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Authors: Janet Gurtler

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BOOK: How I Lost You
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chapter nineteen

“Oh, sweetie,” I said.

She snorted again. “Sweet as a dill pickle.”

She stood straighter and swallowed repeatedly, as if to keep back a puddle of black emotions. “Don't tell Lucas I was flirting with that guy. Okay?”

“I don't plan on telling Lucas anything.”

She nodded but she looked crumpled.

“You okay to go in?” I asked, and stuck my hand in my purse, searching for the hotel card.

“Give me a minute,” she said, and sniffled.

I swiped the key in the door. “I'll see if my mom is still up,” I whispered. She bent over, breathing deep, and propped her back against the wall. I lifted my finger to let her know I'd be a second, pushed open the door, and stepped inside. As soon as the pattern on the carpet changed from hallway to room, I kicked off my ridiculous shoes. My feet silently cheered. The heavy door slipped behind me and shut.

“Shoot,” I whispered, staring at it. Then I tiptoed around the corner toward the two queen-size beds.

“Hey!” a voice called.

I grabbed my heart. “Geez. You scared me.”

Mom sat cross-legged on a bed, watching TV, the volume turned off.

“You're early. How was the dinner?” she said when she saw me. She squinted past my shoulder. “Where's Kya?”

“Uh.” My bottom lip quivered. “She's coming. Um. The dinner kind of sucked. And she's kind of upset.”

Mom's face wrinkled up, showing her concern. “Really? You were so looking forward to it, what happened? Why are you back so soon? Where is she?” she repeated.

I bit my lip. Mom uncrossed her legs and stood. “What's wrong? What happened? Where is Kya?”

“She's fine. She's, uh, in the hallway.” I kind of wanted to leave her there. “Composing herself.”

“Why?”

I looked at Mom. Of all the times in the world to act maternal, she'd pick this moment? “Promise not to get mad?”

She frowned. “That is not a good question to ask, especially when you're a teenager.”

I nodded. “I know.” I took another deep breath. “Kya…” I paused, not sure what to say.

“What?” She took a step toward me and then another and reached for my hand.

I chewed the inside of my cheek. And decided to go with the truth. God. I seriously needed some lessons in parental deception.

“Some guy kept buying her drinks,” I said, aware that my strategy consisted solely of trying to lay the blame on him. “They were strong. And she doesn't handle liquor very well. So, she's kind of drunk. And upset.”

Mom sighed loudly, dropped my hand, and walked past me to the door. “That child is more than a small handful.”

“It wasn't her fault, Mom.”

She had her hand on the doorknob but turned back. “Grace, she made the decision to accept the drinks on her own. And she drank them.”

My mom. The hard ass.

“I'll talk to her and bring her inside. Take off your dress. Change into something comfortable.” She opened the door. “Oh, Kya.” She mumbled something else I didn't hear.

I went to the door to hold it open. Mom slipped an arm under Kya's underarms and helped her inside, muttering things in her ear.

Kya was mumbling back and crying softly again. Mom and I helped her to the empty bed and sat her down. Mom pulled off her shoes and pushed her gently back, pulling away covers and tucking them around her.

“This one can sleep in her dress,” she said to me. Kya closed her eyes, falling asleep immediately or, more accurately, passing out.

“Thank God one of you is responsible.” Mom turned back and patted my arm. “I guess I can thank your dad for that too.”

“Probably,” I agreed, and went to my overnight bag, took out my pajamas, and went to the bathroom to change and wash my face and brush my teeth.

When I got back to the main room, Mom was sitting on her bed, watching Kya.

“I worry about this child,” she whispered.

My heart ached a little, the way she kept an eye on Kya with such concern. I had a teeny bit of Kya in me after all, wishing for more from my mom. How many times when I'd been younger had I wished she would have been more affectionate? True, she was always there for me, but more often than not with a joke instead of a hug or a kiss. That's just the way she was. I thought I'd accepted it.

