The Believing Game (27 page)

My group discussed the scintillating topic of organ donation. “Really? That's tonight's dinner topic?” Wes sat to my immediate right, and I silently prayed that somehow Addison was too occupied talking about luge and speed skating to notice.

“Organ donation represents the gift of life itself, Greer,” Wes parroted. If I didn't know him so well, I might have
mistaken him for sincere. “What could be more precious than a new liver?”

Ms. Davelman rushed to correct him. “We're not necessarily talking about livers.” Livers were a touchy subject since so many of the drunks at McCracken Hill might eventually need new ones. “People benefit from donated retinas, kidneys, even bone marrow.”

“Maybe we could talk about something more appetizing?” I said. “Sewage? Zombies?”

“Zombies are kind of a parallel topic to organ donation,” Wes offered.

“That's untrue.” Ms. Davelman was not pleased. “I think it's important that we differentiate between organ donation and the fictional phenomenon of zombies.”

“Some cultures might equate the two.”

“Wes, I'd appreciate your cooperation.”

“I apologize. Truly.” He turned to me. “Greer, how are your organs?”

“Pickling as we speak.”

“Is that a reference to substance abuse, Greer?” Ms. Davelman went on high alert.

“I've never had issues with substance abuse.”

“I bet plenty of people develop them at McCracken Hill,” Wes said.

“It's unfortunate that you still bet, Wes,” I replied.

“All right — that's quite enough.” Ms. Davelman slammed down her fork. Wes and I grinned at each other.

“Seriously, how are you?” he asked softly.

“You all of a sudden care?” I meant for my voice to stay light, but it caught at the end, snagged on a splinter of leftover hurt.

“What are you talking about — ‘all of a sudden'? Don't
even try.” Wes smiled and shook his head at me. He was right.

“I'm fine. Thank you for asking.” It sounded automatic because I meant it to.

“And your sister wives?”

My eyes skidded to Ms. Davelman, but she was absorbed in a discussion about the first full face transplant. “Shut up. Don't call them that.” Wes chewed his food thoughtfully. “You make it sound like some kind of cult.”

“I don't have to make it sound like anything.” He leaned forward and whispered, “You've isolated yourselves. You practice rituals. You allow some weird old guy to dictate your relationships and behavior. Has he predicted the world's end yet?” Wes tipped his head as if he'd just remembered. “That's right. We will all be destroyed by angry vegans.”

“People mock what they fear.”

“And they also mock the ridiculous,” Wes added. Just as I tried to formulate a response, Ms. Davelman whipped out her little memo book, as a warning.

“Greer —” she coaxed. “I hope you'll share your ideas with the whole group.”

“I was just saying that it must be scary — donating your organs.”

Some kid named Steve Loy rolled his eyes. “Usually you're not that aware.”

“That's not necessarily true.” Ms. Davelman reminded him of the frequency of people donating kidneys to one another.

“In some countries, they take a kidney if you rack up enough of a gambling debt,” Summer Galdi warned us.

Ms. Davelman looked like she was ready to snap. “That's an urban legend.”

“Do they give you topics for us to discuss at dinner?” Wes asked her. “Like you all sat around at a faculty brainstorming session and someone said, ‘Organ donation! That'll get them talking!'”

“I'd like you to take a minute and examine your attitude. Maybe consider why you feel the need to sabotage this conversation.”

“I disagree.”

“Pause and reflect, Wes.”

He looked to me for help. “Hey, Greer, you want to chime in? Is it really possible to sabotage a dinner conversation about organ donation?”

“Wes. Last warning.”

I tried to focus on my grilled chicken. The more Wes spoke up, the more mocking his tone got, and the clearer it became that Addison had reached out to him about Joshua's health. I couldn't imagine how that talk went. As if he read my mind, Wes raised an eyebrow at me. But he spoke to Ms. Davelman. “Okay, I have a serious question.”

She sighed. “Would anyone like to step up and caution Wes, who seems to be struggling with monitoring his contributions to our dinner dialogue?”

“It's a serious question,” he insisted.

Ms. Davelman looked around the table, as if one of us were about to step up and interrupt the only possibility for entertainment. She looked dejectedly at the clock. We still had twenty-two more McCracken-mandated minutes of community. “Go on,” she said.

“I don't want to get in trouble.”

“Well, I think we're past guaranteeing that at the moment.”

