My (Not So) Perfect Plan (Believe In Us #2)

SEVEN

EVAN

Saturday crawls by. I’m so pumped I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin, which has me wanting to dance around. Really not a good feeling when one is on bed rest for hours at a time. Throughout the day I text Claire meaningless texts related to whatever I’m doing at the moment. Sometimes it’s trivia that she invariably doesn’t know the answer to. Sometimes it’s to complain about my exercises, in which case she tells me to stop being a pansy or she’ll have to come over and force me to watch chick flicks with her. I almost wish she would.

I’m excited for Tina’s party though. I have to remind mom that she already agreed that I could go when I come out of my room. I’m stuck with the single wardrobe item of athletic shorts on the bottom, so my shirts match the theme. Derek is picking me up on his way over to Tina’s. I would’ve asked Jaxon, just because he’s my best bro, but he’s spending the evening with Rachel.

I’m waiting in the driveway in my wheelchair when Derek pulls up in the new Dodge Charger his parents gave him for his birthday.

“Sweet ride, man.”

He thanks me and then asks if I have an extra disabled parking permit.

“No,” I say, trying not to get pissed off at him even asking. Does he think my injury is a friggin’ joke?

“Come on, man. Don’t be a tightwad.”

“Are we going or not?” I ask him. I roll my chair over to the back of his car so we can get the wheel chair inside.

“I don’t think Tina’s house has wheel chair access. You should just bring your crutches.”

I hadn’t wanted to because it seemed like swaying on a pair of crutches could be dangerous, but I hadn’t accounted for the obvious.

“You want to grab them from the step? My mom leaned them up next to the door,” I point. He heaves a sigh like he’s being put out. I want to ask him what his problem is, but I already know and am regretting having asked him for a ride. I never realized how much of a jackhole he was before. My mind goes to Claire who has been there for me whenever she could be.

“Where’s your girlfriend? Isn’t she supposed to babysit you or something?” Derek asks when we get on the road. If he was joking I would slug him in the shoulder and that would be the end of it, but he’s not.

“What’s your problem, Derek?”

“I don’t know,” he scratches his jaw with one hand. “Seems like you should just give it up, you know. I mean, you’re not on the team anymore. I know you were the quarterback, which is why it made sense for you to take so much of the spot light. And it sucks what happened to you, but you know, your time is done. You should, like, go quietly into that good night or whatever.”

I can’t even believe what he’s saying at first, but then I’m so angry I’m trembling. What am I? Like a non-entity just because I was injured? So much for team loyalty. I want to punch his smug face and keep on punching, but I can’t because he’s driving and doing me a favor. So I eat it instead, determined that I’ll find a different ride home. Maybe coming to this party was a mistake. Maybe they all think that way. I guess I will find out.

When we pull up, he doesn’t bother seeing if I need help with my crutches before he heads up to the house. Apparently, I just need to be grateful he offered me a ride. Note to self, Evan: Whatever you might have thought before, you and Derek are definitely not friends.

There are a group of girls on the front porch, drinks in hand and they watch me as I struggle to get out of the car smoothly. It’s actually less difficult for me to get in and out of my truck without hurting my leg than it is to get in and out of the charger.

I want to curse as one of the crutches slides to the ground, two different times. I hear titters and feel like an even bigger fool, but I smile at them anyway and play it off because I know the worst thing anyone can do with these people is to give them the satisfaction of knowing that their laughter is making you uncomfortable.

“Oh, sure! Laugh at the cripple, why don’t you?” I holler. They laugh and once I actually get to my feet they cheer and I do as much of a flourishing bow as the crutches will allow.

“We didn’t think you were gonna make it,” Tina purrs when I’m at the bottom of the porch steps.

“Seems like you’d offer to help me if you actually thought that,” I say.

She smiles at me cruelly. “Why would we do that when it’s so much more fun to watch you almost fall on your face?”

I’m taken aback by the malice in her voice and words.

“Thank you, Tina. At least I know where we stand,” I say without giving anything away.

She cocks her head, as if trying to decipher my words.

“Where’s your ‘girlfriend’?” she asks, making air quotes. Her friends shift closer, their eyes fastening on us like vultures.

“You dumped her didn’t you?” Tina says, triumph in her voice. “I told you she wasn’t your type, Carmichael. You need a real woman.”

She comes closer and trails a finger down my chest. She has no idea how disgusted I am.

“Like you?” I ask.

She goes up on her toes, skimming my chest with her bust as she does so and wraps her arms around my neck.

