CHAPTER TWENTY | SUSPENSION
to remove a skater for more than one game.
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The track was so quiet you could hear a hairpin drop.
I feared that if I thought or breathed too loudly everyone would turn to me instead and remember I'd been the one to cause this mess in the first place, but maybe even that would be better than having Corinne be kicked out of the team.
The words were right there on the tip of my tongue, threatening to come out, and it was unfair not to tell the truth, that all of it was my fault, but I couldn't speak. Whenever I opened my mouth, I felt suffocated, with a fist around my neck, and all I could do was pathetically gasp for air as though I was drowning on dry land.
Corinne didn't look my way once. It shouldn't have mattered, not when there were more important things than my pride and my feelings at stake, but, somehow, it did. And it hurt.
"You can't do that," Kat protested, while Corinne had been rendered speechless. She wasn't blank faced, not like yesterday, which should be a pleasant change, but that didn't mean I wanted to watch her cry and beg to keep a spot that was hers by right. It was one thing to joke around her being the co-captain now that she had grown used to the idea, but completely losing her didn't feel funny at all. "You can't. She's our captain."
"Co-captain," Coach Fontaine corrected, like so many of us would have done not that long ago. "I've told you countless times no one is irreplaceable. If you're going to compromise this team's values or the possibility of it continuing to exist, you're out. Zero-tolerance policy."
"Suspend her, then," Marley suggested, hands balled into fists. "You can't just kick her from the team over this, especially when she has no history of getting in trouble. She has been our captain since freshman year and has carried us to victory ever since; you can't let a disagreement with our biggest rivals completely nullify all of that. You can't pretend Corinne hasn't done everything she could to make us succeed. Even if you think this was too serious for her to get away with just a warning or a slap on the wrist, don't kick her from the team. We need her."
"No, you need each other."
"Exactly, we need each other, which is why you can't do this to her. You can't do this to us."
"You'll become full captain. Is that not what you wanted?"
"Not like this, no! You're just being selfish!"
"This is my team, Marley, and I won't allow you to speak to me that way—"
"No, this is our team and our dream," Kat chimed in, voice echoing in the track. "You don't get to take it away from us. You don't get to do this to Corinne. That's your own daughter and you're ruining the rest of her senior year for nothing besides pettiness—"
Chaos ensued.
Everyone spoke up on Corinne's behalf, to the point where the words got mixed with each other and no one could tell what was being said anymore, but I never found the courage to say anything. I was scared that, if I were to open my mouth, I'd say something stupid that would worsen the situation, if that was even possible, and it almost looked like the team was managing to change Coach Fontaine's mind. Hadn't I ruined things for Corinne already?
Then, she looked at me. Though she was still silently weeping, I found the smallest sliver of hope in her eyes, like she believed there would be an unexpected change of scenario if I said something and showed Coach the team stood together. That should have been enough for me to gain courage and stand up for her, like she'd done for me and gotten herself in serious trouble over, but I couldn't.
She knew. She knew I couldn't say anything, but I needed to. I tried, but then she looked away from me, jaw clenched tight and sparkly eyes, and I lost my chance.
"Drew didn't even get in trouble," Amy pointed out. Though we knew she meant well, mentioning Drew around Corinne was like poking an open wound, but I wasn't one to talk about how desperately I wanted to avoid hurting her. "Why does Corinne get all the backlash for slapping someone once, and the men get away with everything else?"
"Whatever the football team does is none of my business," Coach replied, face flushed from all the arguing. It was only then that I finally noticed how similar she and Corinne were, especially in their looks, and part of me suspected all of this was hurting Coach as well. It was like staring at a miniature version of yourself going against everything you stood for and believed in, and it couldn't be easy, but it wasn't fair, either. "What my team does, is. Save the team unity for today's practice and the next bout. Corinne, get off the track."
Corinne acquiesced, exhaling through her mouth one final time, and took off her skates right then and there so it would be easier to leave the track and go get changed. Just when I thought she was taking it a lot better than I thought she would, she straightened her back and looked Coach straight in the eye.
"You're a terrible mother. I hope you know that."
"You always make things personal, Corinne. That's your problem. You need to emotionally detach yourself."
Corinne scoffed. "Now that's grand. First, you accuse me of not caring about the team. Now, you have an issue with me caring too much. Make up your mind, will you?"
"I have an issue with you devoting too much time and effort to things that don't matter. Had all this been done for the sake of the team, maybe I would have understood." Corinne shook her head, letting out a bitter laugh. "Since you'd rather be following your own selfish agenda instead of worrying about the future and the success of this team, you can go do that. We won't stand in your way anymore."
Corinne's eyes darted towards me, narrowed into slits. All I wanted to do was melt and fuse with the floor beneath my feet. "Right. I was selfish. I see." She picked up her skates, holding them close to her chest. "You know, people usually expect this kind of treatment coming from literally anyone else, not their own mother."
