Small Miracles

“T-minus two days until the BIG GAME,” Brady says loudly as he joins us at the lunch table. Will laughs and high fives him, but Nick merely stares at his sandwich and says nothing.

Savannah catches my eye and nods at him, as if to say, what’s his deal? I shrug. For the past week, everything about Nick has been sort of . . . off. Nothing major enough to give me a reason to confront him, but more like subtle, little shifts that I can’t help but notice. He’s quieter, more serious, slightly different from the cheerful, good-natured person he usually is.

I nudge him lightly. “What are you up to tonight?”

“I’ll be home alone, so probably just doing homework and watching TV,” he answers after a pause.

“Are your mom and dad going out?”

He nods. “My grandparents are in town, so they’re all going somewhere for dinner. Mariah’s visiting some college friends in San Antonio.”

“Oh. Do you want me to come over later? We can watch a movie or something, maybe order some pizza.” We’ve both been so busy, him with football and me with work, that we haven’t gotten the chance to actually hang out in a while.

Nick shrugs. “If you want to.”

“Oh, ‘order some pizza’? Is that what they’re calling it now?” Will asks, smirking. Brady snorts so hard his milk nearly comes out of his nose which, in turn, makes everyone else at the table laugh too. I roll my eyes, but Nick doesn’t even look up, continuing to pick at his food. An awkward silence follows. Will and Brady look baffled.

“Shut up, Will,” I say finally. He raises his eyebrows at me, but I shake my head slightly, letting him know not to push it.

When the bell rings and everyone gets up to go to class, I lag behind and wait for Nick. “Hey, are you okay?” I ask. “You were kinda quiet before.”

“I’m fine,” Nick says shortly. “Just tired, I guess.”

It’s not very believable, but I guess he does look exhausted. I decide to just let it go. “Oh. Are you sure you want me to come over? It’s fine if you want to sleep instead.”

“No, it’s cool.”

“Okay,” I say, a little uncertainly. “I’ll come by around seven?”

“Sure. I gotta go to class. I’ll see you.” I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t for him to just touch my arm before turning away, leaving me alone and slightly confused in the hallway.

▲ ▼ ▲

Around seven o’clock, I send Nick an on my way text. He doesn’t respond, but it doesn’t really bother me. I just assume that his phone is charging, or that he’s put it down somewhere.

I tried to chalk up Nick’s behavior earlier to being stressed over the game, since it is the day after tomorrow, after all. Maybe some movies and pizza will get his mind off of it.

His front door is open, so I walk in, expecting him to be sitting on the couch or at the kitchen table. But he’s not. “Nick?” I call, looking around. I go upstairs, thinking maybe he’s in his room. But he’s not.

Suddenly, I can hear noises coming from the bathroom. Moving closer, I strain to listen. I can hear coughing, and then something hitting the toilet. More coughing, gagging, retching, and then finally silence. I’m too startled to really do anything, trying to figure out what’s going on. Then the toilet flushes and the door opens and I’m face-to-face with Nick, who is wiping his mouth.

We stare at each other for a second, and I take in how pale and sweaty he looks. That, combined with what I just heard, makes something click in my brain.

“Were you just throwing up in there?” I demand.

“No,” he says instantly.

“Don’t lie to me. You look all white and shaky. You were, weren’t you?”

“I’m fine!” Nick insists.

“Did you or did you not just throw up?”

“Leave me alone.” He tries to move past me, but I block him. “Get out of my way!”

“Not until you answer me!”

“Okay, Jules, yes, I was throwing up. Are you happy now?” Nick says loudly.

“Why? Are you sick or something?”

“No! Sometimes it just happens to me on the days leading up to a game. When I get stressed I throw up. It’s nothing.”

“Do your mom and dad know this happens? Does Coach know? Do Will and Brady even know?”

“No, and don’t you go telling people!” Nick says furiously. “I’ll be fine. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“What’s on your mind that’s making you throw up?” In hindsight, it was a dumb question to ask.

“Oh, gee, I dunno Jules, maybe the fact that the most important game of my life is in less than 48 hours? That if I fail, I’ll let everyone down? That everyone is depending on me and everyone expects me to know what to do and if I don’t, I’m a bad captain and a bad player?”

“Nick,” is all I can think to say. “That’s not okay. You have to tell somebody, like your mom or your dad or —”

“No!” he practically yells. “Stop it! God, everything was fine before you got here! Why do you have to butt into stuff that’s not about you? Why do you have to ruin everything?”