I nodded. “I worry about her too.”

She held out her hand and pulled me down beside her and we both stared at Kya.

“But not you,” she said.

“You know me. The responsible one.”

She paused. “You're a good kid. Better than I was at your age. That's for sure.”

“The Dad influence,” I said.

She nodded and stared at the floor for a minute. “I haven't always been the kind of mom you needed.” She sighed. “Your dad told me over and over that I don't show enough. How I feel. It's hard for me. To express myself that way. I hope that hasn't been too awful for you, having a mom like me. My sarcasm is such a defense mechanism. I never learned how to deal with my feelings like you do.”

I shook my head and opened my mouth, my cheeks flushing.

“It's okay. Let me finish. You're sensitive and you take on people and their problems. Like Kya.” She sighed again. “But be careful you don't forget about yourself.” She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. “I admire you. I don't know that I showed you enough.”

“I have plenty of issues of my own, don't worry,” I told her.

She smiled but it was lopsided. “They probably stem from not being hugged enough as a child.”

I pushed lightly on her arm. “Or being dropped on my head,” I joked. “Whatever, Mom. You could have done a lot worse. A LOT.” I smiled. “You're a good mom. I'll keep you.”

“No.” She wiped under her eyes. “I'm happy you haven't resorted to this.” She gestured at Kya. “Don't.”

I blew out. “Not my style.” The air conditioner flicked on with a loud thump and a whir.

“Thank God,” Mom said. “It's so humid in this room. I'm hot-flashing all over the place.”

We smiled at each other and sat in silence for a moment, listening to people in the hallway opening doors and laughing. And then it was quiet again. Just the whir of the air conditioner.

“Alcohol makes things worse when people use it to cope.” We didn't move, squished up side by side, our knees touching. “I don't want to preach but I know. I used to do that. When I was younger. Drink too much.”

“You never told me that before,” I said quietly.

“Well, I haven't needed to. Honestly, I'm so proud of you. The way you handle yourself.”

I wanted to ask more, but she stood, apparently done with the conversation about her boozy teen self. She patted the bed and moved to the other side, pulling the covers back for me to crawl under. “Sleep with me. If Kya gets sick tonight, you don't want to be the one she lands on.”

She went to the bathroom, brought out a white, stiff towel, and laid it beside Kya's head. Then she turned off the lights and snuggled under the covers, slipping in beside me. It had been a long time since I'd slept in the same bed as her. But it was oddly comforting.

“The guy who raped her,” I whispered, stretched out on my back staring at the ceiling. “He did it again. To another girl.” I puffed my pillow up and burrowed my head into the middle of it.

Mom inhaled sharply, also on her back, but turned her head to me. “How do you know?”

“She phoned Kya. At home. And then her mom. She wants Kya to talk to her lawyer. Kya's been really messed up from the calls.”

“Poor Kya.” Mom said. “Half the problem is the way her parents handled it,” she whispered. “So much like mine.”

I held my breath. The air conditioner clicked off and the silence startled me.

“She went to a few sessions with a therapist, didn't she?” Mom whispered.

I nodded in the dark even though she wasn't looking at me. “A couple times and then her mom had her eye surgery and couldn't drive. Her dad wouldn't take her. She never went back.”

“I remember.” She reached over and ruffled my hair. “She's going to deal in destructive ways until she comes to terms with it.”

I blinked in the darkness.

“She won't,” I said. “Get help, I mean. I try to talk to her. But she doesn't want to. Ever. The only reason it came up was the girl calling. It set her off.”

My fingers went to my ear, twirling around my earring.

“Who was the boy who bought her drinks tonight?”

“I don't know. Some guy. Guys like Kya. She can get them to do whatever she wants. She flirts a lot.” I stopped before I said more.

Mom exhaled loudly. “People deal differently. Flirting is part of trying to take back power.”

I nodded in the dark and twirled my earring round and round in my ear.

