Chapter Twenty-One
Logan
My knee hurt. That was normal, the doctors said, the physiotherapists said, the trainers said. Everyone agreed, but it was still freaking me out. Not the pain itself so much as what it seemed to mean. My knee wasn’t fine. I wasn’t going to be able to do this. I’d thrown away everything with Dawn, and for nothing.
“You haven’t been using it,” Dr. Washington told me. “And you still have too much scar tissue in there. So it’s complaining, but as long as you can work through it, we’re not worried.”
Easy for them not to be worried. Not so easy for me.
I hobbled onto the elevator and rode up to my apartment from the parking garage. My mom had called and said she was bringing dinner over, which she hadn’t done since I’d been pretty messed up the first time around—I didn’t think there was a direct parallel, didn’t think she was babying me because she knew something about my medical condition that I didn’t—but I still wasn’t as happy about free, easy food as I normally would have been.
I got inside, found the casserole my mom had left in the oven, and pulled it out. Chicken and pasta and cheese—hard to argue with. I slopped about half the dish onto a plate and set it on the breakfast bar, found a fork, and started eating.
It probably tasted good—my mom was an excellent cook—but I didn’t notice. I was thinking about Dawn, as usual. How to get her back, mostly, which meant trying to figure out what the hell had made her so convinced we couldn’t work in the first place. My mom had given me some ideas—she’d asked how I’d have felt if my knee was wrecked but my girlfriend was playing sports and making lots of money and I was just supposed to sit there and watch her and be supportive and wrap my whole life around hers.
“But I never expected Dawn to do that,” I’d argued.
“It’s not just about you. It’s about society. It’s about what everyone else expects, and how they’d treat her. Imagine if she’s—I don’t know, a scientist, and she’s applying for a grant to do some research she really cares about and she goes in front of a panel and all they want to ask her questions about is you. How’s the team looking this year, do you think they have a shot at the cup, does Logan like to eat right before a game, or right after? And don’t tell me they wouldn’t pull that crap because I’ve lived it! I’ve had complete strangers ask me whether your dad abstains from sex during the playoffs. Buying a skirt, out for lunch, whatever, and people come up to me and ask me completely invasive, horrible questions. It’s a real thing, and I don’t blame her for being worried about it.”
“But I can’t control how other people act! That’s not my fault!”
“Fault? No, baby, it’s not your fault. But—so what? It will affect her, no matter whose fault it is.”
“She could just ignore people. I mean, why is she so concerned about what people say, anyway? She can think for herself, right?”
And my mom had started at the top of my body and worked her way down, pointing out every name brand I was wearing from my sunglasses to my shoes. “It’s so easy to ignore societal expectations, isn’t it?”
So that conversation hadn’t been too useful. I mean, it had helped me understand what Dawn was worrying about, maybe, but it hadn’t given me any real solutions. I needed more. I needed—
I stopped chewing, then started again, shovelling the last few bites into my mouth with grim efficiency. I needed more ideas. An insider perspective.
I pulled out my phone and called Oliver. “I need your help,” I told him. “Dawn dumped me—have you already heard all this? It’s because I’m maybe going to play hockey again. I think I understand why she doesn’t like it. But I have no idea what to do about it. Can you give me any suggestions?”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “You understand that I’m a seventeen-year-old gay virgin, right? You know that?”
“Uh, I didn’t know you were a virgin, but I was asking you more as a friend of Dawn’s, and as someone who seems fairly smart and perceptive and whatever, not as a sex god. You’re part of Team Awesome with her, right? Is there any way for that to help?”
“It’s the Sisterhood of Awesomeness, and, no, I will not make an Awesomeness Challenge that she needs to stay with her boyfriend.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. Sorry I got the name wrong. I was just—I feel like there’s kind of a connection. Like, she wants to be awesome on her own, and that’s why she doesn’t want to date a hockey player. Because she feels like it would make her less awesome. Does that sound right? And assuming it does—can you help me out? Can you—I don’t know, can you help me understand all the different ways she could possibly be awesome? I feel like I know a lot of them already, but they’re from my perspective, and I think maybe I need this to be from her perspective if it’s going to work.”
Oliver was quiet for long enough that I wondered if I’d offended him. I was reviewing what I could remember of my outpouring of desperate ideas when he broke the silence. “When are you going to be in Corrigan Falls?”
“I’ll be there when you want me to be there. Everything else can work around this.”
Another pause, but shorter this time before he said, “That’s an excellent answer. That answer inspires me. Okay. I have some conferencing to do, some conversations to have. I’m putting on my awesome hat, and when that happens, shit gets done. So—stay by the phone. I’ll get back to you.”
And with that, he was gone.
My fate was in the hands of a seventeen-year-old gay virgin wearing an awesome hat. And I was feeling more hopeful than I had in days.
