder than I intended, mostly because I was excited to remind her about a fun time we’d had. “But!”

  “There’s no buts about it. It was disgusting.”

  “It was only —”

  “ ‘On the floor for five seconds.’ ” She repeated what I kept saying to her that day in a low voice, the one she always used when she imitated me. Usually, it annoyed me when she did that. I was ecstatic to hear it from her now.

  “Remember, I hadn’t put anything on it yet.”

  “Which would’ve been better because then you could’ve at least wiped the dirty ketchup off.”

  “Yeah, but you wouldn’t stop teasing me about it.”

  “Because it was disgusting.” She said this slowly, like she was talking to a toddler.

  I started laughing. For the entire game, anytime something happened, the Brewers struck out or the other team scored, Macallan had leaned forward and said, “Well, they may be losing the game, but at least they didn’t eat a dirty hot dog.” Or “Wow, that must be tough to swallow, although not as tough as a dirty hot dog.”

  Macallan studied me. “Well, what about it?”

  “What about what?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What about that game?”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointment seeping through. “It was fun.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. One of her timers went off. “Well, I think I need to ask you to leave. I don’t serve dirty food, and with your luck …” She let the words hang there, but I was grateful to have her say something teasing to me. Macallan didn’t waste her time, or her barbs, on people she didn’t care about.

  Now that I think about it, having Macallan as my best friend prepared me for all the trash talking that can happen in the locker room. And the weight room.

  “You call that a rep?” Keith taunted Tim as he pushed up the weights on the bench press a week after Thanksgiving.

  Tim got up and sat down on the mat next to me while I did leg lifts.

  “Let me show you how it’s done.” Keith laid down on the bench press and started easily pumping the weight up and down.

  “Yeah, you only weigh fifty pounds more than me, dude,” Tim reminded him.

  “Dude, I can’t help it if I make everything look good.”

  I stayed quiet as I worked on strengthening my lower body. Tim started stretching, and asked, “You want to go run some suicides on the court?”

&nb
sp; The weather had gotten even colder as Christmas approached, so we’d taken to staying inside to work out. We’d hit the weight room above the gymnasium after Tim was done with basketball practice.

  “Yeah, man, sounds good.” I got up and grabbed my gym towel.

  “That’s right, you skinny boys can’t handle the pressure, so get out of the kitchen,” Keith grunted as he finished his last set.

  “That didn’t even make any sense.” Tim laughed.

  “Hey, I’m pumping a lot here. Gotta save everything for the game.”

  “Nice excuse,” I snarked at him.

  “What’s your problem, California?” Keith got up and came toward me. “You’ve been acting all weird lately.”

  I hadn’t been acting “all weird.” I’d just stopped laughing at Keith’s jokes when they weren’t funny.

  Keith continued. “It’s like you get a taste of the good life and then can’t handle it anymore. But don’t worry, this year will fly by and then we’ll be back on the field. Senior year’s gonna be awesome. You’ll for sure start and we will own this place. No question.”

  I shrugged. That sounded nice, but I didn’t know what price I’d have to pay for it. For the first time, I wasn’t so sure it would be worth it.

  “I’m telling you” — Keith threw me my water bottle — “track is gonna be a shock to your system. You went from playing in front of hundreds screaming your name, to, like, what? Five people on the benches for a track meet?”

  Yeah, but all the important people in my life showed up for that.

  It was then I realized that maybe Macallan wouldn’t be showing up this year. I wouldn’t really blame her. But I’d gotten used to having her there, cheering me on.

  She was always there for me when I needed her. I only wished I could say the same for myself.

  “I think I know what this is about.” Keith sat down and motioned me to join him on the opposite bench. I obliged because that was what I did. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened with your chick friend.”

  “Macallan,” I corrected him.

  “Macallan.” He sighed when he said her name. “I’ve apologized to her, which I’m pretty sure she didn’t believe even though I was being serious. I practically begged Boockmeier to not suspend her. I snapped — I realize that. I don’t know what it is about that girl, but she just gets to you. It’s like she doesn’t care what anybody thinks about her.”

  No, I thought, she just doesn’t care what you think of her.

  “I don’t know.” Keith looked thoughtful for a second, then slapped his hands against his knees. “Girls, you know?”

  No, I didn’t know. Clearly, I had no idea.

  But I didn’t say any of that. I sat there silently until we headed down to the gym and started running suicide drills.

  Tim and I lined up at baseline under the basket. Keith had his stopwatch out and yelled for us to start. I sprinted to the free throw line, then back to the baseline, then to the middle of the court, back to the baseline, to the opposite free throw line, back to the base. I couldn’t wait to sprint the full length of the court. That was when I excelled. Tim was only a few paces behind me, but I would make it a greater distance in the long stretches.

  I couldn’t hear what Keith was yelling or anything. I focused on my next goal, the next place I was to touch down, pivot, and start over again.

  I knew I had Tim beat heading toward the opposite baseline. All I needed to do was pivot and run back. I bent down to touch the baseline, but when I pivoted, my lower leg stuck and my upper leg turned. I felt a pop, and before I could process what was going on, I buckled under my own weight and collapsed on the court. An excruciating pain from my knee jolted through my entire body. I grabbed my knee and screamed.

