Over the End Line (16 page)

I felt like crying, I really did, just letting the tears flow. The thrill and emotion were so unfamiliar. I'd never experienced anything like this. I got the highest grade on our AP English final last year and I made the honor roll sophomore and junior years, but no one gives a crap about that kind of stuff. And receiving an MVP trophy in Little League—that was so long ago I barely remembered it.

But scoring the winning goal in the Essex County tournament finals—against Columbia, no less—
that
was memorable. Only one person could do that. And it wasn't Maako. Or Richie. Or Gallo. And it wasn't Kyle Saint-Claire. It was Jonathan Fehey.

I had dreamed the dream, then made it come true.

***

My mom was bubbling over. "Jonny, I'm just so incredibly proud." She must have said it a half-dozen times. "Everyone was cheering for you. My God, it was wonderful. Were all your games as exciting?"

"Today was special," I said, finishing the last of a grilled cheese.

"I had no idea you could run like that," she said. "I know you practice all the time, but I never imagined you could do all those things with a soccer ball. Darn it, why didn't I bring a camera? I'll have one for next week's game, definitely." Then she looked at me again. But this time it was like she was seeing me for the first time. "You've really become a man. He would've been proud."

I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure what it meant to be a man. And I didn't really know if my dad would've been proud. I waited to see if my mom would say anything more. A little clarification would've been nice. A lot would've been better. But that was all she had to say.

"I'm going out tonight," I said.

My mom seemed surprised, but pleased. "Going to celebrate?"

"Yeah, I guess." And see Annalisa, I hoped. But I didn't tell her that.

"Where?"

"Just out," I said, stepping into my shoes and grabbing my jacket from the hall closet.

"You'll lock up when you get home?" she said.

I nodded.

I closed the front door behind me and started across the lawn. Streaks of moonlight broke through a cloudy sky. I saw Kyle's silhouette at the end of his driveway.

"Almost thought you weren't coming," he said.

"Had to throw down some dinner."

Kyle pulled a bottle of Bacardi and a can of Coke from his varsity jacket. "Prime the pump," he said, handing them to me. "Courtesy of Jack Saint-Claire's liquor cabinet."

"Your dad let you take this?"

Kyle looked back toward his house. "What Jack doesn't know won't hurt him."

I poured both in my mouth. The harsh liquor and the sweet soda ran down my throat. "Where's Stephanie and the others?"

"Don't know, don't really care," Kyle said.

But I knew. Mr. Gianni had been called to a last-minute meeting in Philadelphia for the weekend. I wondered what that meant. Annalisa's mother joined him, leaving her alone in the house. Stephanie and Trinity were probably there with her now.

After another mouthful of soda and liquor, Kyle and I started down Lake Road.

"Why was it such a big deal that I let them come tonight?" he asked.

"You know your sister," I said. "She wouldn't get off my back about it."

"All I know is they better not show up before us. And they better not look like freakers."

I didn't care what they looked like. I just wanted to see Annalisa. I wanted to tell her how incredible it felt to play under the lights, and score the game-winning goal. I figured she'd be excited, too.

Past the entrance to the Short Hills Club, Kyle and I turned into the woods. Faint lights glimmered on the surface of South Pond and I could hear sounds in the distance. My stomach knotted.

"Guess you had it in you, Jonny," Kyle said.

Was there a hint of jealousy in his voice, or frustration that for the second time in three games he hadn't scored a goal?

"Would've sucked if I missed," I said.

"But you didn't."

At the dock, we continued along the dirt path as it hugged the shoreline. Kyle chugged from the bottle of rum, then handed it to me. There wasn't much left, so I finished it off. Kyle then pulled two beers from his jacket pockets. We stopped and finished those, as well.

Where the path split to the left and curled around the opposite side of the pond, Kyle and I went to the right. We passed through a dense stretch of woods toward a wall of pine trees. Now the voices and music were clear. I drew in a deep breath, letting it funnel through my mouth. At the trees, Kyle pushed through. I followed.

