Smashed (19 page)

I took a tall water glass out of the cupboard, filled it, and drank quickly, flipping through channels on the TV, pausing on one of those political shows where people sit in a semicircle and yell at each other. A large man with a red face made a comment and a woman retorted, “That’s a fabrication—entirely untrue.”

“Maybe so,” the big man shot back, “but if you repeat anything three times in Washington, it becomes fact. The fact is, people
believe
it.”

I shoved a piece of wood into the stove, clanged the door shut, and took another gulp of wine.
Repeat anything three times and it becomes fact.

Alec was driving the car.

Alec
was driving the car.

Alec was driving the
car
.

I’d never said the words out loud. I never had to. When
people called after the accident, they’d already heard the news: Alec had crashed his car with me in it. They took it as fact. The fact was, I’d never had to lie. Not directly, not straight out. Not once.

Alec
was driving the car.

Maybe if I repeated it enough times to myself it would become the truth. Not just to everyone else, but to
me
.

The wind blew cold across the hockey field. The opposing team had just been awarded their third short corner in a row against us, and Coach Riley was getting antsy on the sideline, pacing, yelling, muttering stuff I couldn’t hear.

Our forward line sprinted back behind the fifty yard line again, stuck there until the ball was hit, counting on one of our defenders to send it out of the circle where we could snag it and carry it upfield. It was the last game of the season and we had planned to be undefeated. It was what we were counting on. But things had become tense on the field.

“Get it out of there!” Cassie yelled. And
bang
, the ball was hit.

It struck the stick of one of the other team’s forwards and popped ahead, just beyond her control. Marcy rushed in and tried to snatch and clear it. But they’d sensed we were off our game and they all went after Marcy at once. There was a scramble, and the ball disappeared into a crowd of players all desperately trying to score—or stop a goal—at the same time.
This scene was a goalie’s worst nightmare, as Megan tried to keep her eye on the ball through the sticks and legs of eight or ten players.

Above the sound of sticks clacking, I heard Marcy swear loudly. I cringed. The ball was in the cage a second later, and the long whistle that followed signaled the goal. Green was ahead 1–0.

But that wasn’t all. The head official lifted a green card over her head and pointed her other arm straight at Marcy. “Warning! Blue Number Seven. Language,” she said to the scorekeeper’s table. Then she turned to Marcy. “If I hear one more comment or inappropriate language, you’ll be on the bench.”

Great
, I thought, and caught Cassie’s eye.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Marcy muttered, and scowled.

“That’s a yellow,” the official said, flipping out a yellow card and pointing to Marcy again. “Five-minute suspension.”

The official had clearly had enough of her. Though Marcy had managed to keep her mouth shut during the game up until now, the faces she’d been making at the referees’ calls had invited trouble. And it wasn’t the first time this season. Coach Riley had sent her home from practice early one day because of her foul mouth and then didn’t start her the next game. But none of it changed her attitude. If we were winning, she was usually fine. We’d just been lucky this year that most of the time, we were.

We’d have to play short a defender for five minutes now, and there were only twelve minutes left. Marcy sulked on the far end of the bench while Coach Riley focused on the rest of us.

“Bobbi, you’re going to have to work double-time now. Katie, come back into the circle on defense. You’re shorthanded, but you’re not finished. Let’s score, girls!”

The whistle blew. Green intercepted the pass back and flew down toward their goal again, their strategy clearly to score again as quickly as possible, cement their lead, and shoot down what was left of our confidence. But Bobbi cut into a Green pass, snagged the ball, and shot it up to me for what should have been a clear breakaway.

I dodged the sweeper, hoping to get past the goalie with a high flick, but I tapped the ball too hard at the top of the circle trying to position it. The goalie saw her chance and came straight out at me; I panicked, shooting it right into her pads instead of diverting it to Sarah, who had appeared nearby. It was a rookie’s mistake on my part and I was furious.

“Sorry, Sarah—I blew it,” I said.

She shook her head. “That sweeper wouldn’t have let it happen, anyway,” she replied, referring to the defender who had circled back again to guard her. It was nice of her to say. She’d had a much clearer shot than I did.