"I've always told you there wouldn't be any special treatment. Had this been anyone else—"
"Had this been anyone else, you wouldn't be trying to live vicariously through them because you're a cruel, miserable person with no one to call a friend. Kicking me from the team won't make any of that go away, but hey! Congratulations on making it to the playoffs. Too bad you had to lose a daughter to do so."
All of Corinne's composure had been tossed out by the time she finished that last sentence, but no one could blame her for being so venomous, especially not now and especially not me. She'd have to leave with her pipe dream and the gnawing, vicious feeling of disappointing the one person she had spent her entire life trying to impress instead of being treated with open hostility. So, when she took her final steps off the track, the ice in my joints locking me into place cracked and fell apart at my feet, and I slid across the floor to follow her.
All those insults and snide comments about my ice-skating background fell flat. It had taught me to be nimble and agile, to know exactly where and when to turn, and I was fast enough to dodge whoever tried to grab me and stubborn enough to ignore Coach's requests for me to stay put. Maybe I, too, would be cut from the team thanks to this disobedience, but there were more important things to me than this championship. All I needed was to prove that to Corinne.
Had this happened twenty-four hours ago, Corinne would have Drew by her side. Now, thanks to me, she had neither.
I'd come to Connecticut to complete my college degree and to support my brother through his recovery process. It all sounded like the most noble thing in the world, up until people realized just how selfish it was. I'd bitched and argued with my parents up until the very last moment, refusing to move to Connecticut because it would be an inconvenience, an obstacle to my professional goals. No amount of preaching about loving and wanting to protect Jordan would hide or mask my agenda. I was dying to go back to California, after all, but I couldn't leave him here.
Maybe his recovery was my own little project, and I was doing it to prove I could, to be able to tell people I had helped more than I had screwed him over.
Corinne was still in the locker room when I got there, emptying her locker, and she made no motion to acknowledge my presence. I wasn't scared of her—I'd never been, regardless of how intimidating she could be—but I also knew she didn't want me there. I wouldn't, either.
When she couldn't pretend I didn't exist anymore, she stopped, then turned her head to look at me. Her face was scrunched in anger, but, at least, she wasn't crying anymore. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry," I blurted out. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I was scared I'd make things worse if I tried to explain."
"Right. Because things could totally get any worse now, right?"
"You could have gotten suspended from college—"
"You'll soon find out not everyone who works here is nearly as irrational as my mother. She doesn't hold that much power over the Dean, contrary to what she might make you think. People don't get suspended or expelled from college because they slapped someone." She put on her coat. "Even so, it doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters, it's your education—"
"Like I care!" She slammed the locker shut, startling me, and the metallic sound echoed in the locker room. If the others at the track were wondering about how this conversation was going, the noise would be a great answer. Besides, I was still wearing my skates; if I got too startled, it wouldn't take much to make me lose my balance. "I was here to skate, and I don't get to do that anymore since this also means I'm banned from setting foot inside this place until graduation. I won't ever go pro as soon as teams find out I got kicked out of my college team. It's over. I'm not playing anymore. Do you think I care about my education right now? This is my life, Wren. This has been my whole life, and it's over."
I'd heard that exact speech before with disastrous consequences. That speech was the reason I was here and hearing those words come out of her mouth felt like a slap in the face, a reminder of how everything could turn out. Though Corinne and Jordan's situations were different, she, too, had no qualms about downing a bottle of vodka by herself and their home environments weren't the healthiest; if therapy sessions with Doctor Nguyen had taught me anything, was that dysfunctional family environments were Petri dishes for pathological conditions.
"Let me try to help you," I begged her, sliding forward when she backed away towards the exit. "Don't shut me out. Please."
"Just leave me alone," she asked. "You've done enough."
I reached out for her one last time, but she slipped right out of my fingers. Before I could exhale, she was gone.
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The world moved on, even without Corinne.
She didn't hang out with any of us anymore and it was rare to even set our sights on her, even those who took the same classes as her. She was like a ghost, barely there, but the hardest part was knowing that, even if we did manage to find her, she would never stay for long. I doubted she wanted to, anyway, as seeing us together was a bitter reminder of everything she had lost.
Though Marley had been doing a remarkable job as the sole team captain and our new pivot, it was not the same as having Corinne around. She knew that and didn't try to be Corinne's replacement, but there was a thin line between doing her best to keep things moving as normal and pretending like Corinne had never existed, which made her job a lot harder than it needed to be. Some of the girls expected her to fully mimic Corinne's style as captain and pivot, I wasn't sure, but I was thankful that Marley was choosing to do her own thing and thinking about what worked the best for all of us as a team as we tried to readjust to this new reality.
I wasn't dramatic to the point of saying missing Corinne felt like losing a limb, but it wasn't easy moving on with my life without her there. She wasn't dead, but she was treating me like she was, refusing to answer my calls or texts, and I wasn't ballsy enough to barge into her dorm room and force her to have a normal, adult conversation with me.