I have to stop myself from screaming back. He’s just upset, the voice in my head reassures me. He’s stressed and he’s tired and you’re the only person here. He’s going to take it out on you. I know this, but it doesn’t make the words hurt any less.

“It’s okay to be scared for the game,” I say instead, trying to keep my voice level.

“I can’t be scared,” Nick answers. I’ve never heard him sound so anguished. “I can’t be scared, because then everyone else gets scared and then we fuck up and we lose. I have to be strong and I have to show everyone that I can do it because if I can’t then I fail, and I can’t fail, and I haven’t slept in so long because all I can think about is this game, and I can’t eat, and I’m just so tired.” His voice breaks on the last word, and with a jolt, I realize he’s in tears.

“Nick,” I say softly. “Nick, it’s okay.” He shakes his head and covers his eyes with his hands, not wanting to cry in front of me.

And for the first time, I understand why Dad left. The guilt and the shame and the pressure was too much, the need to make everyone happy and then fail was just too heavy. I’m still hurt and angry about it and I probably always will be, but now I understand it, the feeling of all of that weight crushing your shoulders.

I also realize now that Nick’s life is not what I thought it was. I always assumed that he had it easy, what with being the star football player, the resident Golden Boy. But now I see all of the pressure and expectations he has to live up to, how he always has to keep these insecurities bottled up for fear of letting everyone down. There’s always been a part of me that was jealous of Nick for how good his life was, but now that part is gone.

I’ve been standing in front of him for about 20 seconds now, not doing anything, so I go up to him and take his hands away from his face. “Hey, hey, hey,” I say gently. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“What if I’m not?” he says softly.

“You will be.”

I make him wipe his eyes, rinse out his mouth, and change into some comfortable clothes while I go downstairs to make us some dinner. I figure pizza is not really what he needs right now, so I decide to make us something else.

Nick comes downstairs to find me standing at his stove, overseeing a pot. “What are you doing?”

“Making dinner,” I answer. “We’re having soup.” I hold up a can of chicken soup that I found in his pantry.

“I don’t want soup.”

“Well, that sucks, because that’s what you’re having. You just threw up; you need something that will be easy on your stomach.”

He scowls, but takes a seat at the table. I stir the soup for a while, humming to myself before I realize that I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head. I turn and see him watching me.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just watching.”

“Like what you see?” I try to joke.

“I’d like it better if soup wasn’t involved.”

“Too bad.” It’s ready by now, so I pour it into two bowls, make some toast, and bring them over to Nick. “And before you ask, no, you can’t put butter on your toast.”

He makes a face. I smile sweetly before taking a few bites. It’s canned soup, so it’s not great, but it’ll do. I look up and notice Nick still isn’t eating, just stirring it around with his spoon. “Do you still feel sick?” I ask, concerned. He shakes his head. “Then what is it?”

Nick shrugs with a sigh. “I dunno.”

I put my spoon down and go over to him, sitting down in his lap. “You’re gonna be okay.”

He absently leans his head into the crook of my neck. “How do you know?”

“Please. You think I’d let anything bad happen to you? Ever?” I can feel him smile, so I continue. “No one will be mad at you. No matter what happens, all you’ve done this season is prove that you’re the best quarterback and captain in the entire universe. And I’ll always be so proud of you for that. And so will the people who really matter. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Well, go on. Eat up.” We eat our soup in amicable silence. Nick eats slowly, but he finishes the entire bowl, so that’s a start. We go into the TV room after that and decide to watch a movie.

We only get about halfway through it until he starts yawning. It’s getting late and Nick is about three seconds away from passing out. “Go to sleep,” I say. “You need it.”

“I can’t,” he mumbles. “I gotta do my homework.”

“How much have you done already?”

“AP Bio and Spanish,” Nick says, rubbing his eyes.

“Skip the rest,” I say, something very out of character for me. Nick blinks at me.

“What?”

“Look, all of the teachers know the game is soon. They know you’ve got other stuff to worry about. You’re a good student, just forget the homework and go to sleep.”

“What do I say when Mrs. Tobin asks me why I didn’t do my homework? That I had a mental breakdown and couldn’t finish it?”

“Yeah, why not? That’ll get her to shut the fuck up.”