Coach Riley put our only varsity freshman, Amy Wilson, in for Marcy when the five-minute penalty was up. Marcy would be fuming about not getting back in the game, but the rest of us were relieved. We had a couple more shots, but no goals. When the final whistle blew, we’d lost for the first time all season. Our perfect record was gone.

Coach Riley shook her head. “They deserved that one,” she said.

Green was ecstatic—jumping, hugging, high-fiving sticks. Our heads were down as we slunk off the field, looking for our pullovers to protect us from the chilling wind. “Thank the officials and shake Greens’ hands,” Coach Riley said. “You too, Marcy.”

Coach Riley talked to Marcy while the rest of us picked up our things and started toward the bus. Tight-lipped, Marcy folded her arms across her chest and looked straight ahead, over Coach Riley’s shoulders.

The school bus was silent, most of us staring out the windows or off into space. Marcy climbed on board last and headed to the very back, where she stretched her legs and feet out across the seat, stone-faced, looking at no one.

For the first time all season, I wondered if our team really had what it would take to win the state championship.

Main Street was jammed with bumper-to-bumper traffic, the cars, trucks, RVs, and horse trailers all headed to the same destination: The Deerfield Fair had arrived.

“We’ll follow you,” I said, and Cassie led us through the thick Saturday crowd. Matt and I slid past the booth where they made fresh-squeezed lemonade with ice and pure cane sugar. Opposite that was a lone ATM with a line twelve people deep.

“I hope we all brought enough cash,” I said, ducking around a family with three small children and a baby carriage. Matt nearly collided with a couple of seventh graders with pink hair and fake tattoos.

“Could you slow down, Cass?” I said. “We’ve got nine hours, you know.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m hungry. Three large fries, please,” she said to the woman in the booth she’d been leading us to.

“Just remember,” Matt said, looking at the row of rides that
lined the midway, “whatever you taste now, you will taste again later.”

“That’s gross, Matt,” I said.

“I speak the truth,” he declared with a laugh.

“It’s almost too hot,” I said, and took off my field hockey Windbreaker, tying it around my waist.

“I’m not so sure I want all these guys to know my first name, either,” Cassie said, looking down at the embroidery on her sleeve. She pulled hers off, too. “Check this guy out.” She nodded in the direction of a man who was urinating in an alley between two game booths filled with posters and stuffed-animal prizes. He zipped up and strolled casually back toward the Merry Mixer, where he apparently worked.

“Remind me not to go on that ride,” I said.

“He’s drunk,” Matt said.

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re the one who said you didn’t want to go on his ride,” Matt said, and aimed his camera at me.

“Don’t even think about it,” I said, and turned away as the shutter clicked.

Matt wanted pictures of everything. “This place is a photographer’s dream,” he said.

Hours later, when the sun went down, the midway lit up like Las Vegas: red, white, blue, and yellow lights filled the night sky. “Come on, I want to go on the Zipper!” I said.

“Thrill seeker,” Matt said.

“Oh, you’re just a baby about big, scary rides,” I teased.

“I want to go to the farm museum.”

“Hmmm, farm museum or
Zipper
,” I said. “Tough call . . .”

“Ride junkie,” Matt said, and elbowed me playfully, rocking me off balance.

I looked left and saw Megan coming through the crowd, followed, predictably, by Cheryl.

They asked us to go on the Gravitron, but Cassie put a single hand on her stomach and groaned. “Too many fries,” she said. “I’ll stay with Matt.”

“Wimp,” Megan said to Cassie, and Matt rolled his eyes. He’d always said Megan was obnoxious.

“You go,” Cassie said to me. “We’ll meet you after.”

“Eleven fifteen at the main gate,” Matt said to me. “Cassie has to be home at midnight.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”

*     *     *

I left Megan and Cheryl in line getting our ride tickets, cut through the crowd, and kept walking far from the midway, out near the animal barns, to where a low white building housed a set of men’s and women’s restrooms that never had long lines.

