I couldn't talk to anyone because if Rogerson saw me he'd assume I was (A) flirting or (B) discussing him. One day Richard Spellman, class president, tried to sit down and talk to me about some stupid group project we were doing for English. I just shook him off, edging farther and farther away: I knew I could guarantee myself full contact plus a few hard fouls if Rogerson saw us there together. But Richard just kept talking, oblivious, while I picked at grass blades, my stomach churning, and hid behind my sunglasses, pretending I was invisible. I was getting good at that. When he finally left it was only a matter of seconds before Rogerson pulled in. So close. So, so close. The only person I ever really spoke to at school anymore was Rina, and not much at that. “Let's go out tonight, just us girls,” she said to me one day, as we sat together under my tree. The bell had just rung and she'd plopped down next to me, strerching her long legs out in front of her. “I can't,” I said. “Why not?” She fumbled in her purse for her sunglassesblack with cat's-​eye- shaped frames and tiny rhinestones in the cornersand put them on, leaning her head back to look up into the mild winter sun. “I've got plans with Rogerson,” I said. “You always have plans with Rogerson,” she said. “We haven't done a girls' night in forever, Caitlin. I'm in withdrawal here.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, watching as a black carnot himsped past on the road in front of us. “But I made plans already.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, popping her sunglasses up on her forehead and looking at me. “What could be so important to blow off your best friend? Again.” I sighed. Rina always made this hard for me. “I'm not trying to blow you off,” I said. “I just already told him we'd do this thing together.”

“Okay, fine,” she said, flipping her hand. “How about this... we'll go out early, get a burger or something, and then you can meet him later somewhere.”

“I can't,” I said again. “God, Caitlin!” she said, exasperated. She pulled her purse onto her lap and started digging for a cigarette, grabbing my lighter with her other hand. “Look, just let me talk to him, okay? I'll tell him you really need some girl time and I'll promise to have you back home at a decent hour. Let me handle it. I'll tell him”

“Rina.”

“I'm serious,” she said. “I know how to handle this. He'll understand. He's coming to pick you up right now, right? So I'll just talk to him now.” She just didn't understand. “It's not a good idea,” I said. “Sure it is,” she said easily, tossing back my lighter. “I can deal with Rogerson. No problem. By the time I'm done with him he'll be putty in my hands.”

“Rina, I said no.” She didn't know what she could do to me. What kind of full contact I could expect at the slightest intervention. My stomach already binding tight, a burning there that seemed to grow each day. “Not another word,” she said lightly, blowing me off while exhaling a long steam of smoke. “It's taken care of.”

“Rina”

“Hush. I told you. It's”

“No,” I snapped, louder than I meant to, and she jerked back, surprised, like I'd slapped her. “I told you, I can't. That's it.“ She cocked her head to the side, her face hurt. ”What, you're not allowed to hang out with me anymore or something? He's telling you what to do now?“ ”No,“ I said, as another black car passed by, the light glinting off it. ”He's not.“ ”That's sure what it sounds like,“ she said, an uppity tone in her voice. ”Well, it isn't,“ I said. We sat there for a few minutes, not talking. All around us people were passing by, on their way to the parking lot or their next class, voices high and laughing. I was thinking back to all those nights of driving and crying, when I listened to Rina wail as the scenery sped past. She could tell me anything, as long as we were in motion. ”What's going on, Caitlin?“ she said suddenly, moving a little closer and lowering her voice. ”Tell me.“ I look at hermy best friendwith her strawberry-​blond hair and pink Coral Ice lipstick, and for a split second I wanted to let it all spill out. About the importance of time, and the helpless feeling I got every time I saw that black BMW, not knowing what waited on the other side of the tinted windows.

About hard fouls, and full contact, and those mermaids, pulling me up to drown. But I couldn't tell her. I couldn't tell anyone. As long as I didn't say it aloud, it wasn't real. So I smiled my best cheerleader smile, shook my head, and said, ”It's nothing, Rina. You worry too much.“ I concentrated on keeping my voice chipper, all pep: I've got spirit, yes I do, I've got spirit, how 'bout you? Rina cocked her head to the side, studying me. She wasn't a dumb girl; she knew something was up. But she still had faith in our friendship, forged in the war zone of junior high. She thought I'd never lie to her. ”Okay,“ she said finally, as if we'd bartered out some kind of agreement. ”But if you need me“ ”I know,” I said, cutting her off. It was right at noon: My safe time was up.

The muscles in my stomach and shoulders were clenching harder as I picked up my backpack and began to move closer to the turnaround. I looked at her, sitting cross-​legged there in her sunglasses, popping her gum, with no greater concern in her life right then than me. And I envied her, quickly and quietly, in a different way than I had all those years we'd spent together. “I gotta go,” I said, and she nodded as I backed away, turning my head to look over at the parking lot entrance where Rogerson was pulling in. I was on time, but just a few feet too far out of sight. I knew she was watching me as I walked toward the car, the engine purring, low and growly, like a dog just warning you to stay back. I didn't know what to expect this time. Trash talk, a hard foul. Full contact. I took a deep breath, walked up to the car, my reflection staring back at me in those black, black windows, and stepped across the sidelines, into the game.