Spring Perfection

By

Leslie Dubois

I love the smell of springtime. To me, it smells like hot dogs, linseed oil, and the tight stitching on a new baseball. Spring brings my favorite pastime, the happiest time of my life. But not today.

It’s the top of the fifth inning. We, Charleston Preparatory School, are ahead one to zero. I’m pitching a perfect game. It’ll be my first perfect game since joining the baseball team last year as a freshman. A perfect game is the dream of any pitcher. I mean, in Major League Baseball there have only been twenty perfect games ever! Ever! And I was on my way to getting one as a sophomore in high school. A perfect game means no one gets on base—no walks, no errors, no mistakes. Unfortunately, I don't know if this is possible.

My head is not in the game. It’s somewhere else completely. With Reyna. I made a promise to her and because of this stupid game, I don't know if I’ll be able to keep it or not. Of course, the game isn't stupid. Baseball is the greatest game on the planet. And if you ask my mother, she'll say it’s the most important game of my life. But then again, she'll say every game is the most important game of my life. That's just the way she is. It will take too much time to explain my mother. And this isn't a story about her.

In her defense, this is a special game. It isn't every day that a high school team gets to have a spring training game with a college team. And it certainly isn't every day that the high school team beats the college team. But winning will mean nothing without Reyna by my side.

I look over at her normal place in the dugout, where she usually sits next to Doc. She wants to be a doctor one day, so he lets her tag along to all the games and watch how to take care of different sports injuries. It’s free medical training for her future career.

Today she isn't there and I know why. The reason tears at my heart. I momentarily step off the mound in order to get my emotions in check. Most people think nerves are kicking in. They think I realize that it's been five innings and I haven’t allowed a single batter to reach first base. But that’s not what is eating away at me like termite in a tree house. I’m a bad friend. I should be by her side instead of worrying about my baseball stats.

I stick my face into my glove and inhale the scent of the linseed oil. It calms me for a moment and I step back on the mound.

How did I ever get to this point? How did Reyna grow to be so important in my life that I find myself thinking about her instead of pitching my perfect game?

I shake thoughts of her from my mind and throw out a pitch.

Strike three.

I’ve survived another inning. Finally, I can retreat to the dugout and get my head together. I try to purge thoughts of her. I try to concentrate. I try to focus on Carson at bat, but I can't. Instead, I think of how Reyna and I first met.

The Day that Changed my Life

The day my life changed was November 13th, 2002. It was a Tuesday in English class, which meant reading time. But to sixth grade boys, reading time was a synonym for a little game we called Flame it and Blame it. It was a highly intellectual game in which a winner was anyone who could fart in class and successfully blame it on someone else. I was a "Flame it and Blame it" champion three weeks running.

The nation had just celebrated the one-year memorial of the September 11th terrorists attacks, yet at that time, the most serious thing I thought of was how to keep my fart game-winning streak alive. What can I say; I was a pretty superficial kid.

That was the day Reyna Lewis breezed into my life. I couldn't take my eyes off of her from the moment she walked into the door and handed her schedule to Mr. Eckhart. Then her eyes scanned the room, looking for an empty seat.

She had a big, dark, curly Afro that seemed like it bounced in slow motion. She had an arm full of shiny bracelets that played music with each step she took. I had never seen anyone wear so many bracelets on one arm at one time in my life.

At the wise old age of 12, the girls and boys of Charleston Preparatory School were convinced of only of two things:

Boys were gross.

Girls were as boring as watching paint dry on grass.

I was pretty sure both of those facts were engraved on bathroom doors somewhere. It was almost sacrilege for the two groups to mix at that age.

As Reyna made her way through the classroom, stuck-up blond girl after stuck-up blond girl refused to let her sit down. Not because she was black, but because she was new. She hadn't yet proven what social group she belonged. No one wanted to take a chance by including her and later figuring out she didn't so they’d made a mistake. Most people thought it was best to adopt a wait-and-see attitude.

