Small Miracles

I call Savannah the next morning. “I have an emergency,” I say from where I’m hiding under my covers.

She sounds alarmed. “What? Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.” I swallow. “It’s sort of a boy emergency.”

She’s silent, and for a minute I think she’s hung up on me. Then, she says, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

I instantly know I’ve made the wrong decision. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

“I won’t.” Now she sounds like she’s trying not to laugh. “Look, okay, I’ll be over in a few minutes. Try not to die.”

“Trying.” I hang up and let out a loud groan. The diner opens later on Sundays, so Mom is still here, and I hear her moving around downstairs, talking to James, but not once has she come up to see if I’m at least alive or something. I know I was unfair to her yesterday, but still.

I hear a car pull up in the driveway, and then Savannah’s voice downstairs. She’s loud even when she’s speaking normally, so I hear every word she says. “Hi, Mrs. C!”

“Well hi, Savannah. How are you?”

“I’m wonderful, thanks, and you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Are you looking for Julianna? She’s right upstairs; here, take up these muffins. She hasn’t eaten yet.”

“Okay, thank you!” I hear Savannah start towards the stairs.

“No problem, honey. Maybe now that you’re here she’ll stop feeling so sorry for herself.” Mom raises her voice even more, making sure I can definitely hear her. I feel my face burn, not because I’m angry at her, but because I’m angry at myself, because I know she’s right.

There’s footsteps coming up the stairs and then Savannah is barging in, holding a plate of Mom’s blueberry muffins and two glasses of milk. “Hey,” she says. “I’m here.”

“I realized that,” I grumble, sitting up in bed.

“Well hello to you too, grumpypants,” Savannah says teasingly. She sits down in my desk chair and swivels in a circle. “Now, tell Auntie Vanna what’s on your mind.”

“Does Nick like me?”

“Nick who?” she asks innocently, picking a piece off of the muffin and eating it.

“You know who.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Do I even need to answer that question?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Apparently I do.” She sighs. “Yes, you idiot. Nick’s been dumb for you since, like, freshman year.”

My mouth goes dry. “Freshman year?” I think back to then, to the team barbecue my parents hosted, where Nick brought my mom flowers and threw up in the grass when my dad gave him a wine cooler. He hadn’t stood out to me very much then; just somebody I’d vaguely known for my whole life. Of course, then my dad put him in the first varsity game, causing a huge uproar, and we all realized that this kid was good, really, really good.

Savannah shakes her head. “God, you’re really stupid, aren’t you? Literally half the football team thinks you’re hot. Maybe even more.”

“They do?” I probably did not need to know that, and thinking about it makes me feel weird. “Like who?”

“Ethan Moore, for one thing,” and okay, I really did not need to know that.

“But Ethan’s so mean to me,” I say, confused.

“Jesus Christ, Julianna. He’s a boy, boys don’t know how to show affection properly, so they do dumb shit like that! It doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s usually what it means.”

“Whatever. The point is, Nick likes you a lot. What are you going to do about it?”

“But . . . I was really awful to him for a while,” I say, even more confused. If someone I liked was terrible to me every single day and blamed me for something that wasn’t even my fault, I’d probably (no, definitely) give up on them.

“Okay, scratch that. Nick loves you a lot.”

“No, no, no,” I shake my head. “Not making it better. Stop.”

She shrugs. “You asked me, Jules, and I’m telling you the truth. And this might be hard for you to hear, but I’m pretty sure you like him too. And in order for something to happen, you need to stop connecting Nick being quarterback with your father leaving your family.”

Her words sting, and I flinch a little. “I’m sorry,” she says, a little softer. “But you can’t blame Nick for something he didn’t do. None of that is his fault.”

“I know,” I mumble.

She sighs again and moves forward, offering me a muffin. I take it reluctantly and eat it. “What do I do now?” I ask finally.

She hums thoughtfully. “Well. It’s entirely your call. You can tell him how you feel, or you can do nothing.”

“I don’t want to do nothing,” I say. “But I’m just not ready yet.”

“That’s okay,” Savannah assures me. “You just have to tell him that. Communication is key, Jem. Romeo and Juliet died because of lack of communication.”