“It's about control.” She sighed. “Some girls shut down. Others get promiscuous.”

A single tear dripped down my cheek. “I feel bad for her, Mom. But…” I swallowed and took a deep breath. “But I'm mad too. She wrecked our night. You know? We were supposed to use this night to impress the Grinders. She made a fool of herself and ditched me for some stupid guy and his drinks, and I had to look after her instead of getting to know the Grinders. And Betty Baller was there.”

“It's okay to be mad,” Mom said, ruffling my hair. “You have the right to want what you want.”

An ache in my chest that lingered since dinner mutated and grew. “But I couldn't leave her there.”

“No. Not really. But you need to think about things, Grace. What you're willing to give up to get what you want.” She clucked her tongue. “But first you have to know what you want.”

I wanted to make the Grinders. But I couldn't walk away from Kya to do it. Could I?

“What would you do if you were me?” I asked.

“I don't know what you can do. Other than caring.” She patted my head and rested her hand on my forehead. “I had a friend. In high school.” She paused and took her hand away. “She was incredibly promiscuous as a teen, a mess through her teens really. She was raped when she was young. But she got therapy and got on track and she's now happily married with a family.”

“That's awful,” I said.

“It is. But the good news is she made it out.”

We were both silent for a moment. The room whirred with unfamiliar sounds and smells.

“You're a good friend. But it's important to go after what you want.” She exhaled slowly. “Kya takes up a lot of air in a room. And you've always let her. Maybe I have too.”

“I want Kya to be okay,” I said.

On the bed beside us, Kya snored softly.

“I know.” Mom smiled. “I think she will be. In time. And what about you? Don't lose sight of your own goals.”

“Hmm,” I said, pondering. My goals had always included Kya. But what if they didn't?

Mom yawned and then flipped onto her side, facing me. “Hopefully, Kya's using protection. You too. I am far too young and foxy to be a grandmother.”

“Mom!” My cheeks burned so hot I'm surprised my pillow didn't smoke.

“You planning on joining a nunnery?” she asked.

I buried my head. “I heard the outfits are nice.”

“Seriously, Grace.”

“Seriously, Mom. Not going there with you.”

After a moment, she giggled. “Okay. Truce. No safe-sex talk tonight. Just, you know. Be careful.”

Kya snorted loudly and I looked over, but she was deep in her inebriated sleep.

Mom and I giggled. “I hope she feels terrible in the morning,” Mom said, and flipped over onto her side.

“Me too,” I agreed.

I sat up with a sudden urge to check my cell phone. I grabbed my purse from the bedside table and reached for it. When it powered on, the message indicator flashed.

“You're actually going to text that boy right after our sex talk?” Mom mumbled but didn't roll over. “Please don't be sexting.”

I reached over and smacked her lightly on the butt and she giggled.

Hot yoga sucked without you.

The message from Levi changed my mood. I smiled in the dark, forgetting my friend and her problems for a lovely moment.

And then Kya cried out.

I watched over her as if she were my toddler, even as a twinge of resentment nestled into my head. For some reason, I thought about my mom complaining about all the burping and clothing and feeding she used to do for us when we were small.

She always said she'd never change having us, but she wouldn't want to do it again.

I think I understood her sentiments a little better.

 

chapter twenty

Kya got out of bed and grumbled something to my mom about hopping into the shower while I lay half asleep on the bed. Mom was already up and sitting at the little desk across from our bed, drinking coffee and reading the paper, fully dressed and made up. I pretended to be sleeping to avoid talking to either of them. When Kya emerged from the bathroom followed by a puff of steam, but smelling and looking much better than she did going in, I finally sat up. She'd blow-dried her hair and put on makeup and walked around the corner into the main part of the room, seemingly bent on acting as if nothing out of the ordinary happened the night before. She smiled at me as she plunked her ass down on the edge of her bed.

“So,” Mom called, looking up from her paper. “How's your head?”

Kya ducked her chin and stared at the floor. “It's been better, but I don't feel too bad.”