Reyna lifted her head unphased and continued walking toward the back of the class where all the stinky—literally stinky—boys were found.

"You can sit here," I said, offering the empty seat next to me. I heard my voice before I even thought the words.

Reyna looked at me and smiled. Suddenly my mouth went dry and my legs turned to putty. Thank goodness I was sitting down.

After taking the seat next to me, she asked what I was reading. At least, I think that's what she said. The rest of class was a blur. All I remember was meeting her for lunch later that day.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked as we shared a table in the cafeteria.

I shrugged. I really didn't know why. I had never sat with a girl at lunch. Ever. Something about Reyna just felt right though.

She smiled again and I felt that funny feeling. If she kept smiling at me like that, I might not be able to walk again. "That's okay. You don't have to explain. I don't think I've ever eaten a meal with a white person before. I just feel comfortable with you, though."

"You mean, you don't know any white people?"

She shook her head. "I've spent most of my life in Puerto Rico."

"You're Spanish? You're black and Spanish, just like Roberto Clemente."

She started babbling rapidly in Spanish. When she noticed my confused look, she stopped short and covered her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was just really excited you knew about Roberto Clemente. I love baseball."

A girl who loved baseball? This was going to be an amazing friendship.

Just then, my cell phone buzzed. Cell phones weren't exactly allowed at Charleston Prep for most people. But I was Scott Kincaid. I wasn't most people. A lot of exceptions were made for me.

I dismissed the call and stuffed the phone into my pocket. I couldn't deal with my mother right at that point. She was probably just calling to yell at me for not finishing my workout that morning or to remind me to run extra laps after school.

"You don't want to answer that?" my new friend asked.

I rolled my eyes. "It's just my mother. She'll have plenty of time to yell at me later. Right now, I'm trying to eat."

Reyna looked concerned. It was like she could somehow sense the pain in the relationship between my mother and me.

"In my village in Puerto Rico, there was an old woman nicknamed La Cienega who once told me that someone can only make you unhappy if you let them."

I thought about this for a second. No one had ever put it that way before. And three different therapists had tried.

"Is that why you were able to smile, even though those girls in class rejected you?"

"That wasn't my smile. That was La Cienega's smile."

I looked at her, confused.

"I'll tell you about her later. Not today. You're not ready. You'll just think I'm weird."

She was right about that. I did think she was weird. And different. And exciting. And unique. She was the most fascinating person I had ever met in my life.

Top of the Sixth

We fail to score in the bottom of the fifth. Now it’s my time to go out and keep my perfect game going. As I walk out to the mound, I feel that maybe I’m still that superficial kid from the sixth grade. I like to think that I’ve changed a lot, that my friendship with Reyna has made me a better and deeper person. But sometimes I’m not sure.

Now is a good example.

What am I doing here? This is just an exhibition game. It really means nothing in the long run.

I throw a strike. The batter doesn't even swing. He expected me to throw high and away, like the last time he was at bat. But this is why I’m so good. I have so many pitches in my artillery, they never know what to expect from me. I have an awesome slider, curve ball and even a knuckle ball. And don't get me started on my fastball. I've already broken the high school record for fastest pitch ever thrown.

I retire the first batter then look out into the crowd. I carefully avoid my mother's eyes. I don't know what to expect from her. Yes, I'm winning the game, but sometimes winning isn't enough for that women. I know she wants this perfect game. It's not like I’ll get a trophy or anything for her to add to my side of the trophy room at home. Although I could totally imagine her going to a trophy store just to create one for me.

My mother wants this so badly because of the publicity it will bring. I know she thinks it’ll help me get signed with a team. But I'm only a sophomore in high school. There’s no telling what can happen between now and when I graduate. And what if I get injured or something? One stinking ACL tear, and my career is probably over. I shiver at the thought. I don't know what I'd do with myself if I wasn't able to play sports. I love sports, but always having to win is starting to wear me down, like tires on a racecar. It's too much pressure. Besides, I want to go to college anyway first before jumping into professional sports.

