“We suck.” Joel sits next to me on the sidelines, watching the team do a passing drill. His words are the nice version of what I’d been thinking as Datson and a freshman we’ve not so cleverly nicknamed Fresh, somehow collide. It’s a disaster.
He looks to me when he speaks again, “We’ve gotta do something before Coach sees just how bad it is.”
It’s a captain’s practice, which means Coach Daniels and the rest of the coaching staff aren’t here. Regular season practices don’t start for another week, but Joel is right. If Coach sees this, we’ll spend the first week of real practice doing sprints until we get our shit together.
Joel stands after another bad pass goes flying out of bounds. “Come on, guys. It’s passing the damn ball. Not that fucking hard.”
He walks out on the court firing instructions. Joel is a natural leader. The guys respect him, and they listen. He’s a good captain. I haven’t provided a lot of value to this point. I’m more like the silent partner who nods in agreement so we’re a united front. I hardly feel qualified to hand out advice when I’m one mistake from being tossed myself.
After our morning practice, I shower and head to Freddy. I call Heath on my way to campus. With the time difference, he’ll be up. And if he’s not, well, he should be.
It’s not Heath who answers though.
“Hi, Nathan.”
“Mom, hi.” I slow my walk. “Where’s Heath?”
“School started back today.”
“And he didn’t take his phone?” I thought the thing was attached to his right hand.
“We’re sharing a phone now. Having two was really a waste of money. Especially when I’m still paying for you to be on our plan.”
I don’t think she means to make me feel like a burden, but the fact that I might be somehow responsible for taking resources that they need has me feeling awful twenty seconds into the conversation.
“Nine more months and you can remove me forever,” I say with a little more frustration than intended.
“Well, don’t get all moody with me. I get enough of that from your brother.” Her voice softens. “How’s school?”
“It’s fine. Listen, Mom, I just called to check in. Will you have Heath call me when he gets home?” I’m probably a shitty son for not wanting to chat but talks with my mom never leave me feeling better.
“Sure, but I’m not expecting him until late. He’s working at the country club after school today.”
My feet turn to lead, and I pause in the middle of the sidewalk. “What about hockey?”
“He quit the team last night.”
I don’t ask why. I know he did it to try and help out financially, but if he quits then everything I’ve done to this point will have been for nothing. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him last night. He’s a kid, making kid mistakes.
“He can’t quit, Mom. He’s got a real shot at college.”
She sighs. “I know. I tried to tell him, but he said he needed to start carrying his weight. I couldn’t talk him out of it.”
“I told him I’d figure something out.”
“Even so, we’re struggling to cover all the other expenses. It adds up. He understands. Maybe once I get a job…” Her words trail off. I’m not sure she even believes it enough to finish the sentence.
Waiting for my mom to get a job and then keep said job for more than a month is like wishing on a star. She sighs and the guilt I feel about Dad claws at my throat.
My mom was a teacher before my dad died. She worked at a private school teaching science. She was the mom who, despite working long hours grading papers and putting together lesson plans, still volunteered and still found time to be there for Heath and me. She never missed a high school game.
But now? Depression makes it hard for her to function. I’ve read all about it and I’m trying to be understanding, but it’s hard not to take it personal sometimes. She hasn’t made one single game since I’ve been at Valley, and I have my suspicions that she’s not made a lot of Heath’s games either. I don’t know this woman and as awful as it might be, I don’t really want to know her. I want to remember how she was before. It’s almost as if I lost both parents four years ago.
“How much does he need?”
She’s quiet for a few minutes. “Eight hundred. I have an interview today so I might be able to help in a couple of weeks.”
I run a hand over my jaw. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her she should consider maybe talking to someone, but it’s not like I’m in any condition to dole out advice on a happy, healthy life. So instead, I say, “I don’t have that much right now, but I’ll do what I can.”
Somehow. Some way.
She doesn’t respond. No thank you, just dead air. I think she’s embarrassed, but so am I. It’s not cool to be the poor kid at any age.
“Make sure Heath is at practice today. If he misses too many days, the coach will cut him.” Hockey is his dream, and he should get a chance to see it through. As much as I know my mom loves Heath and me, she can’t see beyond herself right now and Heath needs someone to set an example and be there when he screws up. Because he’s gonna keep doing stupid shit—it’s part of being eighteen.
It’s quarter ‘til when I get to Freddy dorm and hustle up to the fourth floor.