Nick frowns at me, but I can tell he’s too tired to argue. Finally, he props a pillow up against my shoulder and lays down, closing his eyes. “You’re the best,” he mumbles. “Don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

“Hopefully you never have to find out,” I say quietly. I stiffen as soon as I say it, sure that what I’ve just implied was too much, but Nick merely smiles and is asleep seconds later. I watch the movie, vaguely listening to Nick’s quiet breathing in the background as he sleeps.

I don’t realize how much time has passed until suddenly the front door opens and Mr. and Mrs. Kingston come strolling in. “Nick?” Mrs. Kingston says, clearly hearing the TV. “We’re —” She stops short once she sees me.

I go to stand up, feeling a little sick, but pause once I realize that I’ll disturb Nick if I do. “Um, hi,” I say meekly.

“Julianna,” Mrs. Kingston says stiffly. “I didn’t know you’d be here. Nick didn’t tell us you were coming over.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry. He, um, didn’t want to be by himself so I just stopped by.” She says nothing, clearly not believing me.

“Amy?” Mr. Kingston calls. He comes into the room, but, just like his wife, stops once he sees me. “Oh. Hello, Julianna.” His eyes dart from me to Nick, who is peacefully asleep, leaving me to deal with them alone. Both of their gazes rest heavily on me, and I feel my face burning. The fact that I don’t know Nick’s parents that well yet isn’t really helping.

“Nothing happened, I swear,” I say quickly. “Please don’t wake him up. He’s really tired and really stressed about the game. I, um —” I hesitate before going on. “I caught him throwing up when I came over.”

Their eyes widen. “You what?” Mrs. Kingston says. Her voice is loud, and I glance at Nick again. Carefully, I lift his head off of me before propping another pillow up under him, so his head is still slightly elevated, before standing and going over to them.

Quietly, I explain what went on tonight: Nick throwing up and then breaking down. By the time I’m done, Mr. Kingston looks stricken and Mrs. Kingston is almost in tears.

“We — you have to believe us, we had no idea,” she says. “He never tells us anything, he’s always acted like he was fine —”

“He feels like he has to,” I explain, beginning to feel like a psychologist. “He feels like everyone is depending on him to be fine, and if he lets it slip that he’s not, it’ll mess everything up and he’ll lose the game.”

“That makes no sense!” Mrs. Kingston exclaims.

I shrug. “I mean, it kind of does. It’s what happened to my dad, isn’t it?” That startles them both out of their emotional states. I avoid their eyes as I keep talking. “He had a lot of pressure on him, and when he failed, he felt like he let everyone down. He couldn’t take it, and . . . you know. He left. I guess Nick doesn’t want that to happen again.”

“My boy,” Mrs. Kingston says softly. “Dealing with that all by himself. We would never blame him if they lost. Not at all.”

“I know,” I agree. “Can you just, um, not tell him I told you all of this? He was really upset when I saw him.”

“Of course,” Mr. Kingston promises. It’s the first time he’s spoken in a while.

It’s pretty late, and I know Mom must be wondering where I am. “I should go,” I say awkwardly. “My mom’s probably worried about me.”

“Right,” Mrs. Kingston agrees immediately. “Yes.” She steps forward and hugs me, to my surprise. “Thank you so much, Jules,” she whispers. “He’s so lucky he has you here.”

I can’t think of anything to say, so I just smile and hug her back. “I’ll walk you out,” Mr. Kingston says. Mrs. Kingston leaves the room, presumably to go check on Nick, and Mr. Kingston leads me to the door.

He opens it, but not quite all the way. “Thank you for telling us,” he says. “You know we love Nick, and we never want him to feel like he can’t tell us about the pressure he’s under. I’ve seen too many great football players suffer through that. Great coaches too.” He hesitates. “What happened with your father wasn’t his fault.”

The situation is a little too complex to be put into one simple, definite sentence like that, but I understand what he’s trying to say. “Thank you,” I say. “Have a good night, sir.”

▲ ▼ ▲

The next morning, Nick doesn’t come to pick me up. I’m lucky he usually shows up early, because then I have time to text Savannah and ask for a ride. “Where’s Nick?” Savannah asks when I get into her car. “I thought he usually gives you rides.”

“He does,” I answer. “But he didn’t show up today, and he didn’t text me either, so.”

“Huh. Weird.” Savannah pauses. “Is he okay? He seemed really, um, off yesterday.”

I try to think of a good but honest answer. “Yeah. He’s got a lot on his plate right now, but he’ll be okay.”