Instead of looking at my mother I look in the stands at Kimberely Mierson, my current girlfriend. Why isn't Reyna my girlfriend? I'm not sure. Maybe I'm too afraid to lose her friendship. Or maybe I'm just plain afraid.

The rest of the inning is a blur. I throw six strikes so fast that my arm gets a little sore. I know better than to rub my shoulder in public though. Besides it being bad luck, my mother would be in the dugout before I could say 'Bengay,' making sure I was okay and demanding the trainer give me something so my performance doesn't suffer.

Instead of massaging my shoulder I plopped down in my seat, crossed my arms and closed my eyes. Then I thought about La Cienega's smile.

La Cienega's Smile

Weeks after that first encounter in English class, we sat together on the merry-go-round in the playground.

"I dare you to kiss me," Reyna said suddenly.

"What?" I said, nearly choking on my tofu turkey wrap. I wasn't a vegetarian or anything, but Reyna was. And there was just something about her that made me want to be wherever she was and do whatever she did. That included eating this disgusting concoction.

"I said I, dare you to kiss me."

"I heard you, but…but why?" I really couldn't believe what I was hearing. Did she really want us to kiss?

Reyna drew in a breath and made her cheeks big like a blowfish. She always did that when she needed to think. She held her breath for several seconds then let it out as she said, "According to my sources, we're the only two sixth graders who haven't had a first kiss. Most everyone in our class has gone beyond kissing."

I stared at her, completely confused. I remember totally not understanding what she meant by 'beyond kissing,' but I knew I wanted to try it. And I wanted to try it with her.

"I mean, I know you would rather kiss Amanda Stratfield, but I figure you can practice on me. That way, when you finally kiss Amanda, you'll be really good at it."

I didn't really want to kiss Amanda Stratfield. She was actually kind of annoying, the way she always asked me stupid questions about baseball just so she could have an excuse to talk to me. I mean, really, she doesn't even know what a sacrifice fly is. Reyna does. She would never ask me that.

"Um…" I managed to say. I couldn't think of anything else. I didn't know what I was supposed to say in this situation.

"We can go behind the slide if you want, so no one will see," Reyna said.

"Um…okay."

Reyna grabbed my hand and pulled me to a secluded spot behind the slide at the edge of the playground, a spot hidden from the rest of the field. And then we did it. We kissed. We kissed a lot. Reyna was a little bit of a perfectionist, so I knew we’d be at it for a while until we got it just right.

"Did you feel that?" she asked me after our fifth attempt at a successful kiss without teeth getting in the way.

"What?"

"A flutter in the pit of your stomach. I felt it in mine."

I closed my eyes and thought about it. Yeah, I’d felt the flutter. Whatever it was, I had felt it everywhere.

"Yeah, I felt it, too," I said.

"La Cienega just smiled."

I looked at her and smiled. I couldn’t stop smiling. I probably had the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. But I couldn't help it. I was just that happy. "You always talk about this Cienega person. Are you finally gonna tell me who she is?"

Reyna sat cross legged on the ground and pulled me down next to her. She closed her eyes and rested her head on my shoulder. She seemed as though she was being transported to another time and place. I just sat there, quietly waiting for her to speak. And secretly hoping that soon the kissing would start again.

"In my village in Puerto Rico," she finally began, "there was this old blind woman named Milagros. That means Miracle, you know?"

I nodded as if I knew. I really didn't.

"It was an appropriate name. She was the miracle of the village. If there was someone having a hard time paying their bills, they would miraculously find a wad of cash under their door. If someone didn't have enough to eat, they'd miraculously find a bag of rice and a chicken on their doorstep."

"Wait, a live chicken?"

