Bottled Up Secret Read online

  My first day is a success. I made it to the semifinals last year, so I’m happy to have at least made it that far again this year. I don’t want to take a step back. That’d be embarrassing.

  My semifinal match starts at nine-thirty on the morning of day two. The kid I’m playing is a junior from a school in Cincinnati. During our warm-up, I can tell it’s going to be a tough match. He hits the ball hard. Though with that amount of pace, I’m sure he makes a good amount of errors.

  It takes me a few games to get used to his style of playing. I’m the one who usually whips my forehand across the net to make winners. With him, I’m having trouble getting control of the points. After only twenty minutes, I’m down 4–1. I like to exert as little effort as possible with each point to save energy, but he has other plans for me. He keeps running me around all over the court. Now I’m getting pissed. I take my anger out on the ball and finally start to get into my groove.

  Unfortunately, it’s too late to salvage the set. I lose it 6–4. It’s all right. I’ve picked up some momentum that hopefully will carry into the next set.

  I start the second set strong, but he stays right with me. We continue to stay neck and neck until it is 5–5. I win the next game to take the lead 6–5. Okay, Brendan. One more game. Just win. If I get to a third set, I know I can pull this off.

  My coach gives me some reassurance at the changeover and tells me to relax and just get the ball in. I don’t play the game as conservatively as he’d like, but I still manage to win the game and set.

  “You’re trying to give me a heart attack, aren’t you?” he asks me before I start the third and final set.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m low on energy. I had to go for winners.”

  “All right, well just take your time between each point to catch your breath. Don’t rush.”

  “Got it.”

  The third set is the quickest of the three. 6–2. Thankfully, I end up on top. My opponent’s the one who ran out of steam halfway through. Once I got the 4–2 lead, I knew I had it in the bag.

  “You’re going to the state finals,” my coach tells me, grabbing my shoulder as I walk off the court.

  I turn in the tennis balls to the official, and then head to my mom, where I’m greeted with a hug and smile. I tried to avoid looking up at her during the match because I knew she’d be a nervous wreck. Is it bad that everyone around me gets more nervous than I do? I promise I care. I just want to have fun while I play too.

  My mom and I head to a restaurant close by to get a quick bite to eat. I keep my lunch light but drink about a gallon of water to stay hydrated. My final match doesn’t start until two, so I have time to relax when I get back to the courts.

  After sitting on the bleachers for a while, I decide to get my legs moving a little bit. I pace back and forth across the parking lot, listening to music. I think I hear someone say my name so I take one of my earphones out and look up toward the tennis courts. Nothing.

  “B!” I hear again, realizing that it’s coming from behind me. I turn around to see Reese and Mark walking toward me.

  “What?” I scream before walking toward them. “I cannot believe this.”

  “How’s it going?” Reese says. “Please tell us you made the finals. Or are you playing for third place?”

  “Finals. But wait, I need a moment to take this all in. You two drove here together?”

  Mark is visibly nervous as he says, “I really wanted to see you play, so I texted Reese to see if she’d be up for it.”

  “And I responded, ‘Who is this?’” Reese says.

  I laugh. “Mark has a way of getting people’s numbers.”

  “I really hope I’m not overstepping my bounds,” Mark says. “Last week, when I mentioned that I’d like to see you play, you didn’t seem to completely reject that idea. Then I asked Reese if she thought you’d be mad.”

  “I told him you love an audience, so you’ll be thrilled,” Reese says.

  “You know me so well. You’re fine, Mark. No worries. I’m glad you guys are here. I have so much more energy now.

  “How was the car ride?” I ask. “I can only imagine how fun it was.”

  “It involved a lot of Britney Spears music,” Mark says unenthusiastically.

  “Oh, so Reese showed you how good a singer she was?”

  “And dancer,” Reese adds.

  The three of us chat a little more before heading back to the tennis courts. About twenty minutes before my match time, I go to sit near my mom and coach. I don’t want them to think my friends are distracting me from my focus.

  It’s finally time. As I walk onto the court, my nerves kick in. So many people are watching us, including a couple of journalists holding their cameras. Of all the matches in high school tennis, this is the big one. My opponent notices me staring out at everyone.

  “Big crowd, huh?” he says.

  “Seriously. The pressure’s on.”

  We put our bags down and pull out our racquets. “Good luck,” he says with a smile before we walk to opposite ends of the court. Gosh, he’s making it hard for me to get my game face on. If it were anyone else, I would think that he’s being disingenuous, but this kid is so nice. Well, at least if I lose, I’ll be happy for him.

  About forty minutes into the match, I find myself in a similar position as this morning. I lose the first set 6–2. Why do I always take a while to get warmed up? My coach gives me a pep talk to reassure me that I’m not out yet.

  “Remember this morning?” he says. “You proved to yourself that you are able to come back. Just forget about this set. It’s zero zero again.” I nod.

  I’ve found myself in this situation a countless number of times throughout my tennis career. When I was twelve, I was once down 6–0, 5–0 and came back to win the match. Apparently I play better under pressure.

  I start the second set strong and take the lead 3–1. My fan club in the stands pushes me to take the set 6–3.

