Our Playbooks

Chapter 9

Ellie

The next morning, I head over to Cammy’s house after getting dressed and grabbing things. I don’t actually have homework because I finished it all at school during Yearbook.

Cammy’s mom greets me the second I walk into the kitchen, her voice soft. “Good morning, El. How are you this morning, dear?”

“I’m good, Mrs. Beth. How are you?” I watch her shoulders sag with exhaustion as she lets out a long breath.

“Tired but good, dear. Help yourself to whatever you’d like. I’m going to try to shower before the baby wakes up.” She blows us both a kiss before toward her room.

I move to the counter beside Cammy as she pours herself a large cup of coffee. “How are you doing, Cammy?”

Cammy sighs. “I’m exhausted. The insulation in my ceiling does nothing - I hear everything at night. Scary noises, thumps overhead. I know it’s just them, but my heart still races, and it’s twice as hard to fall back asleep.”

I rest my head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but it stinks. You know your mom would let you stay the night at my house if you asked.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. You’re going through a lot right now. I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing. I’m offering - please stay the night. You need sleep, girl.”

She turns, giving me a big hug. “I’d love that. Thank you.”

“Of course.” I squeeze her tightly before letting her go.

She steps back, studying my face. “How are you doing today?” she asks, her voice gentle.

I force a small smile. “I’m good, just… I need a break from the group. It sounds bad, but helping Ryley and Dayton with their home situations took more out of me than I realized. Yesterday, I woke up completely drained. So I need some time, just to step back for a bit. I’m sorry.”

Meg appears in the kitchen entryway. “Don’t be sorry - we get it.” She grins, a little sheepish. “Sorry, I was eavesdropping. But honestly, we understand, and we’ve got you.”

Meg pulls both Cammy and me into a tight hug. We only let go when her stomach growls, and laughter breaks the tension.

We eat breakfast, chatting about the usual things - homework, dance practice, the latest gossip - before piling into Meg’s SUV for school.

I hang back as we walk through the halls to our lockers. Once I have my books, I head straight for homeroom. Everyone likes to gather at our lockers before heading to class, so if I want to start distancing myself, I need to move quickly.

The only three people in my homeroom are Meg, Cammy, and Ryley. I have a feeling everyone will either avoid me or try to figure out what’s wrong with me. Ryley walks in alone and waves, as if she’s been waiting to catch me before the others arrive.

She sits at her usual spot in front of me and turns. “Good morning,” she says.

“Good morning,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. She just turns back around, her silence lingering between us.

My phone buzzes. I check the screen - Ryley’s name. I glance up; she’s scrolling through something on her new phone, probably from her dad. Her old one was barely working, a hand-me-down from her stepdad, as if that was all she deserved.

I catch myself judging, roll my eyes, and try to let it go.

I open her message, heart thumping.

Clem: Thank you for everything you’ve done. I feel safe everywhere now. I was scared he’d kill me one day. With your help, my dad got me into therapy and found us a new place. We’re moving soon, but for now, I’m at the biker bar. Dayton moved with us. My mom’s gone into a spiral, so she can’t watch us, not that Dayton wanted to stay. She stood there and let it happen. Dayton was my only ally in that house. I don’t know what my dad did, and I don’t want it to come back on him, but I wanted to say thank you. I also wanted to say I see you and will always be here for you. Take your time, but know I’m not going anywhere. You were the first friend who saw me, not just the abused girl. I’ll never be able to repay you, Ellie-Bear. I love you. You’re amazing.

Tears slip down my cheek before I even realize I’m crying. I lay my head on my arms, pressing my face into my sleeve to muffle the sound, fighting to steady my breath. When homeroom ends, I’m one of the first out the door, desperate to get away before anyone notices.

Tristan is in both of my first two classes, but Cammy is there too, so I sit with her and avoid him. I feel his eyes on me all class, but when the teacher asks me to help him with missed assignments - because I’m at the top of the class - I have no choice but to talk to him. I keep it all business.

I ignore his personal questions and answer only about the assignments. My responses are clipped, my focus on the work in front of me.

When the bell rings, and I gather my things for the next class, Tristan says, “You can’t ignore me forever.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I shoot back, not looking at him as I leave for my next class.

He’s in that class too, so I keep my head down and ignore him, focusing on my work and the teacher. This time, as I get up to leave, he grabs my wrist.

“Are you okay?” His voice is quiet, almost genuine.

“I’m fine.” I yank my hand free, not meeting his eyes.

He groans, muttering something I don’t bother to catch; I’m already out the door, heading to my next class. The rest of the day presses in a blur, except I ask Mr. Stilinski if I can leave early.

I want to walk home today, but if my friends know, they’ll insist I ride with them.

“Hey, let them know I left, but after the bell rings,” I tell Autty.

I stand up to leave, but she grabs my hand, “I’m here for you, whenever you’re ready.”

I squeeze her hand, “Thank you.”

Once I get outside, I pull out my camera and take the long, scenic route. As I walk, I snap photos of the fading sunlight on the trees, the cracks in the sidewalk, the world stretching beyond me. Through the lens, everything feels bigger - wider than my life, more open. Sometimes, I wish my life was like that. Sometimes, it is.

In the park, I spot a group of kids crowding around a little boy. He’s got a bloodied lip and keeps crying out for them to stop.

I tuck my camera away and approach. Leaning against a tree, I call out, “You know, bullies don’t go very far. But you’re young. You can change.”

The kids jump, startled. Most scatter, but a few linger, backing away from the boy, who’s still curled up, sobbing.

“Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” the smallest kid demands, squaring his shoulders though he’s at least a foot shorter than me.