"Yes, a live one. That's how we roll in Puerto Rico." She laughed for a moment and then suddenly became serious. "Everyone knew the gifts came from her. She was so giving and caring. She took care of everyone. She even tried to take care of my mother when…when she got sick." Reyna paused for a moment as if holding back tears. "After my mom died, I thought my world had ended. I thought I would never be happy again. It actually made me mad to pass Milagros on her porch every day and see her smiling at nothing. I honestly believed that no one in the world should be happy, because my mother was gone." She paused again and took a deep, calming breath. "Anyway, one day I got too angry to hold it in. I marched up to her and asked her why in the world was she smiling? Actually, I think what I said translates more accurately into, 'Why the hell are you smiling?' But do you know what she said?"

I shook my head.

"She said she smiles because she's blind."

I looked at Reyna oddly.

"Yeah, I was confused too. But then she said, 'It's not what you see that makes you truly happy. What you see may not always be there. Oh, but how you feel never has to go away. There's nothing better than that tingly happiness that courses through your body and lands in your face, causing your cheeks to rise into a smile. Because I'm blind, I don't get distracted by what's really there and what's not. I get to have that feeling all the time.'"

I sat in silence for a while as I let those words sink in. I had to admit, those were probably the most beautiful few sentences I’d ever heard in my life. No wonder the words had stuck with Reyna for so long. But I was still confused about something. "Rey, I thought you said her name was Milagros. Where does La Cienega come in?"

"That was her nickname," Reyna said. "It's not actually even a real word, but it's roughly translated to something like 'the marsh.' I used to sit on her porch for hours and watch the sun rise or set over the marsh. It was beautiful and peaceful and made me feel like…like…home."

"Well, we have marshland here. This is Charleston, after all. Do you feel at home here?"

Reyna shook her head. "It's not the same. Yes, there is marshland here, but this isn't an island. There’s something different about living on an island. There's something different about the feel of the wind, the smell of air and the taste of the breeze. The sunset on an island surrounds you and feels like warmth is hugging you."

For a moment I thought she was getting confused in the English language. Her English was nearly perfect since her father was American, but sometimes I noticed she couldn't exactly translate things the way she wanted. But after I thought about it for a moment more, I realized she had said exactly what she meant. I also realized that one day I was going to help her have the feeling again.

Top of the Seventh

The sixth inning still brings no score. We are still ahead one to zero.

I find myself hoping the other team will hit a home run or something and take the pressure off of me. Then I can fake some shoulder strain and get out of the game. I will head out to the locker room and sneak off to the surprise I had for Reyna. Yeah, that can work. I just have to get out of here.

I throw a fastball straight down the middle. Just as I thought, the batter hits a long one down the left field line. The ball is so out of here. But then Derek suddenly turns into Spider-man and nearly scales the wall to make an incredible catch.

The crowd explodes in applause. The batter is out.

This means I have to continue my perfect game. I catch a glimpse of Sam in the bleachers. She’s standing with her hands on her hips and glaring at me as if I’ve just beaten a baby seal with my bat. My behavior is unacceptable to her. Somehow she knows what I’m trying to do. She’ll kill me if I ruin this chance at a perfect game. She already told me at the beginning of the season that there’s a brand-new Mustang convertible waiting for me if I accomplish this. To be honest, this game means more to her than it does to me.

Returning to the dugout, I try to block out Coach, who is yammering in my ear about being only nine outs away from making history. No high school student has ever pitched a perfect game against a college team. Even though this is just an exhibition game, I’m sure it’ll be on the local news tonight. It might even make the national news.

I’m not sure why I’m so on today. Why can't any of the College of Charleston players hit against me? It's like I'm unstoppable, and I'm not even trying that hard. I don't even want to play. It was a last-minute addition to our schedule. I had my day with Reyna all planned when Coach called me in his office yesterday afternoon and told me I would be pitching.

At the beginning of the game, I just wanted it to be over as soon as possible. That was why I kept throwing strike after strike. But by the bottom of the fourth, when no one had made it on base, I started hearing whisperings of a perfect game. And now, I start to feel the pressure of the possible perfect game.

