Unmasked

The late afternoon sun hung low over the high school parking lot, casting golden light on rows of cars and the scattered clusters of students lingering before the trip to the game. The energy in the air was expectant but subdued—a quiet anticipation before the bus ride to Riverview High, where the championship game was set to take place. Sneakers scraped on asphalt as teammates tossed a basketball back and forth while others huddled in small groups, their chatter mixing with the distant roar of a departing bus.

Wendy stood leaning against a car, scrolling on her phone. The glow of the screen lit her face, making her expression unreadable. Steve approached her hesitantly, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a forced smile on his face. His heart beat faster as he neared, though he couldn’t quite pin down why—nerves, frustration, or something else entirely.

“Hey, Wendy,” he said, keeping his voice light.

She glanced up briefly, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting second before flicking back to her phone. Her box-dyed black hair, with dirty blonde roots peeking through, framed her pale face. Smudged eyeliner and streaked mascara suggested an intentional messiness, as though crafted to project an image of internal chaos despite her composed demeanor. “Hey, Steve,” she replied flatly.

Steve shifted his weight, shoving his free hand into his jacket pocket. “You’re riding on the bus with us, right?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Wendy shrugged, her gaze still fixed on her screen. “Actually, I’m going with some friends,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward a group gathered near another car.

Steve frowned, his attempt at nonchalance faltering. “Since when? I thought we were all sticking together.”

Wendy’s sigh was audible, and she finally looked up, her expression tinged with annoyance. “Steve, it’s not a big deal. You’re always so serious about these things. Can’t we just...not tonight?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, frustration bubbling to the surface. “I thought you wanted me to care. Isn’t that what you said? Now you’re acting like it’s too much.” He paused, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Sometimes it feels like you’re just repeating lines from movies or TV, saying what you think you’re supposed to in a relationship. Like when you told me, ‘You never listen to me,’ or ‘Do you even care about how I feel?’ And then there’s ‘Sometimes I wonder if you still love me.’ You say these things, but they don’t match reality. I do listen to you, Wendy. I care about how you feel, and yes, I do love you. But sometimes, I wonder if I should be the one asking those things. Do you ever think about how you treat me? Do you even care how I feel? If you don’t want to be here with me, just say it.”

Wendy crossed her arms, her phone now clutched tightly in one hand. She avoided making eye contact with Steve, her gaze shifting restlessly between the ground and the distant group of friends she had gestured toward earlier. “That’s not fair, Steve. I thought you’d be different… but you’re so normal. You’re supposed to be different, Steve. Your family runs a mortuary, for crying out loud. You’re surrounded by death all the time. How are you not messed up by that? You should be more… I don’t know, haunted or depressed or something. Instead, you and your family act like everything is fine, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It’s unsettling. It’s like you’re trying too hard to be happy and perfect all the time. And then you’re so controlling sometimes. I can’t even spend a night with friends without you making it a thing, like I’m doing something wrong.”

“Controlling?” Steve’s voice rose, but he quickly forced himself to lower it, glancing around at the nearby students. “You’ve spent every day this week with them, Wendy. The last two weeks, even. I’ve given you space, listened when you needed to vent, and tried to make things work. And now, you’re calling me controlling? That doesn’t even make sense.”

His chest tightened as the words spilled out, and his mind raced with contradictions. He thought of the late nights he spent listening to Wendy talk about her friends, even when she barely asked how his day went. He thought of all the times he had let her change plans at the last minute, just to make her happy. I’ve been doing everything I can to make this work, but when was the last time she even considered how I felt?

“If you’re trying to break up with me, just do it already,” he finished, his tone edged with frustration.

Her expression softened, though her tone remained defensive. “I’m not trying to break up with you, okay? Seriously, can we just...not tonight?”

Steve stared at her for a long moment, his breath catching in his throat, the tension building in his shoulders. He wanted to believe her words, but they felt empty, like the phrases she borrowed from movies or TV. Finally, he nodded, though his jaw remained clenched. “Fine. See you there, I guess.”

Her words stung more than he wanted to admit. Steve felt a pang of rejection, sharp and bitter. Was she really calling him controlling? He thought he was just trying to hold things together. Lately, it felt like he was the only one trying. Memories of his parents cheering him on at every game surfaced, their unwavering support a steady presence in his life. That’s what he thought Wendy would be too—his anchor in the chaos. But now, she felt like a distant figure, slipping away before he could grasp what was wrong. Is it me? Am I really the problem?

And yet, her dismissal felt rehearsed, like it wasn’t really about him at all. She says she’s not trying to break up, but doesn’t everything she’s doing say the opposite? The thought weighed on him as he muttered, “Right. Sure.”

Wendy’s phone buzzed, drawing her attention back to it. She tapped out a quick reply before saying, “I’ll see you there,” and walking off toward her friends. Her laughter drifted back to him as she joined their group, leaving Steve standing alone by the car.

The noises of the parking lot felt distant now. Steve’s jaw tightened, and he clenched his fists as he stared after Wendy. The excitement for the game, the camaraderie of his teammates—all of it seemed muted, overshadowed by the hollow ache in his chest.

“Focus on the game,” he muttered under his breath, the words both a mantra and a shield. Adjusting his backpack, he turned toward the bus where his teammates were boarding. Determined to push the personal tension aside, he forced himself forward, though the sting of the interaction stayed with him, an unwelcome weight he carried as they prepared to leave for Riverview.

After the team bus rolled into the parking lot following the two-hour drive, Steve stepped off, stretching his legs as the cool evening air hit him. His eyes immediately landed on the familiar family car parked nearby, its sleek frame standing out among the other vehicles. This was a ritual his family never missed—driving separately to meet him before every major game. These moments, carved out of the chaos of competition, were sacred. Their pre-game pep talks weren’t just routine; they were a tradition that grounded him, reminding him of where he came from.

