A Stitch in Time Pt. 04

"So like you lost your memory?" she asked.

That wasn't really it, of course. I just hadn't lived those three years. But it was a lifeline, however slender, and I was a drowning man.

"Yeah," I nodded.

"This sounds like a lot of bullshit," she declared. "Did you go to a doctor or something?"

I thought about that a minute. That would have been a fun visit. See, Doc, what happened was I ran into Santa Claus, see, and...

I decided not to answer her directly.

"If you had heard that you lived the last three years that I did, would you want them back? I swear, Tanya, I can't remember anything between 2003 and 2006. Like being carried around the cafeteria. It sounds like something I would do. Or really, more like something I would have done last year. But I have absolutely no memory of it. I was a colossal asshole for three years, but to me, the me that's here with you, it never happened."

"You know," I tried lightening the mood a little, "as far as I know, I was a virgin at the beginning of the year."

"Oh, that's stupid," Tanya said heatedly. "You had like a dozen girlfriends."

I looked at her and she blushed. It pleased me, in an odd way, that she'd made some sort of effort to find that out.

"I know," I nodded, saddened once again by what had happened to me, and by what was happening now. "And the only one I can remember is Cammie Rowe, who was my very first kiss, on the day before Christmas Eve in 2003. And who I apparently treated like dirt after that. But I can't remember that part.

"You know," I wiped the back of my hand across my own suddenly wet eyes, "my mom died a year and a half ago, and I can't remember anything about that either."

Tanya stared at me and then pulled me into her chest.

"Oh, Patrick," she breathed. "Patrick."

I was being a baby. No, I was being a fourteen-year-old. In an eighteen-year-old body. With an eighteen-year-old friend waiting for me to, well, grow up. I pulled myself erect, another round of tears just waiting to flow.

"Tanya, you're the only friend I have," I said with as manly a whimper as I could muster. "Because you're the only one who sees me the way I see myself, without the last three years fucking everything up."

She took a deep breath and exhaled.

"So I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my half-birthday," I said. "It really never was that big a deal to me before I lost those years. I mean, in my mind. I understand now how important it was to you not to be surprised by it, and I'm sorry. Please, Tanya, I —"

She cut me off.

"I still don't know if I believe this whole thing," she said as her eyes started to tear up. "I admit it explains a lot of stuff, but it's kind of freaky, you know? But you're my friend, too. So when is it?"

"When is what?" I sniffled.

"Your half-birthday, jerk."

"Um, tomorrow, I guess. But I —"

She pulled me close and we hugged, cheek against cheek, the most intimate moment that the two of us had shared. Finally, I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and we cleaned each other's tears up. When she pronounced me acceptable, and I pronounced her gorgeous, we headed back to the cafeteria.

"So about Trick's half-birthday," she said as we reclaimed our seats. "He doesn't want the chair thing this year. What should we do instead?"

We decided on dinner at Carter's, and in a few minutes, Rabbit, Sammy, Tommy and I were just so much surplus baggage. Rides were planned, reservations were made, cake was ordered, and we guys just sat there, nodding and grinning. The bell for the next period went off just as we were about to learn what outfits we were supposed to wear. I assumed that information would be e-mailed to us tonight.

Monday was also the day that baseball practice was scheduled to begin, so Tommy and I did our lifting during our free seventh periods.

Practice didn't inspire a lot of confidence. At this point, though, that didn't worry me. With the exception of pitchers and catchers, all of the regular position players from last year's team were told not to show up until Thursday. So these were just the wanna-bes. Coach apparently intended to use the first three days to help the pitchers get ready for the season and see what kind of new talent he was going to get.

My snap judgment was that he wasn't going to get much. Jesse Trasker showed up to try out for catcher, and was doing fairly well. I probably didn't help by glaring at him every chance I got. As far as pitchers went, the only real possibility was an eleventh-grader, Cary Roberts, who had a wicked-looking curveball. At one point during a break, I sat down next to him asked him to show me how to hold it.

"You want to know how to throw my curve ball?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Well, a curve ball. Yours looks pretty good."

"But you're Trick Sterling."

"So?"

"You're like, going pro next year," he stammered.

"Look, um, Cary, right?"

"Yeah," he grinned.

"Cary, we might be teammates this year, right?"

"I hope so," he said eagerly.

"So look, if we're gonna be teammates, that means you gotta stop lookin' at me like I'm some kind of fucking baseball god, okay?"