Parked cars lined the cul-de-sac. Under dim streetlights, senior girls passed around liquor bottles and cigarettes, laughing at guys posturing for attention. Everyone from the highest rungs of the ladder was there: Holly McClaren; the Pfister twins, Jules and Jacqueline; Georgie O'Bannon, Millburn's main source for pot; school slut Sheila Mackey; and guys on the football and wrestling teams. At the other side of the circle, standing together, were Tom Blaine, Brandy Stahl, and people from the Glenwood part of town. A black Porsche pulled up. Out stepped Sean McWright, senior class president, and Joshua Schuman, whose family was ridiculously wealthy, even for Short Hills.

I wondered if someone might come up to me and ask what the hell I was doing there. But no one did. Maybe I'd expected too much. Music, alcohol, plenty of pot. It was a party, yes, but not a particularly unique one—except, of course, that I'd never been to one at the circle before.

A few of our teammates were leaning against Maynard's car. Kyle and I walked over.

Richie gave me a high-five. "We're gonna see your goal on
SportsCenter,
Jonny!"

Solomon bear-hugged me. "You did it!"

"I can't believe we beat Columbia," Brad said, handing me a beer.

"Essex County champs!" Solomon shouted. "Let's chug!"

We drank to the offense. And defense. Each of us individually. All the crucial plays. And, of course, the goal I scored. I was amazed at how much the guys remembered from the game, since it was all a big blur to me. I basked in the attention and felt pretty damn certain that it would be a party I'd remember for the rest of my life.

Suddenly, Maako jumped up on the hood of a car, a bottle held high in his hand, and yelled at the top of his lungs.

Holly grabbed the bottom of his pants. "You've had too much, Erik."

"I'll tell ya when I had enough," Maako said. "Get off my car," she said. "Now!"

Laughing, he climbed down, grabbed Holly tightly, then stumbled forward so that they were almost hidden from the streetlights. He pressed his mouth against hers, but she turned her face, pulled away, and walked off.

"You'll be back," Maako said.

"Over your dead body," Holly said.

Solomon shook his head. "Maako, you're lucky you can play some soccer, because you're a certified, grade-A asshole."

Maako straightened up. "You got it all wrong. On this team I'm the drink that stirs the straw—No, the strink that—Awww, go play wit' yourselves."

"Makes me glad I'm graduating this year," Solomon said. He lifted his bottle. "Another chug ... To putting up with Maako for only one more week!"

Everyone laughed, and drank.

***

A few hours later, my head was floating in a drunken haze and my body swayed even when I wasn't moving. I wondered where Annalisa was. She and the other two should've showed up already. I looked around. I must've been doing that a lot, because Kyle knocked me on the shoulder and said, "Everything cool?"

"Yeah, sure," I said.

But I was disappointed. More than a little. Tonight would've been the perfect opportunity to have Annalisa see me with all the cool people at school, after I had just played the soccer game of my life. It was my time to shine. Later, we could've found a place to be alone.

But just when I figured the three girls had decided to stay home and wait until next year to hang out at a seniors party, Stephanie and Trinity emerged from the woods, glassy-eyed and dressed übergoth (just to annoy Kyle, I was sure), with multiple streaks of color in their black-as-coal hair. Annalisa followed close behind. She looked as pretty as always, though seemed a little cold. I'd offer her my jacket as soon as we had a moment together.

Stephanie and Trinity looked around the party, appearing every bit like lost sophomores. That their typical bravado was nowhere to be found made me chuckle. But my amusement was short-lived. Stephanie saw Kyle, and Trinity saw me, and they instantly took on an air like they very much belonged.

"What's up, Jonny-boy?" Trinity said.

"Not
here,
" I said.

This was
my
time. Tomorrow, Trinity and Stephanie could call me by whatever name they wanted, but for one night at the circle I wanted them to fully recognize the respect I deserved.

"Okay, Jonny," she said with surprising contrition.

Annalisa tugged at my jacket sleeve. "
Ciao,
Jonathan," she said, holding tight. I loved the way she said my name. I loved the way she smelled. I loved looking into her eyes. "You were fantastic at the
futbol
match. The most—I mean, best—I have ever watched." She draped her arms over me and giggled. "I think I have drinked too much."

I whispered in her ear. "You got your wish."

"What wish?"

"You're at the circle."

Annalisa tilted her head and smiled a very drunk smile. "I believe it is your wish, too."

She was right.

"So, will you mind me, I mean, look after me tonight?" she asked.