“Have you heard of a process —” My breath rushed out in a whistle, like I was a balloon someone had let go without
tying off. I stabbed a snow pea with my fork, kept my eyes on my plate. “Have you heard about people who are ill, I guess with a blood disease or something, undergoing some kind of transfusion —”

“Of course. Blood banks help combat all kinds of diseases and conditions —”

“But not human blood. Animal. Like pig's blood.” The table fell silent. I still refused to look up, but I imagined mouths dropped open. A ring of gaping maws. Wes rushed to fill the quiet. “I'm serious. It's new, you know? Have you heard about that?”

Apparently Ms. Davelman had not heard of that. “You are trying my patience,” she told Wes.

“I promise that's not my goal.” He paused for a breath and then admitted, “Okay, that might have been a goal three minutes ago, but right now I'm sincerely curious. Really. Have you heard of that — you know, animal transfusions?”

“No.”

“That's it?” Wes actually sounded disappointed. I felt his eyes on me as I carefully dissected a pile of water chestnuts.

“Well, no.” My eyes swung up. I couldn't help it. But Ms. Davelman continued, “There's research and experimental procedures, mostly with pigs.” My skin prickled. “But ultimately, it's sci-fi stuff. The body has a hard enough time accepting material from another human being. That kind of large-scale interspecies transplant, it's just not realistic yet.”

Wes's eyes challenged mine. “Okay, that's organs, though. What about just blood?”

“You're very passionate about this.”

“I'm just wondering.” He nearly shouted at her. It didn't sound like he was just wondering at all.

“Well, I'd say no. The chance for infection or rejection would be too high. And unnecessary. Blood is a renewable resource, after all.” That final proclamation earned a triumphant nod from Wes to me.

“Am I missing something?” Ms. Davelman asked.

Addison's old roommate stared at me, waiting for my answer. I laid my fork carefully across my plate. “Ms. Davelman,
you're
not missing anything.”

I left it at that. Let her check my plate and record the leftover bites in her little book. Made small talk about getting our driver's licenses. Or in many of our cases, getting back our driver's license. Whether or not we'd check the box that allowed surgeons to harvest our body. Which, given the predilection for self-destruction at our table, made sense. Probably organ-donor advocates envisioned great possibilities when they looked at McCracken Hill's student population. I endured the rest of dinner with Wes sending me meaningful looks, meant to remind me that he understood. He knew how I'd been duped and he didn't judge me for it. Not at all.

You don't know the half of it,
I wanted to tell him. But I couldn't. By then Addison had noticed we were sitting together.

I had to chase Addison up the hill. “Hey — hold up!” People turned toward my shouts. But not him. Addison didn't slow down. “Addison — wait.” Theodora Garrow leaned over to say something to her roommate. She smirked at me. “I'm not your fucking entertainment,” I told her.

“Apparently you're not Addison Bradley's anymore either.”

Addison had slowed down, though, like he wanted me to catch up. “Wait a second, will you?” I called out. He stopped walking, but wouldn't turn around. “What the hell?”

“Don't.” He still faced the dorms. “You want to talk, talk, but don't act like you don't know what's wrong.”

“Wes and I were assigned to the table together.”

“You looked like you'd missed each other. Like you had a lot to talk about.”

“I was participating in the conversation. As required.”

“Do you miss him?”

“No.” But the word sounded too small to be convincing. “I miss all of us together, having fun. Everything's some crisis now.” As soon as I said it, I knew it had come out wrong.

Addison pounced on my words immediately. “Well, I'm sorry to inconvenience you, Greer. I'm sure Joshua regrets that his dying has interfered with our fun-time bonding.”

“That's not what I meant. You know that.” He closed his eyes. “What happened to giving each other the benefit of the doubt? Approaching the world with generosity?”

“What did you and Wes talk about?”

Telling Addison wasn't going to help anything. “The assigned topic.”

“Which was? You looked … engrossed.”

“Organ donation.” But he didn't flinch. Maybe he didn't make the connection. I reached out for him. “You feel really far away. Maybe we can just spend some time together — go to the library, watch a movie …”

I meant something else and Addison knew it. “That doesn't always fix everything, Greer.” He looked down the hill toward the gate. “Are you coming with me tonight? To meet Joshua?”

“No.” I just couldn't. I hadn't realized until he asked.

Addison nodded as if that was the answer he had expected. He turned away again and took a step toward his dorm. “Joshua asked for a couple books he lent me.”

“Hannah's pregnant.” When I first said it, I thought maybe I hadn't actually spoken out loud. I wished it were something I'd just imagined saying. The way you imagine telling someone you love them over and over again until finally you have to say it out loud. But Addison stopped walking again. That meant I'd said it loud and clear.

“I wasn't supposed to tell you, but you need to know. I don't know what's going to happen yet. Hannah — we just found out. But maybe that's why … I don't know. You feel far away from me. And if I feel distant, well, that's why. That's what's going on.”