"But, uh, Benny Stevens said that you," he started, "that you, uh..."

His voice trailed off, and I suddenly realized where we were going with this.

"Benny Stevens told you to give me a pretty wide berth, huh?"

He stared at me, afraid now that he'd gotten Benny Stevens, whoever the hell he was, in some kind of trouble.

"Look, Cary. Last year Benny would've been right. This year, though, the team needs all the help it can get. Look at some of those guys out there."

We watched an eager shortstop prospect let the ball go right between his legs.

"You, me, Rabbit Parker, Mo Perra, Tommy over there," I nodded. "All of us, we gotta be a team this year if we're gonna win. I got a good fastball and a good change. If you want help with either of those, ask me. But I don't have a curve."

He gave me a hesitant smile and showed me how he held his curve. A few minutes later, I tried it out. It bounced about two feet in front of home plate and it ricocheted up into Tommy's crotch, leaving him gasping on the ground. Obviously that was a pitch that was going to need some more work.

That was pretty much the highlight of the week, for me if not for Tommy. On Tuesday morning, Mr. Smithson handed me a note indicating that I was wanted in the office. I breezed in and gave Rachel Carter a big hello. She gave me a tight grin and asked me to take a seat.

"It's my half-birthday, Ms. Carter," I said, somewhat taken aback by her reaction.

"Happy half-birthday, Mr. Sterling," she said soberly. "Please sit down."

I sat down on the bench, bummed that from the bench I couldn't see the very attractive outfit that I'd noticed Rachel wearing when I walked in. It wasn't until I heard my name called, that I knew I was in real trouble.

"Patrick."

I looked up to see Pete standing in the doorway, looking very serious.

"Come on in," he said.

He closed the door behind me as I walked into his office. An older guy in a suit was sitting in one of his chairs, a briefcase beside him.

"Patrick, this is Darrin Hestrick of the College Board," Pete said. "He has some questions for you. It concerns, uh —"

"Perhaps you could just let me ask a few questions first, Mr. Peterson," Mr. Hestrick interrupted him in a nasal tone.

"Certainly," Pete ushered me to a seat.

"Mr. Sterling," my interrogation began, "you recently took the Scholastic Aptitude Test, did you not?"

It took me a moment.

"The SAT?" I asked. "Yeah, in, like, January."

"On January 27th?" he asked.

"That sounds right," I answered slowly.

"Can you describe the circumstances of that testing?"

"The what?" I asked him. "The circumstances? What's going on?"

"Where did you take the test?"

"Room 112," I answered.

"With how many other students?"

"Twenty?" I guessed. Most of my classmates had taken the test in the fall.

"Do you remember any of them?"

"I'm sure the school has a list," I suggested helplessly.

"I'm sure they do," he said. "Do you remember any?"

"God, let me think."

It shouldn't be that hard. They were mostly a bunch of fuckups like me.

"Jesse Trasker," I suddenly remembered. "And those other guys, um, Barry Plaintree and Kenny, uh, Cutting. Oh, and Angie Valenziano."

Angie had been "sick" last semester. Right now her mother was taking care of her eight-pound "illness."

"And the proctor?" he asked.

"Um, ya got me there," I said. "I don't know his name."

"Mr. Adams," Pete chimed in, earning a glare from Mr. Hestrick.

"He's the assistant coach of the football team," Pete explained.

"Will you please tell me what this is about?" I repeated.

"Have you tried to access your score on our website?"

"No," I said. "I didn't know you could."

"Most people can," he continued. "Most people would have received notification by today in the mail. Your score is embargoed, Mr. Sterling."

"Meaning what?" I asked.

"Meaning it will not be released to any colleges until we are satisfied that it is a true and accurate representation of your potential academic abilities."

I looked over at Pete, who was studying his shoes. He finally looked up at me.

"They think you cheated, Patrick," he mumbled.

"They what?" I gasped.

"Mr. Sterling," Mr. Hestrick broke in, "your score went from a combined 790 to a figure just over twice that. Can you explain how that happened?"

"Well," I paused. "I didn't leave early this time."

"Did you study?" he asked.

"Yes. Well, a little."

"And you took the test at a time when you were facing a disciplinary hearing here at school, did you not?"

I glared at Pete. So much for expunging.

"Yes, sir," I said.

"And you expect me to believe that in the middle of that, you were able to double your score without any serious preparation?"

"I didn't cheat," I said. "Sir."