I lean my head back and close my eyes, trying to drown out all the sounds of the cheering fans, the crack of the ball against the bat, even the sound of cleats on grass. These are sounds that I usually love. But today, I just want it to be over. I have to get to Reyna. I can't let her down again… I shudder at the thought of the last time I’d let her down.

Seventh Grade Dance

I'm not in love with Reyna. At least, that's what I've been telling myself for the past five years. Even though she was my first kiss due to a little playground experiment in the sixth grade, and even though she was the only person who actually knew me…the real me, I loved her like a friend and nothing more. Or so I thought.

I thought taking her to the seventh grade dance would be no big deal. But if she was only a friend to me, why was it so hard to ask her to go to the dance in the first place? Why did my palms get sweatier than a pork chop wrapped in plastic on a porch every time I thought about asking her? Why did it take me two days to gather up the courage? And why did my heart nearly stop when she took a deep breath and blew out her cheeks after I finally did? While I stared at her with her cheeks puffed out, I knew she was searching for that tingle in her stomach. She always looked for some feeling or sign from La Cienega in order to know whether to do something or not. I sure hoped La Cienega wasn't taking a nap or something and would send her the sign she needed.

Truth is, I wanted to feel that tingle too. The last time I'd felt it was when we’d kissed on the playground the year before. We'd never tried anything else since. Reyna was so convinced I liked Amanda and not her. I don't know why I never corrected her. Maybe this would be my chance. Maybe I would get to kiss her at the seventh grade dance and if I felt that tingle again, I would know. I’d know for sure she was the one.

Instead of responding with a simple yes or no, Reyna said, "Are you sure, Scottie?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I want to take you to the dance."

She sighed and said, "Does your mother know?"

My mother. Samantha Kincaid. She was a like gale force wind of hate and irrationality. The only time I ever spoke to her was about sports. Even in the seventh grade I knew not to give Sam too many details about my personal life. She would just find a away to criticize me.

"Yeah, sure, she knows," I lied. Of course my mother didn't know. If she knew I was contemplating going to a dance with a black person, she'd probably pack me up and ship me off to some sort of ridiculous and unnecessary sport camp until I changed my mind. She'd done it before. When I told her I wanted to quit track for baseball, she sent me to a sprinting camp in Oregon. I didn't even know there was such a thing as a sprinting camp. Anyway, I didn't change my mind. And when she saw how fast I could pitch, she was the one who cleared off a space in our trophy room for my future baseball trophies.

Reyna smiled and said, "Okay, let's go." It was the happiest I'd ever seen her. She almost skipped off to her next class.

But things didn't go as planned. The dance never happened.

I remember getting Coach to help me rent a tuxedo. That was something Sam would never agree to, so I knew not to even ask. The most formal piece of clothing she owned was a pair of running shoes my little brother Stu spilled glitter on.

The night of the dance, I put on the suit and held Reyna's corsage in my hand as I stared in the mirror. I looked like a complete dork. What other seventh grade boy would wear a tuxedo? Most of the other boys didn't even have real dates. They were just planning on showing up and hanging against the wall for most of the night. I was making too big of a deal about this. Reyna would think I was crazy.

I quickly stripped, threw on a pair of khakis, a Carolina Panthers jersey, and the tuxedo jacket. I stared at myself in the mirror again. I looked pretty good, if I do say so myself.

Next it was time to get Sam to take me to school. Unfortunately, I was only thirteen, which meant no wheels. Sam still held a lot of power over my life. If I was sixteen and had my own car, I would have just driven myself. I would have snuck out the window if I had to. But at this age, I needed her permission.

"Can you give me a ride to school?" I asked Sam as she sat on the couch watching a game on ESPN.

"School? Why do you want to go to school? It's Thursday night," she said without taking her eyes off the television. She was watching Duke play and wanted to make sure they lost. She hated Duke. They rejected her college application because the fact that she could run a four-minute mile didn't outshine her lackluster grades. Sixteen years later, she was still holding a grudge.