“Okay. That's hard. I hear that. But what does it have to
do with us?” Addison didn't ask like he was delaying the inevitable. He sounded actually confused.

I glanced around. No one approached close enough, but there were more people coming up the hill. I saw the bright orange flare of Sophie's ski jacket.
Jesus,
I thought.
She's going to murder me.
“Listen, maybe we should go somewhere and talk. Let's just take a walk somewhere.” I grabbed his arm but he shook me off.

“Greer, I'm telling you. I don't have time for this.”

I grabbed him again. “It's Joshua's.” Addison reared back a bit. “The baby.”

“This is some bullshit.”

“Addison.”

“I need to move it along now.” I didn't know if he meant that night or in general.

“Please.” I looked around, half-expecting Theodora and her roommate to be giggling at the spectacle of me pleading with him. “I'll go with you.”

“No way. This is the kind of delusional crap Joshua needs a break from. He's sick, Greer. He can't waste energy on the manufactured drama of a bunch of high-school girls who don't seem to understand the consequences of talking shit.”

“It's not. We're not. Addison.” I promised myself I'd never tell him I loved him just to win a fight or stop him from dumping me. “Look at me.” I tried to let all the honesty in my eyes rise to the surface. That just showed up as tears.

At least he softened a little. “Hannah is nuts. You know she's nuts. She had that weirdo reaction about babies up at the cabin. Remember? She's just working through something. Don't let yourself get caught up.”

I should have told him right then that I'd seen the test. But he felt so far away. I kept thinking,
If he walks to town on his
own, that's it. It'll never be the same between us.
So I did what I could to stop him.

I let the tears run down my face. “I'm so mixed up. I'm so confused.” That, at least, was not a lie. Addison opened his arms and I stepped in. I felt the cables of his muscles tighten around me.

He murmured something against my hair that I couldn't understand, but I caught the tone and it was kind and sorry. Loving. We stood like that for a while and when I finally stepped back, he brushed my hair from my face and kissed the top of my head. “You should stay back. Go to bed early. We'll talk to Hannah tomorrow.”

“No! What she told me — that was a secret.”

“She told you a lie, Greer.”

“You're right, though, she's probably working through something major, you know. That's probably why she didn't want me to tell you.” I held on to his sleeve. “I don't want to bring you into it and make it worse.” He nodded quickly and then bent in to kiss my cheek. “Seriously — don't say anything. It's girl stuff.”

“Just make sure it stays girl stuff. You and Sophie need to help her see how serious — you could ruin lives like that.”

I knew that. Addison wasn't just talking about Joshua's life. I knew that too.

 

When I raised my hand to knock on Sophie's door, I noticed my hand shaking.
She's going to know just by looking at me,
I thought to myself. She called out and then yelled louder when I pushed the door open. “I said, one minute.” She didn't turn from her computer. Over her shoulder, I could see windows blinking closed.

“Sorry.” Her fingers clicked the mouse methodically and when I leaned forward to see the window left on the screen, she closed the whole laptop. “Messages for Josie?” Sophie looked at me quizzically. “On the computer.”

“No.” The standard pause stretched to a weird pause.

“Okay.” I tried to fend off the feeling that Sophie could have somehow overheard Addison and me in the quad. “Have you seen Hannah?” My voice aimed for light and landed on breathless.

“Is something going on?” Sophie searched my face. I wished I could shut it like the laptop in the corner.

“That's what I wondered. So I came up.” The room held the same bed, wardrobe, desk, and chair that mine did, but I still looked around as if Hannah would pop out or something. “She's not here?”

“I haven't seen her since right before dinner. No Joshua tonight?”

“Addison and I fought. It got kind of intense.” Any other time, she'd hear the slight falter of my voice and Sophie would guess that I'd told Addison everything. But that night Sophie was off her game.

“You okay?” she asked, but not like she cared. She was looking at the closed laptop.

“Yeah. I think we're fine now.” I could hear the lie underlining my voice. Sophie missed it. I stepped backward, held on to the door frame. “Okay — well, I'm around if you guys need anything. Or maybe we should be talking through options or something.”

“I think we need to let Hannah bring it up,” Sophie said sternly.

“Okay. I thought we need to be pressing things, you know because of timing —”

“Well, we shouldn't be. We don't really have that right.”

“Sure. Okay. That sounds good. I mean, I agree. I sat with Wes at dinner.” The last part tumbled out and Sophie finally turned her full gaze on me.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That sounds like it was a big deal.” At first I didn't answer. Sophie said, “That's why you and Addison fought?”