…
Dawn
I continued to be a wreck for the next couple of days and almost got fired from my job at the Grill because I told a customer to shove his overcooked burger up his ass. My boss let me off with a warning. And I totally wondered whether he was going easy on me because he didn’t know Logan and I had broken up and was hoping maybe there would be repeat visits from Balanchuk junior or senior if I still worked there. Yeah, that was a good reminder of the doubts I didn’t want to be having for the rest of my life.
I slept through my alarm the next morning, finally woke up and sprinted my way through my shower and then down to Mrs. McMann’s, and arrived five minutes late to find her sitting on the front porch, contentedly watching the street. Her expression went from peaceful to absolutely smug when she saw me approach and I braced myself for whatever her new plan was.
She didn’t say much, just, “Let’s read for a bit. And then when it warms up we can go to the beach.”
“Okay,” I said, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. But she just smiled, and I went to get our books from the front room.
Somewhere around eleven she stood up and shuffled off, I thought to the bathroom, but when she came back she was lugging a backpack that clanked suspiciously and looked like it weighed about fifty pounds. “Lemonade,” she said.
“For the entire beach?”
“I believe in being prepared. Do you need help putting it on?”
Yeah, I was her Sherpa. Not surprising.
We cut through the backyard and fought past the overgrown hedge out onto the beach. The crowds usually collected down by the parking lot and snack bars, so a lot of the time this stretch was close to deserted. But today there was a circle of people sitting on the sand. People I recognized.
“Oh, are those your friends?” Mrs. McMann said innocently. “Do you suppose they’d like some lemonade?”
“What are you up to?”
“I think the real question is what are they up to.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s a good question. What are they up to?”
Oliver saw us standing there and waved, friendly and easy, and everyone else turned to look. Chris Winslow was the only other guy, but Karen was there, and her half sisters, and Claudia—it was the Sisterhood of Awesomeness. We were all friendly enough in general, but it wasn’t a group that would be hanging around together for any reason other than a Sisterhood meeting. One that I hadn’t known about, but that they’d gone to some trouble to get me to attend. What the hell?
Mrs. McMann prodded me in the shoulder. “Lemonade,” she ordered. “There are plastic cups in the pack. I’m in charge of refreshments, and I don’t want to fall down on my duties.”
“Who put you in charge?” I demanded, still trying to figure out how all of this was happening.
“I did. Now get over there and serve lemonade. You’re at work, my dear! Get working!”
I stopped arguing. Everyone stood up as Mrs. McMann approached, and she introduced herself as I dug out the thermoses of lemonade and poured a cup for everyone, and then we stood there a little awkwardly.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Surprise meeting!” Oliver said. “Fun, right?”
“Okay. Sure. I guess it’s fun. What’s the meeting about?”
“A possible new member,” Karen said. “Oliver thought of it and he mentioned it to some of us and we thought it might be a good idea, but we think you should have the final decision.”
I looked over at Mrs. McMann. She was a great fit, obviously—her entire summer had been one long quest to be a bit more awesome. “Do you need the extra inspiration?” I asked her. “I mean, if you’re interested, I’m cool with it, but you seem to be doing a pretty great job all on your own.”
She shook her head. “Not me, dear.” She pointed over my shoulder. “Him.”
I turned around and he was there. Standing on the sand in shorts and flip-flops, my perfect summer boyfriend. My Logan.
He stepped forward cautiously, his eyes on me. “Is this okay?” he asked. “Is it okay that I’m here?”
“Of course,” I said. I felt numb, confused, but—relieved. It wasn’t over. I had no idea what was going on, but—Logan. He was here. “But—why? What’s going on?”
“I want to join the Sisterhood,” Logan said. He stepped forward and for a moment looked at everybody, acknowledging that he was speaking to the whole group, then he focused his attention on me. “I want to be more awesome myself—I want to learn about stuff other than hockey, and make sure my life’s as full and rich as it can be. But also—I want to help other people be more awesome. I want to help you, and support you with whatever you decide you want to do. I can’t control how other people treat you; I’ve tried and tried to think of a way around that, but I can’t. But I’d never ask you to be a hockey girlfriend, you know? If you don’t want to go to the games or talk to the press or whatever, I’d totally support that, and I’d make it clear to the team and everyone else that you’ve got your own life and your own dreams.” He glanced at the crowd, then looked back at me and added, “That would be my biggest goal. And I’m very goal-oriented.”
He was quiet, then, and so was everyone else, just watching me as I tried to sort through it all. Finally Oliver said, “Logan, what have you already done to promote your own awesomeness?”