“I’m pretty sure they died due to poison and a knife.”

“Yes, and it’s all because Juliet thought Romeo was dead even though he wasn’t, and Romeo wrongly assumed she knew he was alive when she didn’t. Also because they got married after knowing each other for like, a day, and they were only like, thirteen and sixteen. But that’s not the point.”

“Okay, okay. You’re right.” I sigh. “Thanks, Sav.”

“Hey, it’s what friends are for,” she says. “Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” I say. I know what I have to do.

▲ ▼ ▲

Sterling is a small town, so it’s pretty easy to find Nick. I walk for a few minutes before I see him sitting on the curb outside of the corner store, a huge slurpee in his hand. He’s sucking on it absently. There’s a plastic bag next to him.

I stop and strongly consider turning and going the other way, but I googled “how to be brave” before and while there were no results that were particularly helpful I know this is something I need to do.

So I walk towards him and stand in front of him, waiting until he looks up at me, squinting against the sun. “Hey,” he says finally.

“Hi.”

“I’m having a slurpee,” he says, like it’s not obvious.

“Cool. Can I sit?”

“Uh, sure.” He moves over and I sit down next to him. We don’t say anything at first, but then he reaches into the plastic bag and goes, “You want a candy bar?” He pulls out a Kit Kat and offers it to me.

“No.” I take it anyway and we sit in silence for a little more before finally, I swallow and say, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For last night. I didn’t mean to, like, run away like that. It was just . . . I don’t know.” I unwrap the candy bar for lack of anything else to do. It’s a little melty, but still good.

“It’s okay. I mean, what I did was weird. I went home and I was like, fuck, what you did was weird. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable or anything. I wasn’t trying to do that.” He looks so earnest and I backtrack, feeling bad.

“No, no, it’s okay. I wasn’t uncomfortable. Just . . . surprised.” I chew my lip. “Um. I know you like me.”

For half a second I’m afraid Nick is going to laugh in my face and deny it. Me? Like you ?! You’ve got to be kidding! You’re just a charity case, that’s all. Don’t get so full of yourself.

But he just nods, staring at his feet. “Okay.” Before I can continue, he says, “I know you don’t like me, but I don’t want things to be weird now. If that’s possible. Because, you know, I see you in school and we work together. But if it’s not I understand.”

“I didn’t say I don’t like you back,” I say before I can stop myself. Now he looks at me, eyes wide. “I mean, I’m not really sure of anything right now. I just need some time to figure things out.”

“Figure things out,” he repeats, but not in a mean way; in a way like he’s trying to understand.

“Yeah. Everything’s just been so . . . you know . . . with my dad and all. And I’m just really not ready for anything right now. It’s not a rejection,” I add quickly, “it’s just a . . . postponement.”

Nick’s got that dopey grin on his face. “A postponement.”

“Yes.”

“Well, all right. I can deal with that.”

We sit in silence again for a bit before I say, “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I always thought you were a jerk.”

“Me?” He looks surprised. “Why?”

I shrug, now uncomfortable. “I don’t know . . . I just did. I assumed that because everyone worshipped you here, you thought you were some big-shot cool guy. I was wrong about that, and, um . . . yeah. I’m sorry.”

Nick looks thoughtful. “It can be kind of weird sometimes, you know, being that person. Everyone gives me free passes and tells me how cool I am, but it’s just . . . weird, I guess. I kind of wish it never happened, because I’d like to be normal again.”

That makes me feel even worse, if possible. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I’d rather have you hate me than worship the ground I walk on, I guess.” He chews his lip. “Can I ask you something?”

I have a feeling I know what’s coming. “Okay.”

“Why did you hate me? What did I do?”

I think about diverting the question or even lying, but in the end, decide not to. “You didn’t do anything,” I say finally. “You just . . . remind me of my dad.”

Nick furrows his eyebrows. “Your dad? Why?”

“I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “You’re just . . . he was the one who ‘discovered’ you, you know? He made you who you are today. And every time I see you I think of him. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

Nick looks down at his hands, almost like he’s expecting to see my dad’s instead of his. “So yeah,” I finish lamely. “That’s why.”