"There's a dance tonight. I want to go." I was way too innocent back then. I should have concocted some story about a mandatory basketball practice or something, but I never expected the evening to proceed as it did.

Sam tore her eyes away from the television and looked me up and down. "You look ridiculous," she said before turning her attention back to the TV.

I sighed. "Mom, are you gonna take me or not?"

"Six minutes on the clock. Just wait ‘til the end of the game." She waved me off.

In a basketball game, I knew six minutes on the clock could very well be fifteen or twenty actual minutes. I went upstairs to obsess over my look for another twenty minutes.

When the game was over, I went back down. "Can we go now?" I asked her.

She was in the kitchen making one of her God-awful protein smoothies. The way she angrily slammed cabinets shut, I knew Duke must have won. She was in a really bad mood. "You're not going anywhere, Scott."

"Why not?"

"I did some research. Made some calls. You're going with Reyna Lewis?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Unacceptable."

"Why?" I asked, completely in shock. How had she found out about Reyna? I bet she called Coach. Sam was a pro at spying on me. I should have told him not to tell her anything in case she asked.

"Don't be stupid, Scott. She's a gold-digging whore. All she wants is your money." This was typical Sam speak. She had this idea in her head that I was worth millions in future sports contracts.

"I don't have any money, Sam. I'm only thirteen. She's my friend. She's my best friend. I promised her."

Sam turned on the blender. She probably didn't hear a word I’d said. When she finally turned off the blender, I repeated myself but she didn't care. She poured two glasses and sat down at the table.

"Sit," she said, placing a glass of the disgusting protein junk in front of me. "Drink that. Then we're going for a run."

"No, we're not. I'm going to the dance."

"The hell you are. Dating a girl like Reyna could ruin your persona and irreparably damage your future earning potential. It's out of the question. Drink."

Tears stung in my eyes. I absolutely refused to let her see me cry. To avoid an onslaught of tears, I chugged the protein drink just to distract my emotions. When I finished, she proceeded to lecture me about my responsibilities as a future professional athlete and how I had to lay the groundwork now in order to have a successful future. An hour later, we went for a run and I never made it to that dance.

The next morning at school, I waited for Reyna by her locker. She took one look at me and then chose a different route to her first class. She could avoid me for first period, since we were in different math classes. But she'd have to talk to me in English.

All through first period, I rehearsed what I would say. I had to figure out something to tell her that would make her forgive me. That something didn't include what my insane mother had said. I thought she’d be even more hurt if she knew how my mother felt about her.

So instead, as soon as she entered English class, I said, "I'm so sorry, Rey. I got caught up playing video games and totally lost track of time."

She stared at me incredulously. "Video games?"

I nodded.

"Which one?" She crossed her arms and stared at me.

She knew I was lying. She had to. I was such a bad liar and she knew me so well I wouldn't be able to lie to her if I'd planned it for weeks. She was sure to see through this last-minute fib.

"Grand Theft Auto," I said, naming the first game I could think of.

She raised an eyebrow. "Grand Theft Auto? You hate Grand Theft Auto. You say it's depressing."

She was right about that. We'd had a conversation about it almost a year ago. How did she remember things like that? She’d caught me lying and I had no idea what to say. Instead, I just stood there with my mouth hanging open.

Reyna rolled her eyes and stormed off to the other side of the room, away from the seat next to mine where she always sat.

Before sitting down, I went and placed her corsage on her desk. "I really am sorry, Rey," I said before taking my seat.

I spent the entire class period staring at Reyna as she stared at that red hibiscus. The flower was actually called La Flor Maga and was the national flower of Puerto Rico. I had to have it specially ordered.

Reyna continued to avoid me for the next two periods. But at lunchtime, she sat down in front of me and said three little words that I’d been waiting for all day. "I forgive you."

And that was that. We never spoke of it again.