Chloe answers with wet hair and a half-eaten apple in one hand. “Hey. What are you doing here?” she asks, holding her free hand in front of her lips as she chews and talks.
“We’re having coffee before class.”
“Oh, you were serious about that.” She leaves the door open and walks over to a chair where she picks up her backpack. “Everyone’s gone so we don’t really have to do this.”
Taking her bag and putting it over my shoulder with mine, I head out to the hallway and wait for her to join me. Maybe this is all fake to her, but I like spending time with her, and I’ll take as much of it as she’ll give me. Beats sitting around thinking about all the other shit-fucked things going on. As long as I don’t think about the circumstances too hard, all I feel about hanging out with Chloe is excitement.
“Wait,” she says and goes for her bag.
“I got it.”
She shakes her head and unzips one of the pockets and retrieves her phone. “Venmo okay?”
I nod and give her my email. My phone is in my pocket, but I feel the vibration from the notification when she’s done.
“All good?” She walks past me toward the stairs.
I don’t pull out my phone to check. “Yep.”
That weight I’d been feeling is back. I brush it off so she can’t see my misgivings. She’s not paying me for my time, just for a façade, or that’s how I rationalize it. Feels like salvation and destruction all at once.
“How are things with the roommates?” I ask as we exit the dorm.
“Sydney fell asleep still talking about the party last night, and it’s been almost twenty-four hours since Bri glared at me.”
“Progress.”
She nods and takes another bite of her apple, then tosses it in a trash can outside of Freddy.
“What classes did you have this morning?”
“Applied Comm and Ethics.”
“Business Ethics with Professor Penn?”
When she confirms it, I laugh. “She’s nuts, but at least you won’t fall asleep in her class.”
“She brought a bundle of tacos to class this morning and ate every single one while lecturing. Lettuce and beef were spewing as she talked. I may never eat tacos again.”
I nod and lead us to University Hall, holding the door for her to go first. “At least it wasn’t fish tacos.”
Her eyes go wide. “Nooo?”
“Oh, yes. I had her last year.” I shudder at the memory.
There’s a short line at the café, but I sigh in relief when I spot Katrina working behind the counter. She always gives me her employee discount. Joel’s girlfriend greets me and Chloe with a big smile when it’s our turn.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” she asks me and then her eyes move over to Chloe.
“Katrina, this is Chloe. Chloe, this is my buddy Joel’s girlfriend.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Same,” Katrina says. “What can I get you guys?”
Chloe looks over the menu, which isn’t all that extensive. Coffee, muffins, and the usual breakfast pastries. “Can I get a bran muffin and a small coffee?”
“Cream or sugar?”
Chloe shakes her head and then Katrina looks to me. “I’m good. Just the muffin and coffee.”
I pull out my wallet.
“You’re not eating?” Chloe asks, confusion marring her features.
“I don’t do breakfast.” Which is true but mostly out of necessity. When Wes and Zeke were living at The White House, we took turns making breakfast before early practices, but now Joel spends more nights than not at Katrina’s and the routine has sort of faded away. Cooking isn’t really my jam. Even toast is a fire hazard.
“I got it.” Chloe moves to open her bag, presumably to grab her money.
I wave her off with the cash in my hand. “It’s on me.”
This is one of those awkward things that I wish didn’t stress me out. I want to buy the girl a muffin and coffee and still be able to afford to have dinner tonight. But I’ll gladly eat Ramen for the third night in a row for her.
Katrina rings us up, and I pay. She hands Chloe the coffee and a to-go bag with the muffin and then hands me a much heavier bag. “It’s for later,” she says casually. “I know you boys never eat unless it’s hand-delivered by Joel’s mom.”
I force a chuckle and mumble my thanks, embarrassed at the handout, but thankful nonetheless, and shove the bag in my backpack.
At an unhurried pace, Chloe and I walk toward Moreno Hall. Her hair has mostly dried now and the blonde strands are wavy, framing her face and falling down her back. She’s a beautiful girl. Casual suits her, I think. Those silver strappy shoes that cost more than I can fathom were hot as fuck, but she seems so much more accessible now. The Chloe of last night is squarely out of my league. This Chloe, however, I might stand a chance with.
“What’s your schedule like this afternoon?”
She swallows a bite of her muffin before she responds, “This is my last class of the day, then practice and studying in the library. You?”
“Econ at one. Lifting at two.”
