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It hasn’t been for a very, very long time.
67
Harlow
There are only a few Saturday games in the season, and this morning is one of them. It’s also the last. Knox Height High isn’t making it to the finals, which means that today is that last day seniors get to wear the Vikings jersey and play as a team.
It’s a big deal. Even I’m aware of that. Which is why, when my friends spent the past two days trying to convince me to go, I finally conceded.
I had terms, though.
I won’t be sitting front row center like we’d done before. If Jace is so adamant aboutnotseeing me at school or at work, then he sure as hell won’t want me at his games. I’ll sit in the back row, where—hopefully—he’ll be completely unaware of my existence.
Sammy and Jeannie are waiting for me by their car, and I approach them from behind, catching them mid-conversation. “Heroes?” Sammy scoffs. We’d been assigned a multimedia project on “personal heroes,” and Sammy’s been ranting about it for days now. “What do they think we are, in fourth grade?”
“It’s not the actual subject that’s important,” Jeannie responds—an attempt to keep her cousin level-headed. “It’s the way you deliver it.”
Sammy shrugs. “Still. It’s dumb.”
I finally speak up. “Hey, guys.”
They turn, their entire demeanor switching to that of false joy, false smiles, false hope. And I get it, I do. I haven’t exactly been a little ray of sunshine lately, so the fact they stillwantme around is, just like the game today, also a big deal.
“You made it!” Sammy sings, hugging me tight.
“I said I would be here.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been a little flakey these days,” Jeannie edges, and she’s not wrong.
It’s been hard to be social when all I’ve wanted to do is crawl into a hole and never come up for air. My dad left for work a few days ago. He checks in constantly, but it’s not the same, even when I act like it is. I don’t like being in my house too much when I’m alone, and so I drive or go for walks. Occasionally, I’ll end up at Jace’s spot by the creek.
It seems to be the only place that gives me peace.
I pass Lana and Connie, offering them a smile as I head toward the arena. Lana usually opens late or not at all on the days or nights the games are on because she says there’s no point in being open. Most of the town is watching the game. Watchinga miracle in the making,aka Jace Rivera.
My friends take their usual seats at the front, because it would be weird if they didn’t, and I climb the stairs all the way to the back.
To be honest, I don’t know why I’m here. It just felt like I should be, if for no other reason than to simply say that I was. I’m aware how selfish that is, given the circumstances, but my therapist convinced me I need to try to get back to a new normal, so this is the first step.
I might even go for lunch with my friends afterward.
Soon enough, the arena begins to fill, and one by one, every available seat is used, and those who can’t sit stand to watch.
Within minutes, everyone can tell something’s wrong. Both teams are on the court now, doing warm-ups, but there’s one player missing—the player everyone came to see.
From the front row, Sammy and Jeannie turn to me, their faces matching the same confusion swirling inside me.
The one and only time he’s ever missed practice was for me—when I asked him to drive me home. One time, a scout offered to fly him out to tour the college grounds, but it would mean missing a game. Jace declined, told him he couldn’t let his team down.
Jace has not, and would never, miss a game.
Especially one as big as this.
The coach is on the sidelines, on his phone, and I can only guess who he’s trying to reach. Jonah’s on the floor, and I catch him searching the crowd until he finds his mom. She smiles at him, but even from a distance, I can tell that it’s forced.
A ref blows his whistle, and the teams gather at their separate benches. Around me, everyone’s talking, murmuring in muted tones. Some are angry, some are worried, some are purely perplexed. But the one thing they all have in common is the basis of all our thoughts:
Where is Jace?