Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [13]
Watching her attempt another basket, I suddenly felt incredibly lonely. Most nights, I lived alone. I worked alone. When I ran, I was essentially alone. That was how it had been for the past couple of months. It hadn’t bothered me before. I’d never asked Tanya out, or tried to get a regular job, or joined a club or anything.
So why did I want to be with this new girl so desperately? She was cute, but that didn’t explain everything. I hardly knew her. But it felt like if she didn’t want my company, then I was better off alone.
That was a weird attitude. It bordered on obsessed. Sage was just a girl, after all. One who obviously didn’t see me like I saw her.
When Sage missed her shot, I snatched the ball in the air and almost dunked. Sage caught the rebound, then dropped the ball. The semiflat ball scooted along the cracked concrete. Sage pinned it with her foot, then gave it a kick. She had an intense frown on her face. The kind of expression a girl wears when she really wants someone to say, Tell me what’s wrong.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask that. Not because I didn’t care, but because I just wasn’t used to hearing about people’s problems. Mom was a martyr; no matter how hard her life was, she never complained. Tim and Jack were guys, and therefore showed no feelings. And Brenda, pardon the pun, never let me inside her.
“Sage, what’s the matter?” I wondered how I’d managed to transform my offended dignity into deep concern in less than ten minutes.
Sage shook her head. I wondered if I should prod her, but she didn’t need coaxing.
“Want to hear something funny?” Her tone told me that she meant the sad type of funny, rather than Jack’s one-legged Japanese woman named Irene brand of funny.
I mumbled some sort of answer. Sage began to walk the circumference of the court. She paused and touched the huge metal crank that had been attached to a tennis net decades ago.
“I used to have a normal life, Logan.” She let go of the gears. Facing the fence, she wrapped her arms around her sides, as if hugging herself.
I wasn’t sure if I should say anything or just let her go at her own pace. When she didn’t continue, I asked her what she meant.
“What I mean is, up to maybe seventh grade, my parents were normal. I could visit my friends, go to public school, just like any other kid. But at the beginning of eighth grade, they decided I shouldn’t go. Made me learn at home. They said it was for my own good, that I wouldn’t be safe at school, that I’d end up getting into trouble. Maybe they were right; I don’t know. But that’s not the worst part.”
I scooted up next to her. Sage turned to me and smiled sadly. There was hair in her face again. This time I did gently brush it away, and she didn’t stop me.
“The worst part is, I wasn’t allowed to go out. At all. Not to visit friends, not to go to the mall, nothing. At home, all day. We’d go out as a family, but that wasn’t the same.”
I was horrified. I’d just pictured Sage’s parents as being overly strict, but not allowing your daughter to have friends? That was psycho. I wondered what sorts of memories were hidden behind Sage’s smile. How bad was her home life?
“They thought they were protecting me, Logan, but for over four years I’ve been a prisoner. When Dad got transferred here, I told them I wanted to go to school. They said no. But, like you said, I’m eighteen. I think they know they can’t stop me.”
She grabbed the crank and tried to turn it, but it was rusted in place. With great deliberation, I placed my hand lightly on hers. We stood there, not looking at each other, doing nothing but breathing, for quite some time.
“Logan, I guess what I’m trying to say is that I could really use a friend right now. I’m not trying to blow you off. It’s just … be my friend. It’s been so long since I’ve had one.”
I squeezed her hand and let go. Of course I’d be her friend. The poor girl had never been to high school, never hung out with other teenagers, never had a guy hit on her. If she needed a pal, then that