Rumors (10 page)

“
That’s not fair. I wasn’t drinking,” I restated. “What you
heard about me today came from a rumor someone spread.”

“
A rumor that proved true in some regard,” Principal Hayden
commented. He turned to my coach. “I have to agree with Will. We
need to set an example that this kind of behavior will not be
tolerated.” He cut off my protest, adding, “Whether it be drinking
or covering up these inappropriate activities.”

There
was no getting out of it. I would be benched from the game and
hurting my teammates for something I didn’t do. Now, other students
would assume the rumor was true, and that I was being punished for
my misdeeds.

There
was no cure to this virus.

Whether
I caught people talking about me or not, I could feel the words
hanging in the air. The news that I’d been benched spread like a
wick to dynamite, slithering along until it exploded, chucking
rumored debris all throughout the school. As with all rumors, the
general idea rooted itself like the trunk of a tree, allowing
branches of gossip and untruths to grow in every
direction.

“
She cheated on Shane…”

“
She was arrested for a DUI…”

“
The coach is revoking her as Captain…”

Seeking
sanctuary, I skipped lunch the next day, heading for Mr. Nordell’s
classroom.

“
Hello there, Ms. Collins,” he said after I knocked on the
door. “I wondered when you’d be back.”

I
slipped off my backpack and seated myself in the available chair
next to him, as if it were placed ready and waiting for my arrival.
“I was going to come sooner but…”

“
But you got yourself in some trouble over the
weekend.”

I
flushed, ready to defend myself.

Mr.
Nordell winked at me. “Oh, don’t you worry now. I don’t believe one
thing about that.”

I
sighed, wrinkling my forehead in frustration. “The rumors never
stop. Just when I think I can fly under the radar, someone throws
another one out there.”

“
Some people like to keep negative attention off them by
pointing it at others,” Mr. Nordell offered.

“
It just seems like, ever since Maddie died…” I stopped. I
hadn’t intended to talk about her. The recent talk going around
school had nothing to do with her. Yet, her name escaped my lips
all the same.

Mr.
Nordell smiled. “Don’t let people distract you from growing the way
you need to.”

“
I don’t know that I’m growing from Maddie’s death. I feel
just the opposite, like I’ve lost a part of who I used to be. I
feel stuck.”

“
Well, that’s part of your problem right there, if you don’t
mind me saying so.” He paused, waiting for my approval to
continue.

“
Go ahead,” I said, my curiosity peaked.

“
You’re trying to be the Allie you were before you almost
drowned—before your cousin died. Think about a soldier who was
maimed in war, or a person who lost a limb because of an accident.
They don’t get to have that body part back. They don’t
get
to be the person
they once were—not physically, and certainly not emotionally. It’s
not possible.”

I
pondered his words for a moment while he continued.

“
Like soldiers and accident victims, lives can be altered in a
matter of moments. Those that become instant amputees have to
prepare for prosthetic limbs, rehab, therapy… It would be foolish
to believe that our experiences in life don’t shape us in one way
or another.” Mr. Nordell paused again, studying me. “You’re not
originally from Portland, are you?”

“
No, I moved from Danville, California three years
ago.”

“
California… so you are familiar with Yosemite
then?”

I
laughed out loud, a rush of memories touching my mind. “It was
pretty much my backyard. Yosemite is gorgeous.” Reflecting on the
frequent camping trips we used to take as a family, I added,
“There’s nothing like it.”

Mr.
Nordell flipped open his laptop. He pulled up pictures of Yosemite
Valley, pointing to the carved, granite cliffs, including the
infamous Half Dome and El Capitan. “Did you know that before
Yosemite became this magnificent valley, that it was just a
meadow?”

I nodded
my head. “I had to do a report on the formation of Yosemite in
fourth grade. I learned all about how it formed from molten rock
and glaciers.”

The
science teacher in Mr. Nordell seemed to perk up. “Now imagine, if
it were possible, that Yosemite had resisted this change—that it
hadn’t allowed nature to take its course in molding and shaping
that meadow.” He scrolled through more breathtaking photos, pausing
on each one. “We would not have this picturesque, remarkable valley
that we cherish today. Now let me ask you one more question—how
long did this formation take?”

“
Millions of years,” I answered. “It was a very slow
process.”

“
Yes, very slow indeed…” He enlarged a picture of Half Dome,
the granite formation an inspiring sight. Mr. Nordell’s voice
softened. “We may admire the end product, but do we respect the
processes that lead to its creation?” He closed the laptop.
“Allie,” he began.

The use
of my first name caught my attention.

“
It’s ok to deal with life-changing events at your own
pace.”

I
furrowed my eyebrows, restraining the tears. “But it feels like I’m
holding people back, like I’m constantly making people
uncomfortable or unhappy because I’m not who I used to
be.”

Mr.
Nordell patted my hand. “You need to get better for you, not for
others. If people in your life are not willing to wait for you to
heal, perhaps you need to consider the importance of that
relationship. Time will tell.”