Top of the eighth

It is now 5:15. I check on the watch Reyna gave me for my 14th birthday almost three years ago. The sun is scheduled to set at 7:43 pm tonight. I know because I checked about thirty-five times that morning. Her surprise is located an hour away by boat. If the game ends in the next twenty minutes, I'll still have time to shower, change, pick up Rey and get her to the special spot before sunset. That is, if there’s no traffic. There’s always traffic. I’m running out of time and options. I’m beginning to panic.

This day is such an important day in Reyna's life. I have to be there for her. I just have to. If this game doesn't end in twenty minutes, I'm going to have a very difficult decision to make.

I take my stance and get ready to throw out the first pitch of the eighth inning.

The Surprise

Ten years ago today, Reyna's mother died. Usually, she and her father try to make it back to Puerto Rico to visit her grave, but this year they couldn't. Her father had to travel to Florida to take care of his sick mother, and he didn't want Reyna leaving the country on her own.

I think it’s sad how most people feel spring is a time of rebirth and new beginnings, but for Reyna it will always be a time of loss and mourning. That's why she wasn't at the game. She was probably sitting alone in her room, trying her best to feel La Cienega's smile.

When I looked in the sky and noted the hour, I dashed to the locker room faster than a cheetah on roller skates. I know my teammates think I’m odd, but I have someplace to be. I have a promise to keep.

After the quickest shower ever, I hop into my Jeep and speed over to Reyna's house. Her front door is locked, so I scale the wall and look into her bedroom window. Just like I thought, she’s lying on her bed when I arrive.

"What are you doing here?" she asks as she opens the window and helps me in. "How was the game?"

"Don't worry about the game," I say as I climb through. I fold her into my arms. She knows why I'm there and it makes her start to cry softly. I want to tell her that no game could mean to me as much as she does, but I don't know if that’ll make her cry even more. So I just hold her and let her cry. I know she isn't really crying over a baseball game anyway.

When she calms down somewhat, I say, "Let's go. It's time for your surprise."

"What? You're still doing that?" she asked, wiping away tears. "I thought because of the game you would cancel."

"Nope, we're still on. Get your stuff."

"What kind of surprise is it? Where are we going?"

"Well, if I told you that, it wouldn't be much of a surprise, now would it?"

She smiles and mumbles something in Spanish. I’m just about to ask her what she said when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take a deep breath, hoping it isn't my mother. Unfortunately, it’s worse.

"Who is it?" Reyna asked.

"Kimmie."

"Yeah, Kimmie. Your girlfriend, remember? Do you have plans with her tonight? Maybe we can do this surprise thing later."

Technically, Kimmie is my girlfriend. At least, I think she is. I honestly think she broke up with me last week. But that could have been Karly. I have trouble keeping girls’ names straight sometimes.

I always thought the term ‘girlfriend’ was kind of odd in my situation. None of those girls are really my friend. I mean, most of them didn't know the difference between a strike and a touchdown. Reyna is my only real friend who is a girl. Actually, she’s probably my only real friend, besides my brother. But for some reason, we’ve never dated. None of my relationships ever have happily ever afters. Maybe I’m too afraid to ruin what Rey and I have to try something more with her.

I dismiss the call then send a quick text to my brother, letting him know I'm okay and not to expect me home. Then I toss the phone on Reyna's desk. I plan on leaving it there. I don't want any distractions. "No. Today. It has to be today," I say to answer Rey's question. "You got five minutes to get ready. We're losing daylight."

"Losing daylight?" she asks. "Where exactly are you taking me?'

"Don't worry about that. Oh, and bring a sleeping bag," I add before leaving the room.

"Sleeping bag? Sleeping bag?" I hear her call out after me.

Reyna won't stop asking questions during the entire car ride to the marina. I just smile and let her keep guessing. It’s fun to hear all of her conjectures. She guesses everything from Detroit to Disney World. Though I have no idea what possesses her to think I would take her to Detroit.

"The marina?" she asks as I park. "Scott, did you buy me a boat?" She smiles. Though many of our classmates do own their own boats, she knows I can't afford one. Not until I get that big MLB contract, anyway.