“Yeah. He read a lot into it.” I stood there, studying the mechanics of the door handle.

“Greer!” Sophie yelled out. She dove from the desk chair to the bed and lay there, staring at the table. “Come on — out, out.”

At first I thought she meant
leave
. But Sophie sat up. “Honestly, it's like pulling teeth tonight. There's obviously something you want to talk about. And it's not Hannah.” I stood there for a minute. “How's Wes?”

“He's same old Wes.” I realized that was true. The rest of us might be going nuts. But Wes was Wes — mostly jokes, some of them laced with the tiniest thread of caring, just to remind you that he might be human after all. That you might matter to him.

“Addison caught you flirting.”

“Wes and I don't flirt.” Sophie's eyebrows insisted,
Come on.
“We might have a kind of spiritual electricity, but we don't flirt.” The eyebrows organized a protest on her face. “Seriously.” I gave up. “Okay, fine.” Sophie's eyebrows settled back down. “And Addison did notice us talking. That's why we argued, but back up —” Because I'd finally found something besides my betrayal worth noting. “Addison told Wes about Joshua's treatments.”

The eyebrows sprang back to life. “The ‘treatments'?”
Sophie provided the air quotes. “That is interesting.” I nodded, calming a little. “How do you know?”

“Our dinner topic was organ donation.” Sophie snorted. “I know, right? Wes was all over it, asking if Ms. Davelman had heard of transfusions with pig's blood. She said no.”

“Well, of course she said no.”

“I don't know. I'm just telling you what happened. Wes got all smug about it.”

Sophie gazed up at the ceiling. Sophie was always thinking, thinking. “How much do you think Wes is willing to help us?”

“Nada. He's done with us.”

“Done with you?”

“Yeah.” I reconsidered. “I think so.”

Sophie sat up and pivoted in order to face me. “You need to cultivate a connection with Wes.”

I backed against the door. “You're not listening. That's how I ran into trouble tonight. Addison is too jealous —”

“Addison is too
afraid
.” I wanted to remind her how the male staff sometimes stood around the bench press during Addison's workouts, placing bets on how much he could lift. But she didn't mean it that way. “Not physically,” Sophie said. “But Wes just says what he means. No one else does that. So that's threatening. Besides that, he might not have biceps the circumference of sequoias, but Wes is ripped. It's something.”

“For when we have our rumble?” I teased, but Sophie didn't laugh.

“Both Jared and Wes together …” She shrugged.

“Sophie —”

“I'm not saying they should jump your boyfriend. I'm just mentioning it in case. We need a backup plan.”

“I think you're losing your mind.”

“And I think you're avoiding the reality of our situation.”

“Which is …”

“Joshua's not just going to go away, Greer. Jared and Addison — they've promised him money. He wants my family's cabin. For God's sake, he raped Hannah.” I stared at her. “Well, pretty much. Don't you get it? We're a mark for him and he's invested a lot of time into scamming us.” I still didn't know what to say. “All I'm saying is that it can't hurt to have someone else on our side, just in case. You don't have to
seduce
Wes — just make sure he'd step up.”

So that's how I found myself sitting outside Freewill Hall, Wes's new dorm, twenty minutes before lights-out. Looking in one direction in case Addison strode past, searching out the other for Wes. Wes showed first. He didn't look surprised to see me. “Wrong dorm, darling,” he said.

“You don't think I demonstrate free will?”

“Don't make me answer that.” He squinted up at the streetlamp. “Two conversations in one day. Like winning the lottery.”

“That would count as gambling, though, right?”

“Shut your face.” But he grinned. So did I. He was still smiling when his voice turned solemn. “What do you want, Greer?”

“We might be in trouble.” He rocked back on his heels. “I don't mean Addison or Joshua.” I checked the path again. “The rest of us.” Wes just watched me steadily. “I wondered — I mean, there's not a lot of people worth trusting around here.”

“But?”

“But I trust you.”

Around us, the buildings and streetlamps blinked. Lights off at McCracken Hill. “You should get back. I'm headed inside.”

“Wes —”

“What do you want me to say, Greer?” He smiled wanly. “I told you so?”

“You'd be justified. But —”

“But what, Greer?”

I reached over and ran the heel of my hand softly down his chest. “But I thought that you were better than that.” The lights flickered again.

“Lights-out, Greer.” Wes might not have sounded convinced but at least his voice hitched a little. And when I stepped back, he grabbed my arm. “I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Thanks.”

“Nothing to thank me for.”

“Yet.” Then I sprinted to Empowerment Hall as fast as possible and tried to outrun the realization that I'd traded leaning on one guy for leaning on another.