I hid my grin. No burying it under the rug the way her parents would have. She wouldn't be able to pretend nothing happened in this hotel room.

“No more repeat performances from you, missy,” Mom said to Kya.

“I'm really sorry,” she said. Her eyes filled with tears and she sniffled, still studying the pattern in the rug. “It was really stupid.”

Mom stood up, walked over to the bed, and sat beside her. “Can we chat for a moment?” she said to me.

I slipped out of bed, grabbed my bag, and went to the bathroom to shower and give them privacy. I didn't particularly want to be a part of that conversation anyhow.

After I finished primping in the bathroom, I emerged and Kya and Mom were still perched on the bed, but they were hugging. Kya looked at me and wiped her eyes as Mom let her go.

“You look nice,” Kya said. I glanced down at my jeans shorts and Splatterfest T-shirt knotted at the bottom because of its huge size and shrugged. “I'm going for comfort. You look nicer. Even with your hangover,” I added because I needed to.

She wore a glittery red tank top with tan shorts and low heels and her hair looked great, her makeup flawless. Her cheeks darkened slightly and she glanced at my mom who nodded as Kya stood. “I'm sorry, Graceling. For putting you in that situation last night,” Kya said, her voice cracking.

I nodded, freshly remembering my exposure to the sad little girl who still lived inside of her. “I know,” I said softly. She came over and hugged me.

“All packed and ready to go?” Mom said, retrieving her own bag from on top of the dresser. Kya gathered up her fake Prada purse and slung it over her shoulder.

I slipped on laceless sneakers and we all grabbed our overnight bags, did a last minute room check, and then headed out, down the slow elevator to the hotel lobby for a free continental breakfast. Mom and I loaded our plates with buns and muffins and fatty carbs. Kya popped a Tylenol with her coffee and nibbled at half a bagel as we filled our faces.

“Hangovers are an appetite killer, aren't they, Kya?” Mom said.

Kya smiled sheepishly. “I know, Mrs. B.”

“God. I sound like my mother.” Mom shook her head and went to get a refill of coffee.

Kya glanced across the table “I really am sorry. About last night. Ditching you at dinner.”

I nodded, not ready to forgive her entirely but also feeling tugs of sympathy.

“Your mom is handling it pretty amazingly,” she said.

“Because you're not her daughter,” I said. And she feels sorry for you, I added in my head. “But please don't get drunk in front of her again. Until we're at least thirty. She likes to pretend she's cool and I don't think she can handle being the responsible one again for a long time.”

Kya grinned and then Mom returned to the table with a to-go cup of coffee, and the three of us checked out, loaded everything into the car, and walked over to the convention center. As if by unspoken agreement, we tucked away memories of the night and prepared to have a most excellent adventure.

The tradeshow floor was huge. Rows of booths ran farther than I saw from the entrance. We put on our lanyards and headed into the crowd. Sales guys operated equipment booths and players young and old roamed up and down the aisles. Music, shouting, and laughter jammed the hot air in the room. Someone shoved a map and list of events in my hand and I scanned it for the Grinders booth.

A festive, even joyful vibe drifted in the air, with shouts from players we recognized making me feel like a minor celebrity. The ickiness in my belly was buried under the feel-good vibes floating around. Webcasts of games blasted from a booth to my right and I recognized the D'Ailly brothers and Chantelle on the screen. I yelled and pointed to Kya and she nodded, but she was moving toward the Empire Ax booth, eyeing the latest gun that wouldn't even be released until September. Lights flashed, noise levels accelerated, and some of the adrenaline I loved about the game pumped into my veins.

We moved, distracted and as hyper as little kids in a candy store. Mom was an awesome sport, following us from booth to booth, meeting paintball people and answering questions about Dad and checking out new equipment with us. It wasn't her world but she was playing along like a pro. When we passed by a booth with Richard and Michael in it, we veered around it widely and they didn't appear to see us.

