Tobias and I...well we were better than great. Closer than ever and yet both excelling separately. His improvement on the rugby team really impressed his coach. To the disgruntlement of the current fly-half player, Tobias was to play the position in the next game, and if he did well he could become the team’s permanent fly-half. Although Tobias had attempted to explain the game to me, I still wasn’t clear what all the positions meant. I did know that the fly-half was similar to a quarterback in football, so it made sense that Tobias would be good in that position. Thankfully, he wasn’t displacing any of his friends at school but someone from the private boys’ school just outside Porty, so he could avoid any awkward tension it might cause.
Our friends already had their set positions on the team. David, being the tallest and broadest of all the boys, was strong so he was the team’s prop. I think he basically did what the title said—he propped up his team players in the scrum. I think.
Luke was the hooker, and as funny as the title was, I gathered from how the other guys were with him that he was a pretty important player. Both Michael and Mike were wingers. Don’t ask. I couldn’t tell you.
And Andy was a scrum-half.
Again, who knows?
I was hoping the more games I went to the more I’d understand what was going on and what all the rugby jargon meant.
The point was that Tobias was doing well. Every day he seemed to shed a little of his grief and anger. Of course, I knew he’d never get over what had happened to his dad and the circumstances surrounding his death, but I felt like he was finally moving on.
As for me, Mr. Stone was ecstatic Dad had agreed to join the lit mag, and my English teacher and I had moved full-speed ahead with the magazine. He advertised it in class and we’d set up an email address for people to submit their poetry, short stories and essays. We’d put together a small team that included ourselves, Pamela Perry and the two fourth years Mr. Stone mentioned whom I’d never met before—two girls, Amy and Lucy. Moreover, I’d gathered the courage to ask the boys if they’d be interested in the lit mag, and Andy’d said he wanted to join us. He also brought along a boy called Thomas whom Andy knew from the football team. It was an eclectic mix of people with differing opinions. Sometimes they were frustrating and sometimes they were fun. What was really fun, however, was the fact that we got submissions from students. Actual submissions. Andy took leadership over the layout of the website and magazine, and we worked with him on the look and feel of it, while we worked out which pieces to publish first.
Some had sent in their work anonymously through private email addresses, while others were brave enough to own it, sending it from their school email account. And every time I read a piece of work that had been written by someone who wasn’t afraid to admit it was their work, I felt a surge of something inside of me.
Whatever the feeling was, it was pushing me to be brave, too.
* * *
With life at school incredibly busy, it was the end of January before I knew it and the morning of my seventeenth birthday. For the first time I was truly excited for it, because I had people who cared about me and wanted to share it with me.
Tobias and Vicki had already blown my phone up with happy birthday texts and gifs.
I wasn’t expecting much from my parents, who had continued to avoid each other by burying themselves in work. Every birthday was the same as Christmas. I got vouchers for the bookstore.
Lucky me, my birthday fell on a Saturday this year and I was meeting my friends for a celebratory breakfast at the Espy. Dressed in a blue velvet dress with buttons up the front, a white Peter Pan collar and puff-sleeves, I felt girly and happy. I loved velvet. The skirt hit me just above the knee, so I’d paired the dress with thick dark pink tights. It was still too cold and wet for flats, so I was wearing black wedge boots that were mostly made up of a large fur collar. Over the dress, I wore my blue winter coat and dark pink scarf, bobble hat and gloves.
Stopping in at the kitchen for a quick glass of water, I was startled by the sound of Dad’s voice behind me.
“Happy birthday, Comet.”
I spun around to find him standing in the doorway, wearing an expression I didn’t quite understand. “Thanks.”
“Seventeen.” He pushed off the doorway, and my gaze snagged on the wrapped gift in his hands. Surprise held me immobile. “I can’t believe it. You’ll be eighteen before we know it.” Words unsaid hung heavily in the air: and then you’ll be gone.
I frowned, wondering at the melancholy in his tone, confused by it.
“Anyway, happy birthday.” He handed me the present.
Staring at the book-shaped package, I didn’t move to open it for a moment. I was bemused by the whole encounter. Finally, I carefully tore the wrapping and a soft gasp escaped me. The smell of real leather hit my nostrils as I smoothed my fingers over the handmade leather wrap journal he’d given me. It even had leather ties. It was thick and lush-feeling, and when I opened it to find lined paper inside, I was startled to discover a handwritten inscription on the first page.
Comet,
I have no doubt that as long as you put you into your writing people will fall in love with the beauty of your words. You’re the best person I’ve ever known, kid.
Love always,
Dad
Tears filled my eyes and clogged my throat as the words blurred together from my emotion. They seemed surreal. Like words written for someone else in some other house on a beach thousands of miles away.
But Kyle had written them.
My dad had written them for me.
And although the gesture could never wipe away the tears of the past, I would cherish them anyway.
At the feel of his lips on my temple, a tear splashed down my cheek. I waited until I heard his footsteps fade out of the kitchen and down the hall before I looked up, wiping the tear away. I hugged the journal to my chest, already designating it as the journal only the poems I felt most strongly about would be written in.
A little melancholy clung to me as I walked down the esplanade to the pub, wishing my dad and I could somehow magically unite to rewrite our past. We couldn’t. Still...his words meant a lot to me.
The lingering sadness I felt, however, was pushed to the depths of my mind as soon as I walked inside the pub to a chorus of shouts of “Happy birthday!” My gaze flew toward the table opposite the bar and right next to the bay window looking out over the beach.
Tobias, Vicki, Luke, Steph and Andy were standing at the table and Steph was waving a Happy Birthday banner back and forth. I grinned at my friends, skipping up the small set of steps to greet them. Tobias approached me first, enveloping me in his warm, strong hug—a hug that I’d become addicted to. Truly. If I didn’t get a hug from Tobias at least once a day it put me in an irritable mood. If I was a better person I’d suggest he donate his hugs to charity the way puppy dogs were used in children’s hospitals to cheer them up.
But I was selfish and wanted to keep his supply of hugs to myself.
“Nice outfit,” Vicki praised as I shrugged out of my coat after hugging all of them. Tobias held out my chair for me as I thanked him and Vicki at the same time. “You look great.”
“So does my vintage baby doll,” Steph laughed at Andy, expecting him to chuckle with her. He just raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing an undercurrent in her words but being a boy not understanding.
But I understood cattiness. And I was braver than I used to be. I grinned at her, deciding to kill her with kindness. “We get it, Steph. You hate the way I dress. It embarrasses you. I’m sorry about that, but this is me.”
She looked mortified. “I didn’t mean... I mean...”
“Anyhoo!” Vicki rescued us all. “Presents!”
The awkward moment dissipated as I was spoiled like I’d never been spoiled before. Vicki and Steph had gone in on a gift together, buying me five cloth-bound books from the new Penguin Classics collection that I’d been mooning over for weeks. Along with that they’d given me a box of my favorite chocolates. To my delight both Andy and Luke gave me a birthday card with vouchers for books inside it from them and the rest of the guys.
Tobias was last, handing me a small, neatly wrapped gift. “Maybe you could open it later.”