I was about to say yes and offer my jacket when Trinity leaned in. "We don't need a damn chaperone. We're big girls."

Stephanie blurted out, "You wanna fool around with Annalisa, don'tcha, Jonny?"

"He does!" Trinity laughed.

Solomon, Richie, and the others turned and gave me a look that all guys understood. "Nice going, Fehey!"

"No, no..." I said, without thinking. "I mean—" But my protest had been a little too strong. Stephanie rolled her eyes and pulled Annalisa away.

Of course, I wanted to watch over her. I wanted to kiss her, too. And hold her. I wanted to take her hand and lead her into the woods so we could be blanketed in the comfort of darkness. It wasn't enough to exchange glances and hellos with her in the school hallway. It wasn't enough to spend afternoons sitting shoulder to shoulder in the library stacks, or huddled together on the dock. And, as nice as it was, it wasn't enough to have her voice be the last one I heard before I went to sleep at night.

"Later," Trinity said.

The three girls were off to be in their own world; I was left to mine. I watched as they flitted around the party, talking to senior guys, drinking, smoking, laughing. And flirting—definitely flirting.

The guys on the team went on about the game. There was more chugging and plenty of high-fives. I thought I'd want to hear and talk about my goal and our victory all night long, but I didn't. Instead, I tried to follow whom the three girls were with and what they were doing. But as the night wore on and the alcohol numbed my mind even more, I lost track.

"Who needs another?" Brad said. "I got a full cooler in the back seat of my car—Rolling Rock, Michelob, Heinies." He gestured to his Range Rover parked halfway down the cul-de-sac. "Jonny, you're up." He put a hand on my shoulder and laughed. "You gonna make it?"

I nodded.

"Grab as many as you can," Brad said. "It's unlocked."

I walked—more like staggered—down to the Range Rover. I felt lightheaded (but my legs were heavy) and my vision was frayed around the edges. I was near the point of no return, but I didn't care. Besides, this wasn't completely unfamiliar. I'd been there twice before. Last spring, when my mom was on a date, I'd passed out on our roof with a blanket and a twelve-pack. The other time was with Ruby. I didn't mind relinquishing control to the alcohol—what was the worst that could happen?

I put a hand on the car to hold myself steady. I had believed Annalisa and I would end the night together, but who knew if that would happen now. And if I hadn't been so drunk, I might've been really pissed off. Instead, I felt strangely empowered. I decided to have a couple more beers. Fuck that—I'd have a lot more than a couple. I was wasted. Now I was gonna get shit-faced. I pulled the handle on the back door just as someone opened the other side. We both leaned in.

It was Sloan.

Shit...

We looked at each other for an odd moment. "I was, uh, just gettin' a few beers," I said. "You go first."

Sloan unlatched the cooler top and grabbed a beer in each hand. The streetlights shined on her blond hair and glinted in her eyes. She was so good-looking, so popular, and she didn't give a crap about me. I was just one of those nameless, faceless, statusless people who took up space at Millburn High. She started to get out of the car.

But I didn't want to remain nameless and faceless. I'd been waiting more than a year to say something to Sloan.

"I knew your cousin," I said.

She stopped. "Excuse me?"

"I knew Ruby. We met last summer. Not this past summer, the summer before."

"Why're you telling me?" Sloan said.

"I'm really wasted right now, but I mean it when I tell ya she was the specialist person, I mean, the most special person."
Was
sounded so wrong. "Sorry about what happened."
Sorry
sounded kind of wrong, too.

I expected Sloan to give me a dirty look and walk away. Instead, she sank back into the seat.

I did, too.

And there I was, sitting with Sloan Ruehl in the back of Brad's Range Rover, and the only thing between us was a cooler.

"I miss Ruby," she said. "We didn't get to see each other a whole lot, but when we did, it was wonderful. Like we were sisters. I wish we had been. She was so smart and creative..." Her voice trailed off.

There was more I wanted to say, but my thoughts were jumbled. Ruby and I lived a lifetime on that teen tour. I wanted to tell Sloan that, without making it seem like I was trying to win some kind of who-knew-Ruby-better contest. And I didn't want her to think I was just being that loser Fehey, sucking up to her because she was at the top of the ladder.