His two friends try to back him up, but their voices are shaky. I fix them with a look. “I don’t think you really want to know. Or your friends.”

I nod toward the two, and one mutters, “We should go.” He steps closer, whispering just loud enough for me to hear, “If I get in trouble for fighting again, my mom’s sending me to my dad.”

I stand quietly as they argue, neither of them really wanting to fight. Their voices aren’t quiet, so I catch their names, filing them away just in case. When both friends walk off, the ringleader stands his ground, but he’s alone now.

“Whatever, I don’t need them,” he scoffs, but as I step closer, he hesitates. “Actually, I think my mom needs me.”

I’d never beat him up because he’s literally a kid, but I also will not stand by while they hurt this little boy. He bolts, and I hurry over to the little boy, still curled into a ball and shaking. His school things are scattered everywhere. I kneel and start gathering everything, careful not to startle him. Behind the tree, I find his broken glasses, collecting every piece before zipping them into the small pocket of his backpack. I circle back to him.

I squat down and say the three words I don’t want to hear when I’m hurting, but know I’ve got to start somewhere.

“Hey, I’m Ellie. Are you okay?”

His voice is barely a whisper. “No.”

“Can I help?” I keep my voice soft, not wanting to scare him.

He stays silent, frozen. I try again, even gently, “I promise, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Is that alright?”

Slowly, he uncurls and sits with his back against the tree. When he looks up, I notice his icy blue eyes, his messy, sandy brown hair falling over a cut on his forehead, and his skin, which should be honey-ivory but is streaked with dirt and blood.

“I’m CJ,” he says, voice steadier. “I think I’m okay.”

“Can I clean your cuts? And maybe check your ribs - I saw them kicking you before I got here. Is that alright?”

He nods, so I slide my backpack off and pull out my little med kit - my mom always says it’s good to be prepared. I take out gauze, wipes, and Band-Aids, moving closer as I clean his lip and forehead, careful and slow. I stick a Band-Aid over the cut and dab some Vaseline on his lip.

“Can you lift your shirt?” I ask quietly, not wanting to scare him.

He nods again, slowly lifting his shirt. Purple bruises bloom across his ribs, but nothing looks broken - just sore. I tap his hand to let him know he can put his shirt down.

“Try to keep the band-aid on for about six hours, then let it air out overnight. You don’t need a new one in the morning, just keep it clean. The vaseline will help with your lip. You can keep the jar - I have more.” I hand it over, and he tucks it in his pocket.

“Thank you.” His voice is tiny but grateful.

“Of course.” I smile, hoping it helps.

I want to keep him talking, so I ask, “What’s CJ short for?”

“Carter Julian.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I like Carter better than CJ. Can I call you Carter?”

He grins, big and genuine. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Perfect. Carter, can I walk you home?”

He hesitates. “My parents would be mad if I walked home with a stranger.”

“I don’t think they’d be mad. Besides, we’re not strangers - you know my name, and I know yours.”

He laughs, bright and goofy. “Is Ellie short for something?”

I laugh, “It’s short for Eleanor.”

He considers it, nods. “Okay.”

“Alright, lead the way.”

He grabs his bag and stands. I pause. “They broke your glasses,” I say, voice low.

He shrugs. “Yeah, I know. Good thing my contact lenses arrived today.”

I laugh, relieved he can joke about it. “Yeah, that is good.”

We walk and talk about everything. His mom tries, but the bullying hasn’t stopped. I ask him what he likes, and he tells me he likes playing football with his brother and friends, but he’s terrible at basketball and every other sport. He’s more of a bookish gamer who also loves to draw. Maybe that’s why they target him. Usually, his brother picks him up, but with football practice, Carter’s left alone, an easy target.

He goes to the same middle school as Diego, Cammy’s brother - he’s a year older, but that doens’t seem to matter. I feel the gears turning in my head, already planning how to help this boy I just met. God, what am I doing? I just left behind one situation that stretched me thin, and here I am again. My heart never learns - it keeps giving pieces away, pulling it into even more pieces.

I push those thoughts away and ask him about his favorite book, what he likes to draw, and his favorite video game. He lights up when he talks about a video game I’ve never heard of, but I make a mental note to look it up later.

As we near his house, Carter’s steps slow.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, watching his shoulders hunch.

He stops, staring at his fingers. “No, I just… I don’t want this walk to end.” His voice drops. “I don’t really have friends, and talking to you has been nice.”

“I get it,” I say, fishing a pen and some paper from my bag. “Making friends is hard when people see you as different. But your real friends - the ones who matter - see you for who you are and never leave.”

I scribble my name and number, handing it to him. He blinks. “What’s this?”

“My number. If you ever need anything or just want to play that game, let me know. Okay?”

“Really?” He takes the paper with bright eyes. “You should download it when you get home. It’s fun.”

“With how you described it, I definitely will,” I say, smiling so he knows I mean it.

Suddenly, Carter wraps his arms around me in a tight hug. He’s only eleven - almost twelve, but he’s already just a head shorter than me. We discovered we’re birthday month twins, just four years and three days apart. I hug him back until he lets go.

“Thank you for everything, Eleanor.”

“You’re welcome, Carter.” I smile, feeling lighter for a moment.

He waves as he heads to his house, then gives me one last wave before stepping inside. I wave back, watching until he’s gone. My house is five blocks away, and I’m tired, but I’m happy I could make someone’s day.

I turn and stop short when someone steps out from behind a tree on the path. My arms cross over my chest - automatic, defensive. I don’t bother to hide my annoyance.

Tristan grins, a cocky smirk on his face. “Wow, for someone so set on pushing everyone away, you sure do help a lot of people.”