“You do like girls, don't you, son?”
My jaw drops and I look to see if he's ribbing me. He isn't. “Are you asking me if I'm gay?”
His expression is somber. “You're secretive. You don't seem to have your friends around much these days. I've spoken with Honey's mother and she said you never come over anymore. At Christmas, your aunt Debbie and I talked too.”
“And for this you think I'm gay?” If he only knew how far from gay I am!
Dad's face gets red. “Look, I'm not condemning you. If you're gay—”
His broad-mindedness is laughable. I've heard him make jokes about gays. He wouldn't be so tolerant if I really were gay, no matter what he's saying now. And to think of him and Aunt Debbie sitting around her kitchen table discussing my sex life makes me crazy.
“How would you know what I do, where I go? You're always gone.”
“I know what's going on in my own home, Ryan. Just because I'm not here a lot doesn't mean I don't keep tabs on you.”
This causes my stomach to knot. What does he really know? “How? Reports from the housekeeper and cook? The lawn people?”
“Certainly Mrs. Gomez tells me that her workload is lighter than normal. And I can see that you hardly touch the food in the freezer. The neighbors talk to me too. You come and go a lot.”
“You spy on me?” Now I'm shaking. Darn glad I've password-protected my computer.
“Don't make this about me,” he says. “I'm your father and it's my responsibility to make sure you're safe, that you have a home, food—all the things you need.”
“I need a car.”
He waves me off. “You're not ready for a car. Not until I know what's going on with you.”
“Nothing's going on with me. I'm just trying to get through high school. I have friends and I have a life.”
He looks tired, and I see that he's trying to control his temper. “I care about you, son. I'm a single father who's doing the best I can. I don't want anything bad to happen to you. There's only one of me to parent you.”
“So now it's my dead mother's fault?”
“Watch your mouth.”
We never talk about Mom and I don't want to now, but I was hoping to make him tell me what he knows and who the nosey neighbors are who are reporting to him. “I just don't like being spied on.” My head hurts and my eyes burn. I push back from the table, scraping the chair across the floor, leaving a black mark on the tile. “I'm going to my room.”
“We should talk this out.”
“Why? I already know what you think of me.” If I were reading a story in English class and my teacher asked me to give an example of irony, this would be the perfect one. I'm sleeping with one of my teachers and my father is asking if I'm gay. For a moment, I want to spew out the truth:
“Come back here. I'm just trying to have a conversation with you. Make some connections and know you better.”
I turn at the door. “Well, for the record, trust me when I tell you, I'm not gay.”
I take the stairs to my room, two at a time.
Honey
I go up for a shot just as the halftime buzzer goes off, and the girl guarding me elbows me so hard in the side of the head, I see stars. The referee calls foul and while our opponents' coach argues the call, I try to shake off the pain. Mathers yells, “You all right, Fowler? Can you take the shots?”
I'm our best scorer from the foul line, so I tell him I can do it. We're down by two, so if I make the shots, we'll go into the locker room tied. I miss one, then get one, and we all head for the showers. On my way off the court, I look up at the half-filled bleachers to where my friends are sitting. Jess and Joel wave; so do Taylor and her new boyfriend, Wade. I stop short because Ryan is sitting up there too. And he's not with a girl.
I'm shocked because our season is half over and this is the first game he's made. He used to make all of them. He gives me a thumbs-up and I nod. All right! I have no idea why he's gracing us with his presence, but my heart beats faster because of it. Back on the court, I play my best. We win by five points, and I'm high scorer. Who says love can't inspire performance?
I rush through my shower and hurry out to where my friends are waiting. My pulse is racing, and I tell myself that Ryan won't be there. But he is.
“Great game!” Jess says. She and Taylor hug me. Joel and Wade add their praise too.
Ryan says, “Way to go.”
“You noticed.”
“Couldn't help noticing. You took it to them.”
I give him a long look, wanting to forgive him for abandoning me, but not quite able to.
“We're heading out for food,” Joel says. “Want to come, • Goddess of the Rim?”
Normally I'd say no, because who wants to hang around two happy face-sucking couples? Not me. But Ryan jumps in with “I'm in. Come on, Honey?”
“I'm in,” I tell him.
“I have my dad's pimp-mobile. His old Caddy,” Wade clarifies. “So there's plenty of room.”
We head out the door of the gym and Ryan falls into step beside me. I ask, “Where have you been keeping yourself ? I've missed seeing you at our games.”
“Around. Busy with nothing in particular. No good excuse for missing your games. I'm sorry.”
His apology sounds sincere, so I shrug. “Tonight was our best game this season, so at least you saw a good one.”
“You were hitting baskets. Pretty good for a freshman.”
His grin infects me and I feel myself softening. “Coach doesn't have a choice. He has to use me. Lost too many seniors last June.”
“Don't sell yourself short. You played good.”
My heart swells because praise from Ryan counts ten times more to me than praise from any other person on Planet Earth.
He asks, “How's Cory doing?”
“Mom and Dad are sending him to a special school now. He's on campus five days a week and home on weekends.”
“But he's just a kid. Only nine.”
“He's ten, Ryan,” I say softly. “Last November. You missed his party.”
“I did?”
“I invited you. You didn't come.”
Ryan goes quiet and when he finally speaks, he says, “Sorry. I'm saying that a lot tonight, aren't I? But I really am sorry.”
“Cory asked for you. About a million times.” A little fib, but I see that it hits home.
“What did you tell him?”
“I distracted him, same as I always do when his mind gets into a rut. Until he got over missing you.”
Ryan says, “Maybe I can come over on a weekend. When he's home.”
“Maybe.”
I think he's just saying that, and he won't really show up. I feel sad. The distance between us feels like an ocean. By now we're at Wade's car, so Jess, Joel, Ryan and I cram into the backseat. Wade turns on the radio and the others talk above the noise. But Ryan and I sit silent, our bodies shoved together, no warmth in the contact between us. No warmth at all.