  I rocked back and forth, holding my leg.

  “Stay still, Levi!” Keith was on his knees next to me. “Just try to relax. Tim went to get Coach.”

  I couldn’t stay still. It hurt too much to lie there. My entire body started to shake.

  Something was wrong.

  Something was very, very wrong.

  What is it about guys and having to out-bench-press or outrun one another? Why does everything have to be a competition?

  I don’t know — testosterone?

  That’s your excuse for everything.

  It is? Well, does it at least work?

  No.

  Okay, what about you girls?

  What about us, the clearly superior gender?

  Yeah, you’re not biased.

  Of course I’m not. We women are a rational, nonjudgmental breed.

  Are you even being serious right now?

  What do you think?

  You know I sometimes don’t know if you’re being serious or not.

  It’s one of the flaws of your kind.

  Yes, because girls never give out mixed signals.

  You are one hundred percent correct. That’s got to be a first.

  I sometimes don’t even know why I bother.

  See, guys give up on stuff so quickly.

  We do not.

  Oh, really, do I need to remind you of why we’re even talking right now? Who was the bigger person?

  Ugh. You’re right.

  I know.

  Girls.

  Yes, we are made of awesome.

  I had finally come face-to-face with my nemesis. And this time I was determined to be the victor.

  I gently took the ramekin out of the oven. The soufflé was properly puffed up and looked to be the right consistency. I cradled it in my hand as I cautiously stepped to where my dad was sitting.

  “It looks perfect,” he remarked once I set it down.

  “Taste it,” I ordered. This was the fourth soufflé I’d attempted to make. My first two tries hadn’t risen since I hadn’t beaten the egg whites enough. The third time, I’d taken it out of the oven too soon and it had collapsed before I could even place it on the counter.

  Dad smiled as he dived in. I leaned in as he took his first bite.

  My phone began to ring. I let it go to voice mail.

  “So good,” Dad said with a full mouth. He took another gigantic bite.

  His phone rang and we both stared at it.

  “Who is it?” I asked, afraid something was wrong with Uncle Adam. I snapped up my phone and saw it was Levi’s mom right as Dad said it was her.

  “Hello?” Dad answered. His face immediately went into a frown. “Oh no — what happened?”

  My stomach fell. I tried to decipher what was going on by Dad’s expression and his “oh no” and “of course” interjections. Finally he said, “We’ll be right over.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Levi tore his ACL during his workout.” Dad shook his head. “They just got back from the hospital and he’s pretty upset. Poor guy. We need to go over there now.”

  “Oh.” Levi was always so careful about warming up and not overworking himself. I couldn’t believe he’d hurt himself. And that was the kind of injury that takes a really long time to heal. “Doesn’t he need rest?”

  “Yes, but he was asking for you.” Dad got up and grabbed his keys.

  “He was?”

  Dad turned around to look at me. “Of course, Macallan. You’re his best friend.” He shook his head like I was being silly. He was already in the garage before I got my senses about me. I quickly pulled out a bag of brownies from the freezer to bring. Mom always said it was polite to bring something over to someone’s house. I hadn’t been at Levi’s house for so long, I almost felt like I was a guest.

  So much for being the best friend.

  Levi’s dad looked so tired when he answered the door.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” He gave me a tight embrace. “You’re the first person he asked for.”

  I almost said “thanks” but realized that maybe it wasn’t the right response. So I decided to ask how Levi was doing.

  Dr. Rodgers sighed, the worry openly displayed on his
face. “He’s obviously upset. We’re going to reevaluate it in a week, but he’ll most likely need surgery. The tear in his anterior cruciate —” He stopped himself. “Sorry, it’s hard to not be a doctor in these instances. Basically, he’ll be laid up for a while. The physical therapy alone takes months. He won’t be back to normal for at least six months after surgery.”

  I started to do the math in my head. He would miss track in the spring. Football next year was questionable. So much of his identity rode on his being on a team. At least he should be okay for his last year of track.

  We walked into the kitchen and saw Mrs. Rodgers sitting with Keith and Tim at the table. Keith smiled at me, then froze when he saw my dad.

  “Hey, guys,” I said to relieve the tension.

  Dad stood silently next to me. “It’s okay,” I whispered to him. It was already pretty obvious that I knew how to handle myself around Keith. If anybody should be worried, it should be him.

  Keith stood up uncomfortably. “It was pretty bad,” he said. Tim nodded in agreement. “And I swear, Macallan, it wasn’t my fault.”

  “Why would I think it was your fault?” I said. Although the thought had crossed my mind.

  He let out a slight grunt. “Um, it’s pretty clear you don’t like me.”

  “Whatever would’ve given you that impression?” I asked dryly.

  “Macallan,” Levi’s dad interrupted. “He’s upstairs and ready to see you.”

  I walked up the stairs slowly, unsure of what was waiting for me in Levi’s room. Even though the door was open, I knocked on it anyway.

  He was sitting up in bed, his right leg wrapped up, elevated, and with a pack of ice on it.

  “How you feeling?” I asked, even though his face gave away his misery.

  “I can’t believe how much I messed this up.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  “It’s going to be okay.” I grabbed his desk chair and brought it over to his bedside. “You’ll get stronger from this.”