Because a boy’s role was to play the game, and it was the girls who were meant to cheer them on. Right?
Mr. Tavares held a finger to his lips. “He’s just a kid,” he hissed. “He’ll grow out of it.”
And what if he didn’t? I wondered. Would he still be as much of a man in their eyes? Or, what if Kane didn’t identify as a guy at all? What then?
Not to mention, what if they found out that Will, for all his time spent on the “right side of the court,” wasn’t straight?
Where did this idea of the “right” way to be a guy or girl fit into real life?
Tearing my eyes away from them, I forced myself to wipe the frown off my face, and joined in on a standing ovation.
I half-expected everyone to go around the table listing things they were grateful for like my family had always done, but, as Will told me later in the night, it was apparently a Tavares family tradition to have a group gratitude discussion over ponche crema not long after everyone had arrived. It was probably for the best, I reasoned—with a family this big, it could get rowdy real fast trying to do a serious activity later in the night.
While the adults jumped into serving themselves, the kids were instructed to bring their plates up to the main table. I started to rise to help Crista and Dylan, but one of Will’s aunts took over the role, generously filling both of their plates with the best cuts of meat she could find.
Crista skipped over to me with a look of urgency while her plate was being filled. She patted my shoulder then leaned in to speak right into my eardrum. “Please, Ollie, can you make sure I get some turkey?”
“You’ll get some turkey.”
“I don’t want all that other stuff. Just the turkey.”
It was kind of a little late for that. Crista’s plate already had a selection of meat, rice, and beans, as well as some other extremely delicious-looking things I didn’t know the names of. “Just give it all a try, and if you don’t like something, you don’t have to eat it. You can have more turkey later if you’re still hungry.”
She screwed up her face, and I gave her a look. “Don’t be rude.”
As for me, I was more than happy to explore the various foods in front of me. Only I didn’t have a helpful aunt picking out the best bits, so I just guessed when it came to loading up my plate. After much experimentation, I came to the conclusion that I had a particular fondness for a kind of potato salad-type thing with chicken, peas, beans, and carrots, all tied together with the most delicious, creamy sauce that ever caused a guy to salivate at the thought of seconds. Will’s older cousin Josephina helpfully explained that it was called ensalada de gallina, and I made a note of the name in my phone so I could find it and eat it again every night for the rest of my life.
“Ollie?”
“Hmm?”
Crista was back at my side, holding up a mostly empty plate. “Can I please have another one of those yellow things?”
Yellow things, yellow things … there was so much food in front of us it took me a full two table scans to figure out what she was talking about. That’s right, those tamale-like things in plantain leaves were bright yellow once unwrapped. But the plate was out of my reach. I went to ask Josephina but faltered when I realized I didn’t know what they were called. I mean, I doubted she’d judge me, but I’d still feel pretty stupid asking if she could pass the plate of “yellow things.”
Will noticed my lost look right away. “What’s up?”
No one seemed to be listening in, at least. “Crista wanted to grab another of those … tamales?”
Luckily, he seemed to know exactly what she wanted. “Oh, yeah, for sure. Come over here, Crista.” He took her plate and piled a couple plantain-parcels onto it. “They’re called hallacas. Seems like you didn’t mind the food so much after all, huh?”
He said it good-naturedly, but I died inside anyway. I’d hoped he hadn’t heard Crista’s whining.
“Well, these things are really yummy. And the turkey, and the other turkey. The shredded one.”
“That’s not a turkey. That one’s called pernil. It’s pork.”
“Oh. I don’t like pork, though.”
“Do you like ham and bacon? That’s pork.”
“Oh.”
“Would you like any more pernil?”
“Yes, please.”
While he served her, Will caught my eye across the table and gave me a soft smile.
My stomach flipped.
After dinner was finally over—and I do mean finally, because after that gigantic spread was done, a dessert course of flan and pecan pie was brought out and it was on for plate number five—the kids started playing together in the backyard. I stayed and watched over them for a little bit, until Will suggested I have a tour of the house. I was reluctant to leave Crista and Dylan alone, but it wasn’t like they didn’t have supervision. Plus, I had to admit, I was curious to check out the room Will slept in every night.
“It’s so clean,” I said in wonder once I was inside.
Will hovered by the door. “Is that surprising?”
“Honestly, yeah,” I said, crossing to the far wall to examine his shelving.
“Why? Do I seem like a pig?”
“Not necessarily. But I saw your room at the lake. For a basketballer, your laundry basket aim wasn’t so great.”