***

Benched.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I sat out in a game for more
than a quick breather, let alone for an entire game. It was an odd
feeling, watching our rival game played from a seated
position.

And yet…
I waited for the moment of envy to arrive. I expected to feel antsy
and eager to get back on the court. However, as I watched the
points bounce back and forth, evenly climbing the scoreboard, those
feelings didn’t come. I watched the game with the interest of a
spectator, cheering extra loud for my sisters and feeling proud of
the way they could soundlessly read each other’s moves, and I
joined the chorus of “boos” from the audience when a member of the
rival team executed a cheap shot at one of our players.

Still,
from my seated position, I soon found myself observing the game as
if through glass. At times, the game seemed muted in my head. I
watched Coach’s aggravated yells when one of my teammates screwed
up a play (comical really, like an adult having a tantrum with the
way his face flushed red, and how he stomped his large, heavy
foot), and I noted the dejected expression on her face when she was
benched as penance. The “swoosh” of the basketball through the net
seemed hushed and lacking the adrenaline that once fueled me.
Granted, I wasn’t the one making the shot. Still, something inside
me felt different tonight…

“
That was the sweetest win ever!” Tara cheered, sweeping her
mess of curls out of her face and tightening her
ponytail.

“
Congrats,” I said, offering a high-five. The gym bustled with
teammates jumping up and down, recounting unforgettable plays of
the night and smiling in satisfaction as our rivals exited the gym
in one glum mass. Proud parents swept their daughter into their
arms for a hug and a photo. Mom was among them.

“
Girls, you were fantastic out there!” She embraced Taylor and
Leah, ignoring their sweat like she always did. The fatigue on
their face from moments ago washed away with pride. “Allie,” she
said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll be out there again
soon enough.” Her eyes suddenly roamed the gym, frowning as she
scanned the area. No doubt she was still peeved at the principal
and athletics’ director for enforcing tonight’s game suspension. I
could hear her grumbling disbelief again at their unfair and
impulsive decision.

I
rotated my gaze, watching the gym unravel… but I wasn’t a part of
the buzz—the excitement—and it suddenly dawned on me that Tara was
right.

“
I think I’m done,” I stated.

“
Oh, don’t be silly,” Mom said to me. “The suspension was
for
one
game, I
assure you. If they try to push anything else—”

“
No, Mom, I mean… I’m done with basketball.”

My words
caught Leah and Taylor’s attention, and most definitely Tara’s. All
three zeroed in on me, a chorus of confusion and
questioning.

“
What are you talking about?”

“
Oh, come on, Allie, you’re just mad. You can’t mean
that!”

“
Don’t
do this, Allie.”

The last
sentence came from Tara, her breathing picking up in pace as she
anticipated what I was about to do. “I didn’t mean what I said that
night at the hot tub. You’ve still got game. We need
you!”

“
Allie, honey, what’s the matter?” Mom asked, touching my
cheek to draw my attention. She seemed to search my eyes for tears
and my face for emotions… as if trying to read where all this was
coming from.

I knew she wouldn’t find the tears
or
emotions. Basketball—what I once
lived and breathed for—no longer carried weight in my eyes after
what I had survived. The burden of grief and guilt over Maddie’s
death had slowly but surely eased its way into a dominate part of
my heart, sitting heavy and immovable. Basketball seemed a trivial
concern in comparison.

I’d felt
it the day I tried to quit at the beginning of the season. I still
felt it now. Without another word, I pushed my way past my jovial
teammates, making my way to the man who hadn’t listened to me
before, but who would hear me now.

“
Coach Robbins,” I interrupted, cutting him off from
debriefing with his assistant.

He
paused with a look of slight annoyance, though he acknowledged me.
“Collins, what can I do for you?”

“
Nothing at all, Coach. I just wanted to return something.” I
stripped my jersey, leaving my green tank top. Folding it in half,
I handed it to him. “I won’t need this.”

His
mouth opened in surprise, and then his expression altered to his
usual grimace. “Oh, for crying out loud. I don’t have time for
this, Collins.” Coach Robbins pointed to the exit. “I’ll see you
tomorrow. And your ankle better be fixed by next Friday’s game.” He
returned his attention to Jenkins.

He was
making this easier than I thought. Why had I put up with him for so
long?

“
You don’t seem to be hearing me, so I’ll say it one last
time,” I said, aware that a crowd of curious teammates were
creating a semi-circle around us. “
I.
Quit.
” My fingers released my jersey and
it flopped onto the court, a crumpled pile with no shape or
form—merely the shell of an athlete.

I heard
an encore of gasps and protests from my teammates. I saw the silent
glare from my coach—but, more than anything, I felt torrential
disappointment from them all.

I could
have stayed and presented my case, defending my resign. I could
have tried to explain how there was no room in my broken heart for
basketball, but as athletes, they wouldn’t be able to understand
how superficial and trivial a win or loss seemed to me now.
Instead, I let the stunned whispers behind me grow as I walked
across the court, one last time, letting the double doors swing
shut behind me.