“Exactly like me,” she purrs in my ear. My mind is repulsed by her cloying, sweet perfume, and the blatant sexuality she wields like a club. Unlike Claire, there is no restraint, no subtlety, no allure or mystique. It’s all out there for anyone, or anyone popular, wealthy, or good looking, to take advantage of. I barely register the fact that a car has stopped in front of her house. I find myself feeling sad for her because she’s going through life giving away pieces of herself and she doesn’t even know it. The car peels away with a screech. I have no doubt that Tina wants to be loved, just like any other girl if I’m being truthful. She’s just going about it all wrong.

I’m on my crutches so I can’t really push her arms off, but I do step back, forcing her arms off my neck.

“Sorry, Tina. Not interested,” I say gently.

Hurt spreads through her eyes before they harden and she turns away from me with a sneer. “That’s okay, Carmichael. I wanted to give you one more chance, but you obviously don’t deserve me if you’re choosing a fugly goody two shoes over me.”

“It’s a shame.” She yawns delicately with her manicured nails covering her mouth. “We really could have been something.”

She turns her back to me indicating that this chat is over, and I slump with relief. I make my way inside and am about to head over to the drinks table when my phone vibrates and dings, letting me know I have a text. I sit down on a reclining part of the sectional sofa and prop up my leg. It’ll be a miracle if my leg doesn’t get hit by someone tripping and falling on it tonight. I pull out my phone.

CLAIRE: Hey. I just thought of this, but if you’re on a painkiller, make sure you don’t drink anything alcoholic.

I smile to myself.

EVAN: So you do care!

CLAIRE: Of course I care. What made you think I didn’t?

Um, how about turning me down time and again? I could say that, but I don’t want to ruin the one high light of my night.

EVAN: Nothing. I’m glad.

EVAN: Wish you were here with me.

CLAIRE: Why?

So I can put my around you, flirt with you, maybe kiss you if you’ll let me, I think to myself.

EVAN: It’s more fun when you’re here.

EVAN: Plus, you always take care of me better than I do.

Claire sends me a scared face.

CLAIRE: That makes me think you didn’t bring ice for your leg.

EVAN: I’m using iced beer cans.

CLAIRE: I guess that’s a good use of beer, LOL

EVAN: What are you doing?

CLAIRE: Taking a break from chores. How’s the party?

EVAN: It’s good. You are missing out.

CLAIRE: Liar.

EVAN: Which part?

CLAIRE: All of it.

EVAN:??? How do you know?

CLAIRE: You’re texting me aren’t you?

She has a point, I realize.

CLAIRE: Gotta go. Tamara’s here

EVAN: Have fun.

CLAIRE: You too. ??

I feel jealous of Claire’s friends that can just come over and chill with her, because I would love to do that right now. I put my phone away and survey the crowd. Acquaintances and people I once called friends gyrate to the music. The house is crowded with teenagers. Even the stairs have teenagers collecting on them and suddenly it feels like it’s weighing me down and I can’t breathe. What do I really have in common with these people? With most of them, it was football, a love of partying, and for many of the girls, sexual interest. It all fell so flat, and when push came to shove, it was easy to see who really cared and who would rather sit back and laugh.

I wander around through the rooms. Friends hail me but soon enough turn away to bigger and better adventures, like beer pong and girls like Tina who are well on their way to getting plastered.

After an hour of sitting around trying way too hard to be happy I order an uber and go home.

The rest of the weekend is just as bad. Texting with Claire, and then falling asleep to the sound of her voice Saturday and Sunday night are the highlights of my days.

We still hadn’t discussed the problem I had created in calling her my girlfriend. I haven’t thought about it either because I’m too scared to. I only know she is one of the few bright lights in what is becoming a depressing existence. My “dad” is hardly around anymore and seemed to make of a point of not being home whenever I was. Our interactions are even more stiff and uncomfortable than they were before and the way he avoids looking at me (because I was temporarily injured?) makes me wonder what it would take for him to look at me like he cared. I really try not to take out my surly mood on my mother, because I knew that isn’t fair to her, but it happens now and again, and then my mood deteriorates further as the guilt fills me.

As Monday wears on, though, anticipation sets in. I’m too jittery to watch movies and too bored to not do anything. I actually offer to fold clothes and manage to make it through two baskets before I take a shower and shave, style my hair, and spray on my most expensive cologne. My head is on a countdown timer despite all my talking myself back from the ledge.

“Hey, mom?” I ask a few minutes before Claire is due to arrive.

“Yes?” she peeks her head out of the laundry room down the hall.

“I’m taking Claire to get her driver’s license today.”

Mom comes down the hall and leans against the wall to my room while I lean on my crutches in my door way.

“That’s nice of you,” she says. I can tell she’s being careful about what she says to me lest I shut her out. But I know I owe it to her to be honest considering how much of a bear I’ve been for the past couple of days.

“Yeah. She tends to bring out the best in me.” I drop my head, unable to meet her gaze.

“Seems like you really like her.”

“Yeah. I do,” I nod.