There was a gentle click as he closed the door behind us. My whole body tightened, and I kept my body angled toward the wall so he wouldn’t catch my expression.
“Wait, so you were judging me the whole summer?” he asked.
“Yeah, unfortunately. I didn’t wanna say anything ’cause I was totally into you.”
“‘Was’?” Will said. I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a genuine question. Maybe he didn’t want me to be able to tell.
“Hey, count yourself lucky. Earlier today you thought I might hate you, remember?”
He didn’t reply, so I glanced behind me to check on him. He was staring into space, but put on a forced-looking smile as soon as he noticed me.
“Mom made me practically scrub it down with disinfectant this morning,” he said, and it took me a moment to realize he was talking about his room. “You know. Just in case all the visitors wanted to gather in my room to inspect it.”
“And aren’t you glad she made you now?” I asked, running a finger along one shelf. Spotless as Juliette’s complexion.
“So glad. Not that I expected you to end up in it, of all people.”
“Yeah. Thank you so much for inviting us. It made a shit day … less shit. Especially for the kids.”
“Of course. I’m really glad you came. So, how’s your aunt, anyway?”
“She’s okay. She was awake, and talking, and stuff. But she’s pretty sick right now. It’s hard, you know?”
“I know. I can imagine.”
We fell into an awkward silence. I felt like I was supposed to be doing or saying something, but I had no idea what that might be. Why had he closed the door? Did he want to talk about us? Or was I imagining things?
I cleared my throat and walked along the length of the wall, where about fifty-billion trophies and medals lined the shelves. “So you’ve had a good game or two in your time,” I said.
“I guess.”
“I feel inferior right now.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. You have your band.”
“Like, yeah? I don’t get trophies for playing, though, I just get, you know, tolerated. But this … you must be good, huh?”
Will’s voice was tight. “Not good enough for a scholarship.”
I picked up one of the taller awards, a towering gold figurine of Michael Jordan landing a slam dunk. Well, at least, it might have been Michael Jordan. It was hard to tell because it was faceless and a little misshapen. “So, do you want to try to go pro?”
The creaking of bedsprings told me Will had sat down. “That’s what everyone wants me to do.”
“Okay. But is that what you want to do?”
I turned around to find Will shrugging at the ground. “Basketball is fun, but I can’t help feeling like I should be more passionate about it if I were gonna try to go pro. Can’t something you do as a hobby just be that? A hobby? Does it have to be your entire life?”
Why did I get the feeling he wasn’t aiming that last part at me?
“It can,” I said. “What do you want?”
When he finally replied, his voice was small. “Honestly? I’ve always really wanted to be a nurse.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I thought about being a doctor, but the grades to get in are ridiculous, and what I really like is the hands-on stuff. Like, being able to comfort people, and to be the first person there when they’re in pain or if they need something. I wanna be that person.”
I sat down next to him, the mattress sinking. Our shoulders bumped. “You’d be so great at that.”
He looked surprised. “Really?”
“Of course. You’re always there when people are upset or hurt, and you’re the one trying to make it better. Every time. It’s basically that, but in job form.”
Suddenly, Will was staring at me, and my stomach lurched. “You’re the first person to say that,” he said, taking the trophy from me.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Everyone else just says basketball, basketball, basketball.” Curling his lip, he put the trophy down on the bed behind us like he didn’t want to look at it anymore.
“No,” I said. My chest was tight, and my fingertips were buzzing with something. “Not if you don’t want to.”
He didn’t speak. He just kept watching me. His breathing had gotten louder. Or maybe I’d just tuned in to him. If I wanted to stop this I had to break eye contact now. Now.
But I didn’t want to stop this.
He leaned closer, and closer, and then he kissed me. The second our lips touched his hands flew up and around me, pulling me in as tight as he could. His fingers ran through the hair on the nape of my neck, sending me damn near into a frenzy, and I gripped his waist under his sweater in response. It’d been so long since I’d touched him, I’d forgotten how unreasonably warm and soft the skin there was. No one in history had ever had a softer waist than Will Tavares.
He tasted like sweetened condensed milk. He must have been sneaking some of that rum drink the adults were passing around.
How could I have gone all these months without kissing him? How had I gone without him?
I never wanted to again. Never, never, never.
“I missed you,” he whispered. He grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together, and when he went in to kiss me again his grip tightened.
“Do—” I started, but broke off at the sound of a floorboard creaking. Will launched himself back and snatched up Michael Jordan, holding the trophy like it was way more inexplicably interesting than anything I could’ve been saying. I didn’t have any nearby prop—he’d stolen mine—so I just sat up as straight as I could and focused on looking calm and not-at-all turned on. Just in time, too, because Will’s dad flung the door wide open without stopping to knock.