  Going into the third set, my coach tells me to keep doing what I’m doing. Of course I know that my opponent will mix things up with his play in the third set to mess up my momentum, just like I did with him in the second set.

  After an exhausting twelve games, I find myself tied with him 6–6. Time for a third set tiebreaker. Seriously? Tiebreakers are the only time I get nervous while playing because every point is so important. The first one to seven points wins as long as he wins by two points.

  The key with tiebreakers is to take an early lead. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen. A few minutes after starting, I find myself tied 4–4 with him. After two more points, he’s up 6–4. He now has two match points.

  I hit a strong serve to start the next point, which gives me control. After a rally back and forth, he hits a ball short, which allows me to approach the net and go for a winner. I whip my forehand down the line, but it doesn’t make it across the net. Crap. It’s done. I see the ball roll back toward me while the crowd erupts in cheers—well, most of the crowd. I look up to see my opponent approach the net.

  “Good match,” he says, extending his hand.

  “You too,” I say, shaking it with mine. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  As I step off the court, my coach gives me a handshake. “Hey, runner-up at States. That’s a huge accomplishment. You should be proud of yourself.”

  After greeting my mom, I’m bombarded by a bunch of other people I don’t know who tell me how good a match it was, and that I did a great job. I finally make my way to Reese and Mark, who aren’t quite sure how to comfort me.

  “Good try, Brendan,” Reese tells me. “I’m sorry.”

  “You played great,” Mark adds. “There’s nothing more you could have done.”

  “Thanks, guys. It’s all good. He played awesome.”

  “Hey, you at least improved from last year,” Mark adds. “From third place to second.”

  “A bronze and a silver,” I say. “I’m Michelle Kwan at the Olympics.”r />
  As they try to distract me some more, someone from some Cincinnati newspaper asks me if he can ask me a few questions.

  “Look at that. Even the loser gets some fame,” I whisper to Reese and Mark before stepping aside with the reporter.

  *

  The very next night, I have my graduation ceremony. You know how people aren’t supposed to cheer for the graduating seniors when their names are called? Yeah, my friends don’t listen to those rules.

  “Brendan Madden,” my principal says before I walk forward to get my diploma.

  “Brendan!” I then hear from the balcony. “Go, B! Woohoo!” Fortunately, they’re not too obnoxious.

  As I sit back down in my seat, I think about all of the people sitting with me right now, some I’ve never spoken to and others with whom I’ve shared a seemingly endless number of hours.

  I will never see some of these people again in my life. We will all go our separate ways, and although I’ll no doubt cross some of their paths, others will now forever be in the past. It’s strange.

  After the ceremony, I take pictures with my family before meeting my friends, who congratulate me and tell me how boring the ceremony was. Among them is Mark, who came with Chris tonight.

  “The kid who gave the speech,” Natalie says.

  “Terrible?” I ask.

  “Yes. How is he your valedictorian?”

  “He’s brilliant but apparently unable to write something with substance.”

  “Yeah, it was pretty generic,” Reese says. “I want to get his number, though. The key is to marry a cute nerd. He’ll be rich and successful, and he won’t leave you.”

  As my friends argue what qualities make a good husband, I quietly ask Mark if he is able to talk tonight. He’s caught a little off guard, but he says yes.

  Separately, we head to a coffee shop and have a little chitchat at first.

  “Can I just say that I swear I’m not stalking you?” Mark says. “I told Chris weeks ago that I would go to the graduation ceremony with him.”

  “Sure you did,” I say jokingly.

  “How does it feel to graduate?”

  “Crazy. I’m excited, though. I’m ready to get some independence and have a change of city.”

  “I think you’ll have the best of both worlds. You’ll be in a fun city with so many new people, but it’s not too far away from your friends and family. A visit home will be easy.”

  “Yeah, exactly. So,” I say, shifting the mood of the conversation.

  “Here we go,” Mark says.

  “So, I’ll make this quick. I’ve made you wait long enough. I’ve been thinking things through, and although I still have feelings for you, dating you again would have all of the original complications and obstacles. It’s definitely not an ideal scenario and the odds are stacked against us.

  “However,” I continue, “I know myself well enough to know that there’s no way I could leave this coffee shop without taking you back.” A big smile forms on his face. “I got so excited seeing you at my tennis match yesterday. I like you too much and would always wonder what could have happened if I didn’t try this again with you. But listen. Know that I’m going to be cautious.”

  “Understood. I will be better than before. I promise you that.”

  “That’s not saying much. Kidding.”

  “Thank you for giving this another chance. Come here.” He stands up with his arms wide to give me a hug.

  “In public? Whoa, maybe things will be better.”

  I embrace him. It feels so good to hold him in my arms again. I have concerns, but I’m willing to risk getting hurt again in order to be with him.

  “I asked you to meet me in person today, so you knew it had to be good news, right?” I ask.

  “That’s what I was hoping, but I also thought that karma would have you reject me to my face.”

  For months I’ve been wondering what Mark told Eva the night she caught us. He tells me that after I left, he went to her room and convinced her to talk about it. He was pretty honest with her. He told her that he and I started dating recently, that I’m the first guy he’s liked, and that he doesn’t know if he’s gay. She was very understanding and agreed not to tell their parents.