Finally, we turned a corner and headed toward the Grinders booth. I stopped and took a big cleansing breath and grabbed Kya's hand, squeezing hard. She twisted away.

“Sweaty,” she said, scrunching up her nose.

“You can do this,” Mom whispered in my ear. “Just be yourself.” She patted my back, discretely mouthing “good luck,” and wandered off in a different direction to give me privacy. I glanced at her as she left, saying an inner prayer of thanks that she knew me well enough to give me space to schmooze on my own.

I walked. Strutted really. Shoulders back. Head held high. The way Dad taught me. In the booth, I spotted Betty Baller under the Grinders banner. She saw me as I got closer and raised her hand. “Grace Black!” she called. “I knew I recognized you. Come on over.”

I ignored the shooting balls of nerves in my belly, pasted a big smile on my face, and walked. I glanced behind me, but Kya had stopped to talk to someone and wasn't following. I frowned but wiped it off as I swiveled back to Betty.

“There you are!” Betty said as I reached her. She looked younger up close. And pretty. Smooth dark skin. Amazing green eyes that looked right inside me.

I stuck out my hand and she grasped mine with both hands. “Awesome shirt,” she said. “And so good to see you. I've heard so many great things about you from Lola,” she told me, and then pulled me in for a quick hug.

“Thanks,” I said as we broke apart. “I've heard so many great things about you too. And the Grinders!”

She nodded, smiling at me. “I recognized you at dinner last night, but you disappeared and I didn't see you at the party.”

I glanced behind me for a second, looking for Kya, and then quickly back at Betty. “Yeah. My friend Kya wasn't feeling so great, so I took her to bed early.” My face warmed.

“That's too bad,” Betty said. “You could have met Ciara Janaye. She was at the party signing autographs and hanging out.”

“No way.” I cursed Kya in my head. Ciara Janaye was one the most famous female players in the world. She was from Brazil. Her poster was on my wall at home and another huge one papered the wall at Splatterfest.

Betty pulled over a couple of players who were in the booth dressed in Grinder Gear. Pink and orange suits of awesome. I recognized Linda, but she was on the other side of the booth chatting with a girl about my age. The girls were awesome, funny, and full of great advice and practice tips. We chatted for a few more moments and they said wonderful things about Lola's webcast I'd shot with Chantelle. I beamed, thrilled they'd seen it, knew who I was, and thought I had mad skills.

I babbled about some of their games I'd watched online.

“I can't wait to see you play live,” Betty said with a smile.

We chatted some more about Lola and then Betty asked about my dad and Splatterfest. She was amazed they'd never met, but said she was sure they'd be seeing each other a fair bit in the future. My heart skipped happily with those implications.

“What are your marks in school like?” she asked. I told her I had a solid grade point average in my junior year and was going to work hard in my senior year and wouldn't have any problem making the grades needed for college.

“That's awesome, Grace,” she said. “I get a good sense you'd fit in well with my girls and Lola thinks so too. I'm really hoping to invite you out to a game this year, to hang out with the girls, get a feel for who we are and how we play. I'd love to have you practice with us. See how you interact.”

We chatted for a while longer about her team and what she liked in her players. She was nicer than I'd imagined and easy to talk to, and with every word, every inch of me wanted to be on her team. Linda walked over then and bumped me with her hip.

“Hey, Grace! I looked for you after dinner but didn't see you around.”

“Yeah. Kya wasn't feeling so great.”

I ignored the knowing look on her face and looked around for Kya, wondering what she was doing. She should be over here sucking up. This was the main reason we were here. To network. Make a good impression. Yo. This was the moment. Happening without her.

I spotted Kya at the far edge of the Grinders booth, batting her eyelashes at a tall, handsome dude wearing a Grinders T-shirt. I frowned and raised my hand in the air to flag her over but she didn't see it. One of the other Grinder girls made a joke and I turned back.

I nodded my head, no idea what they were talking.