Overall, I missed her—I missed my friend Corinne, not just the girl I had feelings for. I'd even tried talking to Theo about it, as surely she'd understand where I was coming from and would have some comforting words to reassure me everything would be okay, but then I remembered just who I was talking to.
"Have you stopped to think she's hurting a lot more than you are?" Theo had proposed, flipping through a magazine, while I'd pretended not to see the half empty bottle of white wine next to her. "I know you're upset she's not talking to you, but she literally lost her boyfriend and her team within twenty-four hours. Even if you think you somehow caused this, there's a high chance none of this is about you and she just needs some time to herself. While you're all out there getting to play your little games and move forward on the championship, all she can do is think about how she should be there. And she isn't there."
"She's not there because I couldn't even defend myself properly," I'd argued. Kat, on her side of the room, rolled her eyes after hearing me say that for the hundredth time. "If I'd just walked away, she wouldn't have needed to get involved—"
"Did you ask her to?"
"No, but—"
"Did you ask her to slap someone?"
"No—"
"Then why are you blaming yourself for her getting kicked off the team?"
"Who am I supposed to blame, then? Corinne?"
"Blame your coach. She's the one making a mountain out of a molehill, isn't she? Slapping someone in self-defense doesn't go against any team's values. If anything, she's just using that as an excuse to punish Corinne." She'd then proceeded to refill her glass. Kat had shot me a 'I told you so' look, even though she was still mad I wasn't listening to her and had needed to call Theo to hear the exact same thing. "Like I said, it's not about you. You're blaming the wrong person."
"Then what do you suggest I do, o' wise one?"
"Give her space. She'll come back when she's ready."
Thus, I'd decided to do just that.
It was the last week of December classes now and there were no more matches before January, so all I had to worry about were my finals the following week. I was pulling all-nighters every other night, which forced Kat to do the same ("you're making me nervous," she'd say, "and I don't want to fail") and left me downright exhausted, but I still wanted to believe I was making some progress. I'd always been a good student with helpful study methods, something my parents could brag about, and I wasn't willing to tarnish my reputation.
That Friday, I sat in a comfortable chair inside the four grandiose walls of Woolsey Hall, waiting for the beginning of the Winter Showcase and Kat's performance. She had been talking about it all month—stressing about it, actually—and it would be my first time watching her perform in front of a crowd, not just me in the privacy of our room, so I hadn't hesitated to tag along. Most of the team was present, but we knew Corinne wouldn't be there, even if part of me expected—and hoped—she would show up for her best friend.
Kat herself looked radiant, wearing pumps, dress pants, and a buttoned black blazer with no shirt underneath, hair pulled back into a slick ponytail. She looked like the champion I knew she was, brighter than the sun, and I felt like a proud mother when I watched her step on that stage for the first of two performances—the cover first, then an original song.
After our slightly rocky start, when I was still too bitter about losing UCLA to care about her songwriting, I'd been dedicating time to reading the songs she'd let me see, including some I'd assumed were too personal for her to feel comfortable with sharing with anyone. The raw emotion and the vulnerability poured into the lyrics I'd read had me sobbing in my bed and I'd finally understood what she meant about being a storyteller first and a musician second. Before the music, she loved the words.
She sang Lorde's Supercut first, then her original song, Headlock, both earning her standing ovations and a generous bouquet of red roses from me. It was no surprise to anyone when she was crowned the winner of the Winter Showcase, which excused her from a few of her finals and significantly boosted her GPA, but those were far from being the best rewards. She thrived on acknowledgement and proper appraisal of her lyrics and melodies, not just what the song appeared to be at first glance.
"I know you guys want to go out and celebrate, but I'm beat," Kat told us, just as the girls were about to leave for the Christmas party at the sorority house. I wasn't in the mood for partying, either, unable to not think back to the last sorority party I'd attended and what had happened there. "You can go. I'm heading back to my dorm."
"Are you sure?" Marley asked. "This is your night."
"Yeah, don't worry about me. I'm ready for bed."
She laced her arm through mine as we left the hall, leading us to what I assumed was our room, but the door we stepped in front of wasn't ours.
I turned to her, still stunned by all of it. "Kat . . ."
"You should go talk to her," she replied. "She needs someone. I think you get her a lot better than I do."
"I don't want to leave you behind. This is your special night."
Kat smiled. "I know. We can celebrate tomorrow, just you and me, but you can try talking to her."
She walked off without ever giving me a chance to insist, as I'd had enough of pushing her away when she had been nothing but nice and considerate towards me ever since day one, and it wasn't fair of me to ditch her. I didn't want her to feel disposable or like someone I only reached out to as a last resort, but my actions weren't reflecting my intentions and I feared one day she'd stop forgiving me. I'd spent a long time taking people for granted—Jordan, Theo, even Corinne—and time would only take Kat away from me eventually.
I wouldn't abandon her again. Not like this.
With a heavy heart, I turned away from the door.
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what we're not going to do is treat kat like a sidekick. she's her own person with hopes and dreams and quirks and she has to be treated as such