She repeats it like she’s trying to memorize my details in case she’s quizzed. “I just realized I don’t know anything about your classes or practice schedule… What do I say if someone asks me where you are?”
Her vulnerability makes my chest tighten. I highly doubt someone is going to ask her my whereabouts at any given moment, but I take her hand and squeeze reassuringly. “Tell them you’re not my keeper.” She rolls her eyes. “I have my phone on me, text if you need anything. And if all else fails, do what I do.”
“What’s that?”
“Bullshit ‘em.”
The next day before class, I wait outside class for Chloe. She slows when she sees me.
“Hey.”
“Hey, there.” I hold out the paper bag in my right hand.
She takes a hesitant look inside and then smiles. “Thank you.”
Inside the lecture hall, I take the chair next to Shaw and pull Chloe into the seat on the other side of me. She takes a bite out of her muffin and then places it on the desk and grabs a notepad and pen from her backpack.
“Bran, really?” I ask, without hiding my dislike.
She shrugs, smiles, and takes another bite.
Professor Sanchez starts in on the lecture about knowing your target audience, but I watch Chloe. When she’s down to the last bite, she holds it out and whispers, “If you’re gonna hate on it, at least try it.”
I don’t really want it, especially because I bet there’s a blueberry one—my favorite—in the bag Katrina forced into my backpack, again, for later, but I lean over and take the bite directly from her hand. Green eyes swirl with heat as my tongue and lips connect with her fingers.
She covers her reaction quickly, rolls her eyes, and sits back in her seat like she’s paying attention to the lecture.
I grab her pen and angle the notebook so I can write her a note.
Things I’ve learned about Chloe:
- Likes bran muffins (yuck)
- Likes my mouth on her fingers
Then I draw a line through on her fingers. She likes my mouth. Period. She takes the pen from me and starts her own list.
Things I’ve learned about Nathan:
1.
She looks up and frowns, pen poised to write, but she obviously can’t come up with anything. I take the pen again and fill in number one for her.
- Likes blueberry muffins
We hand off the pen and she writes a number two and then looks to me.
Likes your mouth. Period, I scrawl after pulling a pen from the side pocket of my backpack.
She smiles. A real honest to God grin that makes her look like the laidback, fun surfer princess I like to imagine she is. I realize I don’t actually know all that much about her. And I want to.
What are we doing this weekend?
Her brows furrow before she responds, I didn’t know we were hanging out this weekend.
I think it would seem weird if we didn’t hang out.
She seems to mull that over before nodding.
Pushing my luck and not giving one single fuck, I add, We should probably hang out a few times a week so it seems legit.
That look of trepidation is back. That’s a lot and totally not necessary.
As if I care.
I disagree. It’s totally necessary. Plus, we have the class project to work on anyway.
She stares at the paper a moment, pen between her teeth, before she begins to write and write and write… a freaking novel from the looks of it. I can’t read it because her hand is in the way. My surfer princess is a leftie. When she’s done, she sits back, expels a breath, and focuses entirely too hard on Professor Sanchez.
We should come up with some terms. Duration: one month. Times we need to hang out per week: 2–we can use those to work on the project. We can split those hangouts between our places, although I’d prefer that my teammates are included as much as possible since they’re the whole reason for this. Should probably keep the hanging out to public places so people see us together and we use the most of our time. We’ve already said, no sex. PDA is okay when it feels appropriate to the situation. Anything you want to add?
Jesus. A list of dos and don’ts is a real mood killer. Seems like she needs this, though, so I roll with it. Mostly.
A month is too short. How about two? And I want at least one night a week that isn’t spent studying.
Maybe I’m crazy for wanting to extend this out longer, but I don’t exactly think it’s going to be a burden.
Two months is overkill. If they don’t like me in a month, I doubt another month is going to make a difference.
Right, I keep forgetting this is about her teammates.
Six weeks and all bets are off on PDA.
I move up to the list above where she started to list things she knows about me and add a third.
3. Likes PDA.
To emphasize my point, I drop the pen and lace our fingers together. Her hand fits perfectly in mine, and we both sit back and listen to Professor Sanchez for the rest of the class. When he finishes, I realize I have no idea what we discussed in class, but I had a damn good time while he yapped for an hour.
“What time you wanna hang?”
“Oh.” She busies herself with her backpack as she searches for words… probably to blow me off.
“We can do whatever you want,” I offer.
She straightens. “Whatever I want?”