"We're using Harrison's," I say, referring to our classmate, Harrison McKinley III. He's a senior on the football team who owes me a favor.

"Where are we going?"

"Stop asking questions and grab your stuff."

I practically run to the dock and toss in my gear. Reyna is a step behind giggling with excitement.

I'm not an expert at sailing by any means, but Harrison taught me enough so that we make good time to the little island I've picked out where we’ll spend the night. One that has the perfect balance of marshland and view of the sky.

Charleston has lots of little privately owned islands along the coast. It took me two weeks to find the perfect one for us and then another three weeks to convince the owner to let me use it.

Reyna is quiet and reflective the entire boat ride over. It's like the sea air awakens a familiar part of her. She is staring off into the sky. I know she’s thinking of Puerto Rico.

I dock the boat on the island, toss out our stuff then reach for her hand. She pauses as she looks at the shore. She spies the blanket, the radio and the cooler. Then she sees the picture of her mother that I placed in a frame of the Puerto Rican flag.

"Oh, Scottie," she says as she starts to put things together.

"I hope this is okay," I say as I help her out of the boat. "I know this is a hard time for you and I know you’d rather be on your home island, remembering your mother. But I thought, just for this year, you could share this island with me, your best friend, and I could think of your mother with you."

She’s quiet and I think for a moment that I've made a mistake. I was too presumptuous. What made me think she’d want to spend this day with me? What made me think she’d want to wallow in the sadness of her mother's death? This was a stupid idea.

"You're so much more than a friend to me, Scottie," she says, burying her face into my chest. I wrap my arms around her and kiss the top of her head.

I'm not much of a cook, but Reyna seems to enjoy the sandwiches I made. We wash it down with virgin pina coladas, which didn't stay as cold as I’d hoped. Reyna doesn't seem to mind.

As the sun sets, I wrap my arm around her and say, "So, is La Cienega smiling?"

She looks at me and says, "We both are."

Real Perfection

Reyna and I stay up most of the night talking. She tells me stories about her mother and about Puerto Rico. Though I’d heard them all before, I don't mind hearing them again.

We take our time gathering our things the next morning. It was a perfect night and neither one of us wants it to end. Reyna is the only girl I can spend the night with on a completely pure and platonic level. Our relationship transcends anything physical.

Reyna is an excellent student and I think she will be upset with me for making her late for school the next morning, but she isn't. Instead, she suggests we go some where for coffee and continue our conversation. How is it I never get tired of talking to her?

Around noon, I drop her off at home and then drive the few blocks over to my own house.

My little brother Stu is sitting on the curb. This worries me. He should be in school.

"What's wrong?" I say, hopping out of my car.

"What's wrong?" he says incredulously. "What's wrong? I should be asking you that. Where have you been, Scott?" He stands and starts looking me up and down, as if searching for an injury.

"I'm fine," I say, grabbing my stuff out of my car.

"Well, not for long. You better hope you have a broken achilles or an enflamed tendon or whatever it is you athletes get. That is the only way Sam’s going to forgive you for what you did."

"Is she really mad?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

"Scottie, I love you, so don't take this the wrong way. But that is the dumbest thing you've ever said in your life. Of course she's mad. You walked out during the eighth inning of what was supposed to be your first perfect game. A perfect game. Perfect! What were you thinking? I thought this was what you wanted."

I shake my head. "Nah, I thought that was what I wanted. But I think I found what true perfection is."

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Continue the story of Scott and Reyna in Nothing Else Matters.

***

Leslie DuBois lives in Charleston, SC with her husband and two daughters. She is the author of several books for adults an young adults including Ain't No Sunshine, Guardian of Eden, The Queen Bee of Bridgeton, The Devil of DiRisio, Nobody Girl, Nothing Else Matters, and Shadows of St. Louis. She also writes her award-winning Priscilla the Great series as Sybil Nelson. Visit her at www.lesliedubois.com.

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