“I heard there's another girl in Tadita we want,” one of the Grinders said.

“Yeah. Kya! She wants to play as much as I do. We play really well together. She'll be right over,” I piped up.

We all glanced over to where Kya was making eyes at the painter dude.

Betty pressed her lips together and tapped her fingers over them. “Actually I think we're talking about another player. Chantelle D'Ailly. Lola said she showed a lot of promise.” She glanced toward Kya. “Kya needs to take herself and this game a little more seriously if she wants to make the Grinders.”

“She's an awesome baller,” I said. “She loves the game.”

“Hmm. Well. She needs to show it. I know you're friends and I appreciate loyalty, but she's got to prove she has what it takes off the field as well as on. She's really strong, but we need a team player who represents the Grinders.”

Behind us, the Grinder girls laughed and we both turned to see a little girl dressed in a colorful tutu with a T-shirt and cowboy boots, talking a million miles a minute. A daddish guy was behind her, grinning.

I turned back, wondering if Lola mentioned the incident with Steve and the bonus balls to Betty. More than likely, from the sounds of it. My stomach turned. I stared at Kya but she didn't look over. What the heck was she doing? She seriously needed to leave her flirting for another time. I pressed my lips tight, panic making them dry.

The Grinder girls oohed and aahed, apparently captivated by the little girl in her tutu.

“She can,” I told Betty. “She's got some family stuff she's dealing with right now. She's kind of off,” I said quickly. “Bad timing, she's a little distracted.” I narrowed my eyes at Kya and she finally glanced over, as if she sensed us talking about her. Then she threw her head back and laughed at something painter dude said. Perfect.

“I understand. I do. But players gotta learn to leave personal stuff off the field,” she said. “When we're out in public, we're representing the sport, but also the school. And corporate sponsors. Most college athletic teams have a strict no liquor during the season rule, and we're one of them.”

“Yeah.” I nodded my head. “That's cool. I mean, good. Not a problem.”

“Not a problem for you?” She smiled and glanced back at Kya and painter dude.

I returned a weak grin. “She's really great, she really is.”

“Well, my boyfriend seems to like her,” she said.

My features must have revealed my absolute horror that Kya was flirting with Betty's boyfriend because Betty laughed. “Don't worry. I'm only kidding. I mean, Keith really is my boyfriend, but I'm not worried. I trust him. It's no big deal. He can handle girls like Kya.”

The hair on my arms stood up. Girls like Kya? Oh man. Not good. Not good at all.

I lifted my hands up to my mouth like a megaphone. “Kya,” I shouted loudly. I think it startled Betty but Kya looked over. I narrowed my eyes and tightened my mouth, motioning for her to join us. Kya glanced at the handsome dude, he smiled at Betty, nodded, and said something, and then they both walked toward us.

“I'm looking forward to talking some more,” Betty said. “And keep those webcasts coming! I have your contact info from Lola. So we'll chat again, okay?”

“Awesome.” I smiled but wanted to kill Kya with my bare hands.

Keith reached us first and he slid his arm over Betty's shoulder. “This is my girl,” he said to Kya. “Betty Baller.”

Kya smiled.

“This is Keith, he plays for the Paparazzis,” Betty said to me. “This is Grace. The baller I've been telling you about.”

He reached out to shake my hand. He had a wicked tattoo on his arm of a jacked-up paintball gun. “The Paparazzis?” I asked, impressed. He nodded. “Cool.” I turned to Betty. “You know Kya.” I sent Kya a telepathic message to act charming and smart.

“Nice to meet you in person,” Kya said to Betty. “I've seen lots of your footage online. You and your team are awesome.”

I nodded, silently urging her to keep talking, to bond. I wanted Betty to see the real Kya too, the girl I loved, but Betty was already looking past her and waving at someone who'd entered the booth. I followed her gaze. An older man in a dark suit reeking of money raised his hand in the air.

BOOK: How I Lost You
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