Page 53 of Big Man on Campus

“Sorry for the abruptness,” she says, “but it can’t be helped. You understand. As an alternate, you’ll still be expected to attend every practice and know all the moves. If and when someone else can’t make it to a game, you’ll step in. Otherwise, you’ll be on the sidelines for the games.” Coach smiles like there’s nothing wrong with this picture, like I should be all happy about it. And I suppose that’s all my fault for being so happy and agreeable all the time no matter how hot it’s been, or how many times she makes us go through the same routine or how late she keeps us.

I say nothing because emotion chokes the life from me right now and I don’t even know how I’m standing up. Struggling to hold onto my anger so I don’t sink into ugly despicable self-pity, I fist my hands.

Horrified, not because I’m going to miss dancing at games, rather because Madelyn is toying with me, because she’s going to find out everything and expose me for who I am.

Because when she does I know, it’s going to ruin my life. Again. If you let her.

I excuse myself to the lady’s room and one of the girls rushes after me, saying something to someone about being sensitive or insensitive. I don’t know and I don’t slow down until I’m around the corner and pushing through the restroom door.

* * *

After I get through practice, maintaining a smile and letting the hard physical activity keep me in the moment, I go back to my room and when everyone else goes to dinner, I can’t. The thought of eating makes me sick. Standing in the middle of my small dorm room alone, I call Kace and when it goes to voicemail, I text him to call me.

Maybe I should call Majik, but I don’t. I’ve ignored her last three text messages about AA meetings.

Kace calls he back only a few minutes of pacing later.

“I have nothing to report,” he says, like we’re criminals trying to evade the law.

“I’ve heard nothing either. But don’t you think it’s time to call Tim Hill senior and get his legal advice and his lawyer?

“No. It would feel like a betrayal of Dad if I did that. He’ll let me know when something happens and when I need to call a lawyer.” I think maybe I’m the one who’ll need he lawyer after all, but I don’t say that.

“Silence from the police and SPU officials is more maddening than being called,” he says.

I tell him I’m tired and staying home to get to bed early.

I don’t tell him about Madelyn. I can’t bring myself to do it. He has enough on his mind.

When the phone rings next, I snatch it up, hoping it’s Kace because I don’t like how we left our last conversation, but it’s not him. It’s a telemarketer. I’m too jumpy too vulnerable. I glance at my closet where I have an emergency stash of nips. I should have thrown them out. Promised Kace I would. But something stops me every time I try. Fear, cowardice, desperation, sheer sadness, or maybe I’m a hopeless drunk.

No. I shake my head violently. I refuse to be hopeless. How can I be when I have Kace?

Holding my phone, I take a breath, all kinds of fear rippling through me. Fear of failure, fear of inadequacy, fear of loss and most of all fear of the unknown.

But it’s time I make the leap. Into the deep end of the pool.

I scroll for her number and call Claire Majiski, aka Majik.

“Hello. This is Glory--”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Be outside waiting, dressed appropriately.”

“What—”

“Don’t make me come inside to get you.” She ends the call.

Wow. Checking the texts she sent me, I realize there’s a meeting tonight. In twenty minutes. Shit. I rush to my mirror and bite my lip to hold in a screech. Then I throw on my only dress that reaches my knees, a dark navy RL sweatshirt dress that I bought on discount. I hope it’s what Majik has in mind when she says dress appropriately, because she put the fear of god in me with her threat and I have no doubt she’d make good on it.

My insides jiggle around like I’m made of Jell-O as I run down the back stairs of the dorm and out the door. I reach the sidewalk and look up and down the street, realizing I have no clue what kind of car to expect.

Or even where she’s taking me when it comes down to it. But I assume it’s to AA.

A wave of nausea so strong hits me like a bolt and I feel my knees buckle, but I tense my muscles, and will my legs to hold. I wobble, but I don’t fall, as a white van pulls up to the curb.

Majik yells from the driver’s side through the open window.

“Get in. We’re running late. You should have called earlier.”