“Shit,” Nick says at last. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, why would you?”

“I know, but it all makes sense now. I should’ve seen it, and I should’ve respected that. I’m really sorry. I’m sorry he walked out on you, too. I never got to tell you that.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say quietly.

“It’s not yours either.” I shrug, and his eyebrows furrow. “You know that, don’t you? What happened has nothing to do with you.”

“I mean, I guess. Doesn’t feel that way.”

“What could you have done, Jules?” Nick asks. “It was a football game.”

“It wasn’t just a football game,” I say, my voice getting a little louder. “It was the championship. If we’d won that, we’d have been state champs. And he told everyone we would.” I pause. “My mom told him not to, you know. She said bragging over something that wasn’t a sure thing was dangerous. And all he said was, ‘It is a sure thing, or else I wouldn’t be bragging about it.’ He was wrong.”

I can remember it all so clearly. When we won the semi-finals, when the team was busy hugging and yelling because they were going to the championships, Dad looked into the cameras pointed at him and shouted, “If you’re watching this back home, I promise you, next time you see us we’ll be taking home the trophy!” The reporters had laughed and asked him how he could be so confident, but all Dad did was shake his head and say it over and over.

On the day of the championships, Mom, James, and I, along with some other team moms, watched the TV as the Sterling Falcons were crushed, nearly from the minute the game started. When it was over, the camera zoomed in on the team as they trudged off the field towards Dad, who looked stricken, like he couldn’t believe he’d just witnessed it all. Back at home, in my living room, no one said a word.

But everyone was angry. We lived in a town where football was taken just as seriously as church, and losing the championships after we’d been so vehemently promised a win was like insulting the Bible. And my family, which at one point was like royalty in Sterling, was now a joke.

Mom and I tried to get back on our feet, go back to work and school and try to ignore the glares thrown our way. My house only got egged three times, and a few times my books would get slapped out of my hands in the hallway, or I’d get tripped walking to my seat, but I just held my head up and pushed through it.

Dad was the only one who couldn’t seem to do that. He didn’t even like leaving the house, which only made rumors about him continue. He spent most of his time up in his room, rarely coming down for dinner or anything. Mom just told James and I that he was having a hard time accepting the loss and that he’d be better soon, so we believed her.

But one morning in May, a Thursday, about a month before school ended, I went downstairs to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table, still in her bathrobe, clutching a cup of coffee so tightly I thought the mug would break.

“What are you doing?” I asked. “Don’t you have to open the diner?”

She looked up, but it was like she was looking through me, not at me. “Your father left,” she said.

I didn’t get it at first. “What do you mean? Like grocery shopping? Because you went yesterday.”

“No, honey. He left for real.”

And when he left, he took everything with him. His razor, his toothbrush, even his shaving cream. The only thing he left behind was his Sterling Falcons apparel, from the jacket to the sweatpants to the hat. All of this was folded up neatly when I opened his otherwise bare closet.

In fact, the only other things he left besides those clothes were four pictures from his wallet: one of me, one of Jase, one of James, and one of Mom. All stacked neatly on his nightstand. He didn’t even say good-bye.

“I know, Jules,” Nick says, his voice bringing me back to the present. “Believe me, I know how important that game was. But tell me one thing you could’ve done to change it, to make it so he hadn’t left.”

I shrug. “I could’ve stopped him.”

“How? What would you have done, blocked the door? Stayed up all night to make sure he couldn’t leave?” When I don’t answer, he asks, “Is that why you don’t go to football games?”

“Football is not my thing anymore.”

“It used to be.”

“Well, it’s not,” I say, and my voice sounds dangerously close to cracking. He must hear it too, because he stands.

“I should go. But I’ll see you around, okay?” I nod, and he pauses before he grins a little. “Who woulda ever thought, huh Jules?”

“Thought what, exactly?” I say, although I know what’s coming.

“That you like me.” His grin gets wider until it’s his usual dopey one.

“Don’t get cocky,” I warn, although I’m starting to smile too. “It’s not a sure thing.”

He cackles as he walks away. “Not yet, anyway.”