Mom looks away. I thought she would be happy for me, but instead she just seems worried.

“Claire isn’t like the girls you usually date, Evan.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What if,” she purses her lips like she’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. “What if you don’t end up liking her as much as you think you do?”

I nod my head. “I know. I’m scared of that too.” I sigh and pick at a loose piece of tape on my crutches because it’s easier for me to think and speak without having to see how she’s responding to me.

“Like, maybe it’s just because we spend so much time together,” I continue. “Or maybe it’s just because it seems like she’s the only one of my peers that actually cares about my situation. I don’t know if those are enough for a relationship or not…. Or if it’s fair to her. What if my ego is just bruised because I can’t do football anymore and I’m using her like a pick me up? I don’t want to be that guy.”

Mom pats me on the shoulder and then reaches up to draw my chin down so she can kiss me on the cheek.

“You’ll be fine.” I can hear the confidence in her voice, which seems like a one eighty from her worry not two seconds ago.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” I ask as she walks back down the hall to the laundry room.

“Now I know that you are worrying about it, I don’t have to,” she explains with a smile. I pinch the bridge of my nose. She really has no idea how much I’m trying not to think about all these things.

Claire is a bundle of nerves on the way to the DMV. She drives and only has two mess-ups – a right turn on red without stopping and failing to check for cars on a yield. Thankfully, no one was there both times, but I made sure to emphasize the point. She did much better when she wasn’t panicking over the upcoming test.

I wait for her in the office while the testing officer takes her out. Now I’m nervous for her, worrying about all the ways this could go wrong, but when she comes back in, she has a huge smile on her face. She passed, barely, but passed.

The picture they take of her is surprisingly good. She looks like a model and I wonder why it is that most people, myself included before I really knew her, thought she was plain. She’s a beautiful girl, just quiet, unassuming, focused and determined.

“We should celebrate,” I say as we go out to my truck. “My surgery is tomorrow, so we should do something today. Ice cream?”

“I don’t know. I need to hurry up and get home and we still have your therapy and our tutoring to do.”

“Fine. How about a shake at the drive through then?”

She agrees to that and we hit up Dairy Queen for a few blizzards that we enjoy on the way to my house.

My exercises are getting better and I want to say some of the ligaments in my knee are starting to heal. We keep the door open while we work, but that doesn’t stop me from flirting with her. Her cheeks go pink and she gets this little smile every time I say anything that implies she’s attracted to me or me to her, but she holds her own and responds with spunk and more wit than I can handle. Some of the things she says I don’t understand, and when I press her to explain them, she blushes deeply and admits that she has a small addiction to Regency romance novels that may sometimes affect her speech. It’s adorable.

After she leaves later in the afternoon, I count down the hours until nine when we’ve begun a routine of texting each other. After a few texts, I call, even though every time I tell myself I’m just going to say good night with a few texts. I love the way her voice gets all sleepy, and then we hang up right before she falls asleep.

Tonight’s no different but apparently she senses how nervous I am about the surgery tomorrow. She surprises me with a phone call.

“Hey, I don’t want you worrying about tomorrow.” Her voice is all soft and breathy like she just finished working out. The sound of it has my heart going though, imagining what it would sound like if we were engaged in other activities. That distracts me for half a second before her words register.

“What if they screw it up?” I ask. That’s my biggest fear.

“They aren’t going to screw it up. Not gonna happen.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “If I ask you to do something for me, will you?”

“I know you’re a Christian woman and you won’t ask me to do anything sketchy, so yes, I will.”

She laughs quietly. “I want you to imagine all your worries and your fears of tomorrow as tangible things… like furry balls or something.”

My imagination supplies what looks like dirty balls of foil.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay. You have your mental image?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, those are your worries. I want you to imagine picking each one of them up and putting them into a wooden crate.”

I hum as I imagine myself doing this.

“Done.”

“Good. Now take that crate and imagine throwing it into a dumpster.” She pauses a beat while I take out my imaginary trash. “ Now, take a deep breath. Your worries are gone.”

I take a deep breath. I’m definitely more relaxed.

“How did you do that?” I ask, surprised.

“I’m a big believer in the power of suggestion to produce actual results.”

“So, like, mind over matter.”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Thanks.”

“Did it help?”

I laugh. “Yeah.”

“Than my job here is done!”

We talk for a few more minutes before her voice starts to get sleepy again.

“Thanks for letting me take your truck home, Evan,” Claire says.

“Guess that makes us official, huh?”

“Noooo… but it does mean you’re letting me borrow your truck.”

I laugh a snort. “Yeah, right! Under what scenario would I let someone not my girlfriend borrow my truck?”

“Um…”

“Yeah, not going to happen.”

She’s silent. I know she doesn’t know what to say because now is not the time for this conversation. I decide to save her.