Logan took a deep breath and told me, “I can get out of it if you don’t want me around. But I talked to McGill—well, I got the team to talk to McGill—and they’re going to let me audit a course. Whichever one I want—I was hoping to take one you were taking, and then we could talk about it, whatever it is. Something totally non-hockey. I probably won’t be traveling much this fall because I won’t be playing with the team yet, so I can make it to most of the classes, and if I end up having to play some games in the minors or whatever to get back to speed I can still do the readings and a lot of the profs put notes online, too. And it’s not like I’d be getting graded, so it’s okay if I miss a few things.”
“You’re going to take a course?” I managed to ask.
“If it’s okay with you!” Then he frowned. “No, wait. That’s not a good way for me to get more awesome. So—I’m going to take a course, for sure. If it’s okay with you I’ll take it at McGill, and if it’s okay with you I’ll take one of the ones you’re taking. But if you don’t want me around then I’m still going to take a course, just somewhere else.” He looked at the circle of Sisters and said, “Is that right? Am I doing it right?”
“You’re doing it great,” Chris Winslow said. He was a hockey player and maybe just supporting a colleague, but probably not. Chris took his Sisterhood duties seriously. And everyone else was nodding their approval as well.
“This is my favorite club ever,” Mrs. McMann said. She looked like she was about to start clapping in excitement. “Maybe I will petition to become a member.”
“So can he join?” Oliver asked me. It was about more than the club, clearly.
I looked at Logan, standing before me looking so hopeful. Hopeful about me. Not hockey or anything else. He was just really hoping that I’d want to be with him. Hoping I’d be brave enough to take a chance on the two of us.
“Not yet,” I said. “I need—” I lifted my cup and took a big gulp of lemonade, wishing it were something a little stronger. But, no, I had to be strong enough to do this on my own with no liquid courage. “I need to say something.” And I really needed to say it to Logan, not the rest of the crowd, but somehow it seemed as if they were all involved now.
“Sometimes being awesome is a group effort,” I said. “But—sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it comes down to one person.” I started building my confidence. Yeah, this was what I had to say. I looked at Logan, ignoring the rest of the crowd, and said, “Remember when I was mad that you hadn’t told me you used to play hockey? You said it wasn’t about me. You hadn’t been keeping me in the dark on purpose, it was just—something you didn’t want to talk about or think about. It was about you, not me. Do you remember that?”
He nodded, his gaze intent on my face, trying to figure out where I was going. I nodded back at him and said, “I think this time—I mean, I appreciate the plan to take the course, I think that’s very generous of you—but I think this time it’s about me, not you. You’re not doing anything wrong by being really, really into hockey. You love it—I think it’s great that you’re passionate about something. I do. This stuff I’m struggling with? It’s my problem. My life. Whether I make it into something that’s interesting and exciting all on its own, rather than having to depend on a guy to make me special? I think that’s all on me. Having a famous boyfriend shouldn’t make it any harder for me to do something worthwhile. And if him being famous overshadows what I do? Well, that’s too damn bad, because I shouldn’t be doing my thing, whatever it is, for outside attention anyway. I should be doing it for me. Stuff you do isn’t all about me—that’s fair. But stuff I do? Or don’t do? That’s on me.”
I glanced over at Mrs. McMann who nodded proudly. Seemed like she thought I was on the right track.
“The Sisterhood is great for giving little pushes,” I said. “And I think it’s great if you want to join—I’m good with that. But when it comes down to it I can’t rely on the Sisterhood to make my life great. And I can’t rely on my boyfriend to do it for me, either. I mean, support—yeah. That’d be nice. But it’s got to be my life. And I need to stop making excuses just because I’m afraid.”
“I think you’re very brave,” Logan said. “I don’t think you’re making excuses, you’re being realistic.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But being realistic shouldn’t mean giving up. Right? Not if there’s something I really care about, and if there’s even a chance of it working out. Walking away from love because it’s maybe going to be difficult? That’s—that’s totally un-awesome. That’s not who I want to be.”
“So—wait,” Logan said. “That sounds like—I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but we’re okay? You and me? You think we should give it a try?”
And that was when the tears came. I’d been dry-eyed through it all, but there on the beach in front of my friends, Mrs. McMann, and Logan, I started crying. And I didn’t trust that my voice wouldn’t come out in a big blubbery sob so I nodded, and Logan got the message and stepped toward me and our hands joined just like they always did, so easy, so right. I was still nodding when Logan’s lips met mine. I kissed him back as well as I could, but I wasn’t very good at the crying thing and it was hard to ignore it when I tasted salt. I pushed away, impatiently wiped my cheeks and then whispered, “You don’t have to be a Sister if you don’t want to be.”
He grinned down at me. “Are you kidding? I’m going to be a kick-ass Sister. Don’t even try to take that away from me.”
“Okay,” I agreed, a little louder, a little steadier.
“And don’t try to take you away from me, either, okay? Let’s just figure it out and make it work. Sound like a plan?”
“Sounds good,” I said.
And we were both goal-oriented. If we had a plan? I knew we were going to make it work.