"Perhaps not," he gave me a tight smile. "I will talk to Mr. Adams. I will talk to these other students who were there."

My jaw dropped open.

"Don't worry, Mr. Sterling," he said. "This is a confidential investigation. Nobody will know why I am asking these questions."

The bell rang, and I stayed rooted to my chair.

"You'd better get to class, Patrick," Pete said gently.

"Yes, sir," I murmured. I arrived late, but Mr. Kennedy took one look at my hapless expression and silently let me in anyway.

By the end of the day, news of the "confidential investigation" was sweeping through the halls of the school. Baseball practice was a particularly desultory affair, with Jesse Trasker giving me a smug grin and the newcomers treading very softly around me, either because of my old reputation as an asshole or my new reputation as a cheater. Only Tommy was in my corner, telling me that he was sure that I'd be cleared by the end of the week.

That was the consensus at my so-called party as well. I wasn't convinced.

"They're going to question Jesse Trasker, Barry Plaintree, and Kenny Cutting," I pointed out. "And you know how much the football team likes me these days. You really think they won't find a way to suggest that well, maybe he did have a little piece of paper fall to the ground?"

"There aren't any pieces of paper that can help you on the SAT," Tanya pointed out.

I glumly shrugged my shoulders, and then Tommy came up with the answer.

"Take it again," he said.

"Again?" I'm sure I sounded just as astonished at that suggestion as I was.

"Again," he nodded. "They offer it again on Saturday. You get in that guy's face tomorrow morning and tell him you'll take it this Saturday in a room with only you and four teachers. Any teachers he wants. And you tell him that if you do worse than you did on the January test, he can keep your fucking score embargoed as long as he wants."

"Say what?" I asked.

"And if you do better," Tommy pressed on with considerably more energy than I had at that point, "then you get the new score and a public apology."

He sat back in triumph.

"I busted my butt taking that test last time," I pointed out.

"But you didn't study," Jeanne said.

"Well, no, not much," I agreed.

"There are three nights left," Tommy said. "On Wednesday you cram for the Reading with me. On Thursday you cram for the Math with, um..."

He looked at Cammie and then quickly looked away at the other faces around the table.

"I'll do it," Cammie said quietly.

Tommy nodded.

"And on Friday you do the Writing part with me again," he finished.

"I'll do that one," Tanya said.

Tommy looked a little offended.

"I got an 800," Tanya said.

"Like I said, you do that part with Tanya," Tommy concluded to general laughter. "I will goddamn guarantee you a higher score than whatever you got last time."

I took a deep breath.

"All right," I said, "but you goddamn better be right, Tommy Narburg."

By the time Saturday morning came around, I was wiped. If I was going to get a higher score this time, it was going to be purely because of what Tommy, Cammie, and Tanya had shoehorned into my tiny little brain the previous three nights.

I had made the offer in Mr. Peterson's office on Wednesday morning. Mr. Hestrick spouted some drivel about my not being pre-registered, but ultimately found himself unable to refuse. As Pete pointed out, it was just too darn reasonable.

And by Wednesday afternoon, the news of my little deal with the College Board had started to leak out. Jesse's expression at practice that afternoon was much darker. After we were finished, Tommy came over to my house, endured Jill's gibes about geeky baseball players, and drilled me on reading comprehension.

By the time baseball practice started on Thursday afternoon, the first day of full-team practice, the whole school knew. In two days, I had gone from being a presumptive cheater to being the hero of the downtrodden. If I was guilty, the thinking went, I obviously wouldn't be taking a chance like this. This was apparently the Trick Sterling that everybody liked. The gambler. The guy who would throw his fastball right down the middle of the plate even though everybody, including the guy with the bat, knew that it was coming. I was high-fived throughout practice. A group of cheerleaders stopped by to wish me well on the way from their practice to the showers. Two or three jokingly invited me to come along with them. I flirted with them for a while, and then hit the showers. The ones in the boys' locker room. I left that evening almost glowing with self-confidence. Yeah, I agreed, those College Board wussies were going down.

Cammie was waiting for me out there, and I was suddenly ashamed of myself. Turning into an asshole was easier than I thought. I tried to thank her for her time as humbly as I could, and she smiled and said she hoped it worked. When Jill saw her sitting on the couch with me that evening, going over one math question after another, she just stopped and stared at us.