“I knew it would be dead out here,” I said to myself, stepping into the fluorescent lights of the bathroom. Rows of wooden stalls, ten on either side, were mostly empty. A woman and a small child occupied one together, the child whining while her mother coaxed her to go. I finished quickly and went back outside. It was quiet there, too.

“Martini.” A tall figure emerged from the men’s room,
startling me. “What a pleasant surprise. Good to see you out of school, off the field. I didn’t expect it.”

I swore Alec had supernatural powers. One minute I was alone outside the deserted restrooms, the next he was there.
Bam
: Alec.

He’d stepped in front of me and was standing too close, his breath reeking of french fries and beer.

“Hey, Alec,” I said, and moved around him. “I gotta go.”

“Not so fast,” he said coolly, and grabbed my arm, spinning me around. “We haven’t had a chance to catch up.”

“Hey!” I said. “Let go of me.”

He released my arm and held his palms up in mock surrender. “I forgot myself, Martini. It’s just . . . we used to be so close. I miss that.”

“Right,” I said. “Megan and Cheryl are waiting for me.”

“Megan and Cheryl? Now I
am
hurt. I thought you’d given us all up. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What I do is none of your business.”

“You know, Martini,” he said, “that’s just not how I see it.”

I tried to step around him but he stepped right along with me, blocking my way, his body inches from mine. Behind me was the wall of the restrooms. Where was that woman and her little girl? Had they gone out the other way? Didn’t anybody else need to use the bathroom?

“Move, Alec.” My heart was racing.

“You know what your problem is? You can’t admit the truth. You may be hiding out lately, but that doesn’t change the facts.”

“What
facts
?”

I regretted asking right away, letting him pull me in to his stupid game.

“We’re just alike, you and me. We’re not pussies who play by the rules. We’re not like your little friend Matt with his geeky cameras and his self-righteous horseshit.”

“You don’t know anything about Matt.”

“I know enough,” Alec said evenly. “He looks like he’d like to take me out—not that he’d ever dare try. You must have told him some pretty deep shit about me.”

“Actually, you managed to alienate him without my help, Alec.”

Alec smirked. “You’re feisty, you know that? It’s one of the things I like about you.”

“I’m out of here,” I said, and stepped to the left.

Alec stepped with me. His face was dead serious now, his eyes locked on mine, his voice low and intense. “Matt must be pretty mad at me for driving you around drunk, huh, Katie? That’s a pretty serious offense. And Matt’s a pretty serious guy.”

The sound of the fair disappeared; there was nothing but Alec’s eyes, his breath, my heart pounding furiously in my chest. I couldn’t speak.

He held my gaze for an eternity, then abruptly stepped aside.

Legs unsteady, I moved past him, heading quickly for the crowded midway.

“Nice visiting with you, Martini,” he said behind me. “Don’t be a stranger now.”

*     *     *

I was reeling, my whole body trembling as I stumbled back to the midway.

Megan, looking exasperated, held up the tickets. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Ask Alec. He cornered me by the bathroom. The
psycho
,” I said, regretting it immediately. Even my voice was shaking.

“He’s just not used to getting the heave, Martin,” Megan said. “He liked you a little too much, that’s all. Couldn’t you
tell
?”

Couldn’t I tell?
What was that supposed to mean? By the way he ripped off my clothes after the Bethel party? By the way he lied about driving the car?

Jesus. What was he telling people?

Cheryl, predictably, said nothing.

I didn’t feel like going on the Gravitron anymore. “You guys go,” I said.

“I have a better idea anyway,” Megan said. “Follow me.”

Cheryl and I followed her, threading through the dense crowd. Beyond the midway, an area filled with kiddie rides sat silent, shut down for the night. I was relieved to be away from the crowd, away from everyone and anyone who might talk to me. Far away from Alec.

Beyond that, it was quiet, deserted. My heartbeat quickened again as Megan led Cheryl and me around some dark draft horse barns and then out farther still, across lumpy grass littered with beer cans. Finally we reached the woods that abutted the chain-link fence running around the entire perimeter of the
fairgrounds. It was pitch black, the music and lights an island of life in the distance.

There was only one reason to come out here, but I was past caring what it was.