Nick doesn’t show up to first or second period, and I’m beginning to get a little concerned. Finally, I send him a text.

You alive???

He responds about ten minutes later.

Yeah. Comin in late

I feel a little more relieved at that. Sure enough, when I go to my locker before lunch, he’s there waiting for me. I’ll be honest, I’m a little surprised at how put-together he looks. He’s got his football jersey on in honor of tomorrow, just like the rest of the guys. He doesn’t see me as I approach, busy staring at his phone. “Hey,” I say cautiously.

He looks up. “Hey.” A beat passes as neither of us say anything. I can tell he still feels weird about last night.

“How are you?” I ask.

“Good. You?”

“Good. Why’d you come in late?”

He makes a face. “I spent the night on the couch, so my alarm didn’t wake me up, and then my mom let me sleep in anyway.”

“Really,” I say, trying to sound surprised.

He shrugs. “Yeah. What time did you leave last night? Did they catch you?”

“I left once the movie ended,” I lie. “They must’ve gotten home after.”

“Guess so. I must’ve knocked out, huh?”

“Yeah, you did,” I agree. “Do you, um, feel better?”

Nick nods, suddenly looking a little shy. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Look, about what happened . . . I’m sorry. I’m really embarrassed about it and whatever.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “Why are you sorry? And why are you embarrassed?”

He shrugs uncomfortably. “I dunno. I didn’t mean for you to see any of that, me freaking out and stuff. I was just having a bad night.”

“Nick,” I say quietly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel bad about it. How many times have you calmed me down when I’m in the middle of freaking out?”

He laughs a little. “A couple.”

“More than a couple,” I correct him. “Everybody has moments like that. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.” He nods, and I can tell that the conversation is over. I shut my locker. “Ready for lunch?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” We start to walk towards the cafeteria together. Suddenly, so quick I’m not even sure it happened, Nick grabs my hand, squeezes for a moment, and then lets go. I glance over at him, but he’s looking straight ahead, a small smile on his face. I smile too, and in that moment, I feel like we understand each other perfectly.

▲ ▼ ▲

That night, I’m in my room finishing up some homework. Even though it’s Friday night, nobody is out partying. The atmosphere in the entire town is tense.

There was a big pep rally at school today in honor of the game; the cheerleaders and dance team and marching band did a big routine and the football players came out to loud cheers and applause. Will, one of the captains, made a speech about how hard the boys have worked this season and reminding everyone to come support them tomorrow, not that anyone needed a reminder anyway. I barely listened to it, instead focusing on Nick, who was standing next to him. He had a vacant look in his eyes the entire time Will was speaking. Normally I would dismiss it as Nick just zoning out, but I could tell this time he was nervous.

“You should go to bed,” Mom told me when I mentioned I was going to stay up and do some homework. “You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ll only be up for a few more minutes.”

I said that an hour ago. It’s nearly midnight, and the whole house is quiet. I wonder how Mom feels about the game, if she’s even going to watch it.

My thoughts are interrupted by my phone buzzing. It’s Nick.

You awake?

I frown. If I should be sleeping then he definitely should be too. I think about not answering, but decide against it.

Yeah. What’s up?

Can you come over?

It’s late

Pleeeeeeeeeeease

I sigh. I know I should tell him to go to sleep and leave me alone, but I’ve never been good at saying no to him. I put on my shoes and a sweatshirt before quietly tip-toeing down the stairs and out the door.

The air is cool and fresh, and I feel a weird sense of peace wash over me as I walk through the streets. There’s no cars, no people, no noise. It almost feels like time has stopped in this tiny town.

As I approach Nick’s house, I can hear him before I see him. “And yet another fantastic touchdown thrown by Kingston! What a player, what a player . . .”

He’s throwing into an old tire hanging from the tree in his front yard, a net of footballs at his feet. For a second, I just lean against a tree and watch him as he practices, occasionally making comments disguised as an announcer. He pauses and checks his phone, and I feel my stomach jump as I realize he’s looking for a text from me.

I let him do it two more times before I decide to reveal myself. “Not bad, QB,” I say casually, making him jump a mile.

“Holy shit,” he says, putting a hand on his heart, “you scared me. When did you get here?”

“Just now,” I lie, because I’m afraid that if I let him know I saw him talking to himself and cheering himself on he’ll stop doing it, and I don’t ever want that. “What are you doing?”

“Throwing,” he says, and launches a football as if to prove it. I watch as it goes into the center of the tire, hitting the tree and bouncing onto the sidewalk with the force of his throw.