  “She also said that she loves you, so she supports it,” Mark tells me.

  “Aw. Does that mean you’re going to tell her that we’re dating again?”

  “Um…I don’t think so.” I can tell he’s scared to see my reaction.

  “I was half kidding. I figured.”

  “You can tell Reese and Kara.”

  “I might want to keep it to myself for now. See how it goes at first.”

  “Oh no. Little confidence.”

  “Just cautious, like I said.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The first time Mark and I hung out post-reconciliation was kind of a transition, more like friends catching up. I definitely had my guard up. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to change his mind about how he felt. Fortunately, his actions have shown that he takes this seriously.

  I told Mark I might want to keep our relationship to myself, but that lasted about forty-eight hours. To make up for my past favoritism, I actually told Reese first, followed by Kara, both of whom weren’t the least bit surprised.

  I feel like I’m asking for trouble by keeping my other friends in the dark. Whether it’s months from now or years from now, they’re going to find out about Mark and me. And it’s not going to be pretty once they learn that Kara and Reese knew the whole time. Maybe I can keep that fact from them. I’m not going to worry about that now. I’d rather have a couple of friends who know, regardless of how pissed off people might get in the future. It’s two less people that I have to try to fool.

  When Mark and I got back together, he said that he would be better this time—less paranoid, less of a flight risk. Little did I know that a couple of weeks into summer, we would run into someone who would test just how much Mark meant what he said.

  After talking about it for months, Mark and I finally get around to playing tennis against each other at our local recreation center. It has a bunch of outdoor courts I like to take advantage of in the summer. It’s the first time I’m playing since losing the state title. I figured why not find the worst player I know? Crushing him will make me feel better.

  “You know you have to bring your game way down, right?” Mark says as we step onto the court.

  “On one condition. You play shirtless.” He gives me a look to indicate he’s not pleased with my request. “Oh, come on. No one likes a farmer’s tan. And I want eye candy while I’m running you around.”

  “I want eye candy too.”

  “Fine,” I say, taking my shirt off.

  “Yay,” he says, taking his off as well.

  Shortly after we start playing, I realize I have to bring my game down much farther than I anticipated. We’re talking like thirty percent of my usual pace. It cracks me up to see someone so athletic be so uncoordinated at playing tennis.

  “This is pathetic,” he says after we play a few games.

  “No,” I say unconvincingly.

  “Have you ever played someone this bad?”

  “God, yes.”

  “Like in a real match, I mean.”

  “Yes. Actually, there was one match at sectionals last year where I had to play a girl. She wore jeans.”

  “No.”

  “Yeah. During our warm-up, I could tell that she was terrible.”

  “Why wasn’t she in the girls’ division?”

  “I don’t know. I know like five years ago some girl got to play in the boys’ division because she was just too good for the girls’. She ended up getting third or fourth place at States.”

  “Damn.”

  “For the girl I played, that was not the case. But anyway, after like four games, I realized that I hadn’t lost a point yet. I was playing nice and easy against her, kind of like how I’m playing with you.”

  Mark laug
hs. “Great.”

  “So then I start to think to myself, ‘Oh my gosh, Brendan. You could go this whole match without losing a single point. That would be amazing.’ That’s forty-eight points in a row. So by the time I’m up 6–0, 5–0, I’m shaking because I don’t want to hit it out or in the net.”

  “Please tell me you let this girl win a point.”

  “No. Isn’t that awful? That’s so unlike me, right? You’d think I would feel bad for her.”

  “That’s awful but also hilarious.”

  “Yeah, so don’t feel too bad. You’ve already won a couple points today.”

  “Right. I really earned those,” he says sarcastically. “Okay, I want you to go all out during this next game. Seriously. I want to see what it’s really like to play you.”

  “All right, if you’re sure.”

  As Mark and I are talking, two guys walk onto the court next to us.

  “Mark!” one of them says. “What’s going on, man?”

  “Hey, Ted,” Mark says, caught off guard.

  Ted looks over at me. “Hey,” he says as I try to figure out if I know him. His face looks vaguely familiar.

  Mark interjects, trying to get hold of the conversation. “Ted, this is my friend, Brendan.” Boyfriend, I think, but never dare say.

  “Yeah, I know you,” Ted says. “Aren’t you friends with Chris McNeill?”

  “Yeah. How do you know Chris?” Who is this guy?

  “He dated my cousin.”

  “Who’s your cousin?”

  “Alex Stanton.”

  “Oh, wow. Okay, I know him.” Chris and Alex dated for about six months, a long time when you’re sixteen. “How do you guys know each other?” I ask, referencing Ted and Mark. I look over at Mark to gauge his reaction. He’s keeping his poker face on, but I’m sure he’s not too fond of this interaction right now.

  “We’ve played soccer together forever,” Mark says.

  “Yeah, this kid and I go way back,” Ted says, grabbing Mark’s shoulder.

  “But you don’t go to Xavier,” I say to Ted.

  “No. How do you two know each other? You’re a year older than us, right?” What the heck? I’ve never even heard of this guy, and he knows all about me.