Friday was pretty much a repeat of Thursday, with three exceptions. First, we found out that our mid-term exam in Government would be the following week. Second, we were assigned a History paper on the Civil War, due in two weeks. And third, and best of all, it was Tanya who was waiting for me when I came out of the locker room after baseball practice. Jeanne had already taken our car home, so Tanya drove us there. Before dinner, I eagerly introduced her to my Dad, my stepmother, my brother Dave, and my sister Jill. She bowled over every single one of them. And then she sat down with me and taught me writing. Fortunately, I was already fairly good at writing, as she cheerfully acknowledged. In fact, it was around nine o'clock when she apparently concluded that there wasn't anything more she could teach me.

That was also when she noticed that the house had emptied out. Dad and Tiffany were at the bowling alley. This was a relatively recent development. Dad didn't particularly like to bowl, but Tiffany, looking much like a bowling ball herself, had developed a craving for the bowling alley's pizza. So now they went there every Friday night. Dad bowled a few games, Tiff ate a few pizzas.

Dave left for his night shift at the 7-Eleven at about seven-thirty, although not until after Jeanne had told him that he ought to be taking some courses at the community college to get a start on getting his degree. During dinner, she had gotten Dave to tell her about his first semester at Auburn, the one that he had completed before he had blown out his knee in a bowl game shortly before Christmas in 2004. Dave just sat there and nodded as Tanya explained the advantages of attending a community college before transferring to a four-year school. There was no excuse for not taking advantage of college in this day and age, she claimed. When he left that evening, in fact, she sweetly asked him if he was going to follow through on his commitment. He just sort of nodded and scurried out the door.

The girls were on dates, of course. Sammy had knocked on the door at seven-thirty to take Jeanne to dinner and a late movie. Andy had leaned on the horn shortly before eight, to take Jill to God knows where.

Tanya certainly didn't know where, and she didn't care.

"Are you sure I'm ready for this?" I asked with no little surprise as I saw Tanya start packing up the book bag she'd brought with her. It did seem awfully early to me. Tommy and Cammie had both been here until nearly eleven.

"Ready for what?" she zipped up her bag and lowered her voice as she reached for the zipper of my jeans.

"The test?" I yelped, scooting back on the couch and casting a worried look at the door.

"The test?" she repeated with a gay laugh. "Patrick Sterling, if you don't come out of the Writing portion of that test thinking that you have absolutely aced it, I will..."

"Will what?" I asked when she didn't finish the sentence.

"Drop to my knees on the steps of the school and blow you right there when you walk out," she concluded with a laugh.

That was good enough for me. I still was worried about someone coming in the front door, though, and glanced in that direction. She saw my look and smiled.

"Come on, Pat," she said in a seductive voice. "Haven't you ever done it when someone could walk in on you?"

"Let's see," I said. "Your parents were out to lunch, and then they were away on a trip. So no, I haven't."

And of course the library doors had been locked.

Tanya's eyes softened as she remembered what I'd told her about my own memory.

"God, I'm sorry, Pat," she said.

"Although," I said, my eyes twinkling, "when I kissed Cammie that night I told you about, there was always the chance that Jeanne could walk back in with the hot chocolate."

"You bastard," she whacked me on the shoulder.

"'Course, Jeanne wanted us to kiss anyway," I recalled.

"Did she really?" Tanya sat back on the couch. "Why?"

"I don't know. She probably thought hey, my big brother, my best friend, who better to get together?"

"It would have been good," Tanya agreed after a pause that lasted long enough for her to imagine the Rowe-Sterling couple well into old age.

"I guess," I shrugged. "Too bad I fucked it up, huh?"

"Too bad for Cammie," she leaned in again. "Not so bad for Tanya, though, huh?"

"Not so bad for Patrick either," I smiled at her as she reached for my zipper a second time. "How 'bout we go upstairs, though?"

"Chicken," Tanya laughed as she bolted from the couch and ran up the stairs.

"First one on the right!" I yelled after her as I followed.

She refused to have sex with me that evening, but she gave me a blowjob that left me gasping for breath. With me sitting on the edge of my bed and her kneeling between my legs, fully clothed, she applied her tongue to everything: my thighs, my balls, the base of my cock, the tip of my cock, everything. And then she started to suck. I remember, the first time she blew me, not liking it that much. I had explained to her why I hadn't liked it, communication being one of the easiest part of the whole "friends with benefits" thing. And she had done a much better job a few weeks later, after our little shower. This time was simply amazing. If she got a chance to practice on me any more, I'd be dead.