“No pressure, Claire. We’ll figure it out. And thank you for being concerned about me.”

We chat for a few more minutes and then say goodbye. I catch myself almost saying ‘I love you,’ but manage to awkwardly transition it to something else. Hopefully she doesn’t notice and freak out.

The following morning mom drives me to outpatient surgery. Claire texts me on the way there.

CLAIRE: Good luck!

EVAN: Thank you. If I don’t wake up, I’m willing you my truck

CLAIRE: LOL You’ll be fine!!

When mom leaves me to the doctors and nurses, I swallow down my fear and hope for the best. I may not be able to play college ball or get into the NFL, but I it’s not like I won’t have options.

When I wake up Claire is at my elbow. I smile and reach out a hand to her. She hesitates and then shyly puts her hand in mine.

“How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” I croak.

I know I can’t be dehydrated because they still have me on an IV, but my mouth is dry. When she hands me a cup with ice water in it, I suck it down.

“Here.” She offers me a tube of non-colored chapstick.

“Trying to get these lips back in kissing condition?” I tease and wipe some on.

“No. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

I play with her fingers for a few seconds. “You’re too good to me, Claire.”

She doesn’t meet my eyes and she seems worried.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay after the surgery. Um, but I told your mom, I’m going back to volunteering at the clinic and Mr. Henderson was able to assign me another tutor.”

“But – but…” My mind is overloaded trying to process what she’s saying, but her timing stinks profoundly. “What about tutoring me and helping me with my exercises? I mean, what do you mean, Claire?”

She winces and pulls her hand away. “I’m really sorry. I know this is the worst timing, but I didn’t know when else I could do it and I – everything that’s going on at school… I just…can’t do it.”

“Can’t do what?” I ask in disbelief.

“This,” she waves her hand back and forth between us. “Whatever this is. I can’t afford any distractions right now. Tina and Co. are kind of making my life hell right now. Our only saving grace is that Rachel is dating Jaxon, so he tries to get them to tone it down, but I – I have to win. You don’t understand. I have to win for my family. I know to you opportunity isn’t this huge, enormous thing, but to me it’s everything.”

“You think I don’t appreciate how important opportunity is?” I’m filled with bitterness and it all comes out in an onslaught. “I just lost any opportunity I had to join the NFL. The NFL, Claire. Where they make millions of dollars for a single contract, all to do something I love to do anyway. What makes you think I think opportunity isn’t important?”

She holds her stomach like my words are causing her physical pain, but she’s hurting me so bad, I don’t care or hold back.

“I really thought we had something,” I say, incapable of keeping the pain out of my voice. “You’re so different. Was I just a charity case gotten out of hand? You had the hots for me, but realize that’s not enough for a relationship, so you kick me to the curb?”

“No, no! Nothing like that! You don’t understand, I have priorities, goals. I have a plan, a perfect plan. If I can accomplish it for them, for my brothers and sisters, I have to try.”

I cross my arms over my chest, which makes me feel petulant, so I uncross them again.

“I don’t believe it,” I say. “Not for a second. You manage to make time for Rachel, Tamara, and Raven, but developing a relationship with me is too time consuming? It interferes with your plans for a perfect future?”

I blink as my eyes burn with tears, but I refuse to let them fall. She has been my bright spot in all this chaos and now even she has failed me. Just goes to prove, the only person you can ever rely on is yourself.

She’s crying softly into her hands, and it’s killing me. I hate seeing her cry. I don’t know that I ever have before. I want to hold her and comfort her, but I can’t and I’m hurting. I want to be sorry, but I’m not. I clench my fists and turn away to stare out the window.

“Just forget it,” I whisper, not trusting my voice to speak normally. “Shut the door on your way out, please.”

A few moments later, I close my eyes as I hear her get up and step closer. She places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

“Evan, for what it’s worth, I really am sorry. I enjoyed your company. I wish it could be different.”

As she heads for the door I keep my tongue under wraps even though I want to yell, ‘It could be different, if you would just let it.’

By the time I’m discharged, I am worn out and numb with trying to fend off all the anger and sadness. I just want to go home and sleep but they have me on this machine that helps me exercise my leg to a specific angle of degrees for a set number of times. My knee is loaded up with ice changes as much as I can stand, and I have enough pain killers that I don’t feel any pain physically. But emotionally, I‘ve ceased to care.

My mother is the only one who seems to really care without qualification. I love her, but it’s not enough to sustain me.

When we get home I shake off her help and use my crutches to navigate into my room where I carefully lay down. I can already feel that the leg has improved in its range of motion, but I’m not holding out hope for it to return to normal.

I realize that somehow, in the midst of everything going on, I’ve managed to fall in love with Claire. My mother had been worried about me breaking her heart. Had any of us imagined that Claire Brown would be the one to break mine?