The team had arrived early to acclimate and mentally prepare for the championship ahead. As Steve walked toward the SUV, he relished the brief break from the team’s intensity. Sliding into the back seat, he was enveloped by the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the windows, creating a gentle warmth against the car’s dark interior. Outside, faint voices and the distant clang of gymnasium preparations underscored the gravity of the night ahead. But inside, the car felt like a haven—a cocoon of familial love and encouragement that shielded him from the weight of expectations pressing in from every direction.

Steve sat in the back seat, his gaze fixed on the condensation trailing down the window. He absentmindedly traced patterns on the glass, his thoughts swirling in tandem. The weight of the game pressed on his shoulders, but it wasn’t the only thing occupying his mind. Wendy’s recent distance gnawed at him. Her detachment felt like a shadow over their once easy connection. The idea of ending things had crossed his mind more than once, and though the thought stung, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it might be what they both needed.

His reverie was broken by a jab to his ribs.

“You nervous, champ?” Brie’s voice was teasing, her smirk playful but probing. At sixteen, two years younger than Steve, Brie’s energy was both unrelenting and endearing. Her wavy auburn hair fell loosely over her shoulders, framing a face bright with freckles and mischief. Her piercing hazel eyes seemed to read him effortlessly, always ready to call him out when something was off. “Or is it something else? You’ve been in another world lately.”

Steve sighed, leaning back against the seat. “It’s not just the game,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “Wendy… she’s been different. Distant. And I don’t know if we’re good for each other anymore.”

Anger simmered beneath his calm tone, unspoken but palpable. Wendy’s words about his family being too perfect stung more than he cared to admit. Too perfect? Because they ran a mortuary? The absurdity of her accusation twisted in his chest. Sure, they worked with death every day, but their happiness wasn’t a front—it was earned, carved out of the heaviness of their work. He thought about his dad’s stories, his mom’s steady kindness, and Brie’s relentless energy. They weren’t pretending to be normal; they were just making the best of their lives.

And yet, he couldn’t share this frustration with his family. Bringing it up would only hurt them, piling undeserved guilt onto their shoulders. They didn’t need to know that Wendy thought their joy was somehow wrong. The thought of burdening them with that knowledge was unbearable. So instead, he pushed the anger aside, burying it deep beneath the growing weight of everything else.

Brie tilted her head, her smirk softening. “Well, I’m no relationship expert, but if it’s bothering you that much, maybe you’ve got your answer. For now, though? Focus on tonight, okay? You’ve got a whole team counting on you out there.”

Steve offered a faint smile, her words grounding him. “Thanks, Brie. I’ll try.”

“A little nervous, huh?” she said, picking up her teasing tone again. “You’ve been staring out that window like it holds all the answers.”

“Leave him alone, Brie,” Gregory called from the driver’s seat, though his tone was lighthearted. Steve’s dad shared his son’s thick, dark hair, though Gregory’s had streaks of gray creeping in at the temples. His broad shoulders and sturdy build mirrored Steve’s own frame, a testament to years of hard work at the family mortuary. “I used to do the same thing before games. Didn’t help much, but it’s part of the ritual.”

Margaret turned in her seat, her expression soft in the glow of the dashboard. Steve’s mother shared his angular cheekbones and bright green eyes, her features a gentler reflection of his own. Her auburn hair, streaked with silver, was tied back neatly, giving her an air of calm authority. “Steve, just remember… it’s only a game. But the way you carry yourself out there? That’s what people will remember most.” She reached back to squeeze his hand gently, the gesture grounding him in her quiet reassurance.

“Yeah, just don’t let your shoelaces outshine you out there, superstar,” Brie quipped, her grin wide. The joke broke the tension, pulling laughter from everyone, including Steve.

Gregory adjusted the rearview mirror, catching Steve’s gaze. “You’ve got this, son. Play hard, play fair, and leave it all on the court. No matter what, we’re proud of you.”

The words settled over Steve like a comforting blanket. Pride and gratitude welled up inside him, tempered only by the pressure he felt to meet their expectations. Their belief in him was unwavering, and he silently vowed to prove it wasn’t misplaced.

As the conversation flowed, Steve’s mind drifted to countless memories of his family’s support. His dad’s stories about resilience, his mom’s steady wisdom, and Brie’s playful confidence had always been his compass. Each of them brought something unique, weaving a foundation of integrity, hard work, and perseverance that he carried with him into every challenge.

“Here,” Brie said suddenly, breaking his thoughts. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small charm, strung on a simple thread. It was handmade, crafted from colorful beads and a small, polished stone etched with a simple star. The threads tying it together were frayed in spots, but the care behind it was unmistakable. “For luck,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost shy.

Steve took the charm carefully, his fingers brushing hers. The lump in his throat tightened as he stared at it, noting how the star seemed to catch the dim light. “Thanks, Brie,” he said softly, his voice tinged with emotion.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied quickly, looking away to hide the faint blush creeping into her cheeks.

Gregory clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “All right, team. Time to show ’em what the Graves family is made of.”

Margaret adjusted Steve’s jacket collar, brushing away an imaginary speck of dust as Gregory gave him a solid pat on the back. Brie teased him one last time, though her grin was softer, filled with affection.

As Steve stepped out of the car, the cold evening air prickled his skin, but he barely noticed. Turning back, he saw their faces framed in the window—his dad’s confident smile, his mom’s calm reassurance, and Brie’s playful wave. The image etched itself into his memory, a snapshot of the love and strength he carried with him.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and strode toward the gym, the charm clutched tightly in his hand. Their voices echoed in his mind, a steady rhythm of encouragement and love as he prepared to step onto the court.