“Show Off,” I comment, and he grins. “It’s late. You should be sleeping.”

“Can’t sleep,” Nick says. “Too much on my mind.”

“The game?” I ask. He nods. “I told you,” I say, going over to him and standing in front of him so he can’t throw anymore, “you’re going to be great. Whether you win or not.”

He sighs. “I know. No offense, but it hasn’t really helped that much.”

“None taken,” I tell him. “I get it. Come on, let’s sit.” I take his hand and lead him to the porch swing he has and force him to sit down. He obeys, a little reluctantly. “Remember the last time me and you were on a porch swing together?” I ask, settling down next to him.

He smiles a little, putting his arm around me as I lean my head on his shoulder. “Yeah. At Brady’s party.”

“Yup. There was a tiny breeze and you ripped off your shirt and insisted I wear it.”

“Excuse me. If I recall correctly, it was a mighty gust of wind and I, a gentleman who was concerned for your health, took off my flannel, not my entire shirt, and offered it to you. And while I’m still recalling correctly, you didn’t say no.”

“I’ll admit it was comfortable,” I say. “And you looked good in just that white t-shirt.”

“Did I?” I don’t even need to look up at him to know he’s preening.

“Yes.”

“Admit it,” Nick says. “That was the night you fell madly in love with me.”

“You wish.”

“You did,” Nick says decisively. “You did like me then and you didn’t even know it.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I say, even though he’s right. We sit in companionable silence for a while and even though I don’t want to ruin the good mood, I say, “Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

I hesitate. “What happens if you lose tomorrow? Not that I don’t have any faith in you,” I add quickly, “but, like . . . what if?”

Nick is silent, and I’m afraid I got in his head again. At last, he says, “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I guess we just kinda . . . move on.” He sounds confused, like he’s not sure what he means. “I know the underclassmen have a few more years to keep trying. But the seniors I guess will just have to accept it and be done.”

“You won’t, like. Leave. Will you?” I ask before I can stop myself. It’s stupid and I know it, since Nick is seventeen and lives with his parents and has nowhere else to go, but I can’t help it.

He must be thinking the same thing, but to his credit he merely says, “No. I won’t leave. I promise.”

I believe him. “Okay.” We sit there for a little longer until I start to yawn.

“Now who’s tired?” he asks.

“Yeah, yeah. What time do you leave tomorrow? I want to come see you off.”

“You’re not comin’ to this one, are you?” he says abruptly.

I chew my lip before looking up at him, but he doesn’t seem upset or angry. “No. I don’t think so,” I say finally. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Nick says. When I raise my eyebrows, he adds, “No, really. I get it. It’s the championship game, I know why it’s hard for you.”

“So you’re not mad?” I say skeptically.

“No. Of course not. I’ll probably warm up at the football field before everyone else gets there if you want to come see me then. Around six.”

“Six?” I repeat. “Jesus, that’s early.”

“The grind never stops, Jules,” Nick says, grinning when I roll my eyes. “I guess you don’t want to support your superstar boyfriend on the most important day of his life.”

“Aren’t there ways to support you other than waking up at the buttcrack of dawn?” I grumble.

“Well, a blowjob never hurt.”

“You wish. Fine, I’ll come, but I’m bringing coffee. What do you like in yours?”

“Cream and sugar,” Nick says, beginning to yawn himself. “I guess I should go to sleep then.”

“Good idea,” I agree. We stand up and I give him a big hug. “Just think, by this time tomorrow it’ll all be over.”

“Shit,” Nick says. “You’re right. Wow.” He shakes his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for coming over.”

“No problem.” I give him a quick kiss before pulling away. He tries to lean down for another one, but I put a hand on his chest to stop him. “Win the game tomorrow and you’ll get some more.”

“Tease,” Nick grumbles, so I laugh and kiss him again. “Good night.”

“Good night.” I walk home and quietly sneak back into my house. Everything is still dark, so I assume Mom and James are still asleep. I go into my room and shut the door, turning my light out and sprawling on my bed.

It’s strange to think how different my life was this time last year. Nick was just another guy in my grade and Dad was still here. I never would’ve believed that my entire life could change completely over a stupid football game, but I guess fate and whatever is funny that way.

I don’t really pray much anymore, but I send a quick one up to God before I go to sleep. Please let them win. I don’t want to know what will happen if we lose this one.