no idea
how mad my dad will be, he’ll kill me, and Sadie must never know, she can’t know, it would kill her, and I think you’re wonderful,
and some really lucky guy will love you too someday, just please don’t tell. I thought maybe I could help you out with your
day-to-day expenses, you can get yourself a nice dress or something cool, we’re absolutely good friends, and I really meant
that kiss, I know that’s hard to believe now, but here’s some money, please don’t tell Sadie, please. And into Amelia’s hand
he pressed more money than she had ever seen in one place at one time. And now that money was supposed to be hers. In exchange
for silence.
Amelia didn’t tell—she wasn’t a snitch—but someone else
did
tell, and it wasn’t even about Wes, it was about another boy, but it didn’t matter because Wes thought Amelia had told, and
he intercepted her under the trees between class and his eyes looked shattered, like broken glass, and what he thought had
happened was what mattered, not what had actually happened. How could she have betrayed him? She couldn’t say, You’re not
really mad at
me
for betraying you, you’re mad at
him,
because he said he loved you, but all that time he was doing the same thing with someone else. Isn’t that right, isn’t that
really why you look so broken?
Instead Amelia said, I promise you, I didn’t tell anyone. I kept it a secret. I don’t want your money. Sadie doesn’t know.
He said, Who even cares if she knows now? She’ll know someday because I’m a fag. Amelia, I’m a fag.
Don’t say that.
I’ll say what I want to say. Don’t lie to me. Keep the fucking money.
Please. Here, take it.
That’s why you liked us so much in the first place, isn’t it? You wanted our money, and Jackson just wanted to love me. In
peace. Keep the money. It’s yours. You ruined my life and you made a bundle.
I didn’t say anything. I don’t want your money. I want to go home.
Then go.
The twang of the basketball on the Ponderosa Academy court brought Amelia to the window. The sound of the basketball, in itself,
was not what drew her. She knew this. She wanted to see the person attached to those hands that made the ball rise and fall.
In past years, she’d practiced the violin in her bedroom, facing away from the school, but ever since she’d heard that Victor
was the newfound hope for the Ponderosa team, she taken up practicing in the living room, which looked out over the court.
A part of her wished that her music might spill out into the open air and be heard by ears that weren’t her own. She wished
the delicacy and grace of her violin’s song would bring such a calm to her listeners that the basketball would fall from their
hands, the book bags from their shoulders, the pencils from their fingertips, and they would turn, slowly, to seek out the
music’s source. Victor would turn. He would see her up here, on the hill, in her father’s top-floor apartment, above the math
rooms, and he would want to know more.
Amelia wanted this badly, and she didn’t know exactly why. She and Victor hadn’t talked this whole week back at Ponderosa.
Except for that glance at the first morning assembly, he didn’t seem to notice she existed. Something gnawed at her, something
from that other time, when they had been children together. Something told her he didn’t like her. So why on earth would he
look at her? And why would it make her feel like this? Still, she pressed againstthe window, hoping to catch a glimpse of his lean body running after the ball.
A MELIA AMBLED DOWN the hill, wishing she’d brought a sweater. She could see them out there, on the flat macadam rectangle, lights on above them.
They were whooping already. The real game had begun. As she got closer, she noticed Lydia jumping up and down on the sidelines,
waiting to sub in. There was a group of girls sitting cross-legged on the grass, drinking in the long swoop of
how mad my dad will be, he’ll kill me, and Sadie must never know, she can’t know, it would kill her, and I think you’re wonderful,
and some really lucky guy will love you too someday, just please don’t tell. I thought maybe I could help you out with your
day-to-day expenses, you can get yourself a nice dress or something cool, we’re absolutely good friends, and I really meant
that kiss, I know that’s hard to believe now, but here’s some money, please don’t tell Sadie, please. And into Amelia’s hand
he pressed more money than she had ever seen in one place at one time. And now that money was supposed to be hers. In exchange
for silence.
Amelia didn’t tell—she wasn’t a snitch—but someone else
did
tell, and it wasn’t even about Wes, it was about another boy, but it didn’t matter because Wes thought Amelia had told, and
he intercepted her under the trees between class and his eyes looked shattered, like broken glass, and what he thought had
happened was what mattered, not what had actually happened. How could she have betrayed him? She couldn’t say, You’re not
really mad at
me
for betraying you, you’re mad at
him,
because he said he loved you, but all that time he was doing the same thing with someone else. Isn’t that right, isn’t that
really why you look so broken?
Instead Amelia said, I promise you, I didn’t tell anyone. I kept it a secret. I don’t want your money. Sadie doesn’t know.
He said, Who even cares if she knows now? She’ll know someday because I’m a fag. Amelia, I’m a fag.
Don’t say that.
I’ll say what I want to say. Don’t lie to me. Keep the fucking money.
Please. Here, take it.
That’s why you liked us so much in the first place, isn’t it? You wanted our money, and Jackson just wanted to love me. In
peace. Keep the money. It’s yours. You ruined my life and you made a bundle.
I didn’t say anything. I don’t want your money. I want to go home.
Then go.
The twang of the basketball on the Ponderosa Academy court brought Amelia to the window. The sound of the basketball, in itself,
was not what drew her. She knew this. She wanted to see the person attached to those hands that made the ball rise and fall.
In past years, she’d practiced the violin in her bedroom, facing away from the school, but ever since she’d heard that Victor
was the newfound hope for the Ponderosa team, she taken up practicing in the living room, which looked out over the court.
A part of her wished that her music might spill out into the open air and be heard by ears that weren’t her own. She wished
the delicacy and grace of her violin’s song would bring such a calm to her listeners that the basketball would fall from their
hands, the book bags from their shoulders, the pencils from their fingertips, and they would turn, slowly, to seek out the
music’s source. Victor would turn. He would see her up here, on the hill, in her father’s top-floor apartment, above the math
rooms, and he would want to know more.
Amelia wanted this badly, and she didn’t know exactly why. She and Victor hadn’t talked this whole week back at Ponderosa.
Except for that glance at the first morning assembly, he didn’t seem to notice she existed. Something gnawed at her, something
from that other time, when they had been children together. Something told her he didn’t like her. So why on earth would he
look at her? And why would it make her feel like this? Still, she pressed againstthe window, hoping to catch a glimpse of his lean body running after the ball.
A MELIA AMBLED DOWN the hill, wishing she’d brought a sweater. She could see them out there, on the flat macadam rectangle, lights on above them.
They were whooping already. The real game had begun. As she got closer, she noticed Lydia jumping up and down on the sidelines,
waiting to sub in. There was a group of girls sitting cross-legged on the grass, drinking in the long swoop of
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