In hindsight, I can see how opening a closed door to see his son closely examining a trophy he’d had for years, while his son’s friend sat awkwardly on the bed with perfect posture and tousled hair, could’ve raised an alarm bell for Mr. Tavares. To his credit, if he did suspect something, he stayed pretty neutral. “Ollie, the little guy’s asking after you.”
Way to cock-block, Dylan.
“Thank you, Mr. Tavares,” I said. “We’ll come right down.”
Will nodded and placed the trophy back on the shelf.
As soon as his dad was gone, Will turned back to me. For a moment I thought he meant to kiss me again, but it was just to nod over at the doorway. “Guess the kids need to get to bed soon, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s a long drive back at this time of night for them.”
“Got it. Well, thank you so much for coming.”
It seemed like I was being unceremoniously kicked out. I stood up, and hesitated. “Hey, Will?”
“Yeah?”
“That definitely just happened, right? Like, we’re not going to pretend it didn’t?”
He took a second to reply, but when he did, his expression was mischievous.
“Oh, it definitely happened. Don’t worry about that.”
15
We’d wandered for a while, following the edge of the lake, just talking, before we settled down in front of a tree to finish our ice cream. The crowds had thinned and then I virtually disappeared about five minutes before, giving us some privacy.
Rivulets of melted mint ice cream ran down Will’s cone and over his fingers. He didn’t try to lick them off, not even as they started to drip onto his knees. I stirred my spoon around my own cup until it made a chocolate soup, while Will finished off the last bite of his cone. How anyone could eat that fast without brain freeze was a mystery. “You’re covered in ice cream,” I said.
He looked down at himself and tried to wipe it off his leg. All he managed to do was spread it in a sticky mess around his thigh. “Shit. One second.”
With that, he pulled his shirt off, took off for the lake, and jumped straight in, spraying water all over me.
He popped back above the surface and shook his head to dry himself off.
“You drenched me,” I complained. Not to mention the rest of my ice cream, which was half lake water now.
“Well, you’re wet now,” he said. “You might as well get in.”
Something about the thought of stripping down to my shorts and jumping into the lake with this guy I barely knew seemed illicit and thrilling to me. Even though I knew it was stupid, and he would probably freak out if he knew I was thinking about him like that. Chances were pretty strong that this was completely innocent. Still, it was fun to pretend. And with a guy this hot, who could blame me for fantasizing a little?
But then, when my head emerged from taking my shirt off, I swore I saw Will stare at me. Only for a second, though.
I jumped in.
“You know, a lot of people back home can’t swim,” Will said, his head bobbing up and down. “I asked my friend Matt to come up with us but he bailed because of that.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who can’t swim,” I said. “What if your plane crashed into the ocean?”
Will burst out laughing. “That’s your main concern?”
“Well, it’s true! I mean, I guess you could just float.”
He shook his head. “No way, floating’s way harder than swimming. I can’t do it at all.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I never learned how.”
“It’s easy. You just kind of…” I launched myself onto my back to demonstrate.
He tried to mimic me, and ended up flopping backward into the water like a finless whale. “I told you!” he said, snorting water out his nose.
“No, just try and … yeah, a bit more arched, though—no, more arched, Wi—here.” I put my hands at the top and bottom of his back and moved him into position. “Like that.”
His skin was warm to the touch. “Oh,” he whispered, before swallowing. “Like that.”
Then he rolled over to return to a paddling position. Which brought him about three inches away from my face.
He didn’t move back, though.
Our legs collided a few times underwater. My hands were still burning from where they had touched his skin. He looked at me with an intensity that took me by surprise.
All at once, I realized he had been staring at me before.
With exactly this expression on his face.
I was just starting to hope when one of his hands found my waist, and he kissed me.
Another Thursday, another band practice.
This one was running particularly late, too. The band had a new set of songs Izzy wanted us to learn as soon as possible, and we couldn’t get Sayid and Emerson to agree on anything, from the tempo to the harmonies
to the lyrics.
It didn’t matter too much to me if we went overtime, though. The girls were at a basketball game. I would’ve totally gone, but the thing is, I’d rather floss with barbed wire than watch a live sports match, so I declined with regrets. Besides, I’d had to skip the last band practice to play emergency babysitter when Aunt Linda developed a sudden pain in her side. It didn’t turn out to be anything major—thank God—but I couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t happen again, so I couldn’t afford to play hooky from practice on top of that.
We’d been practicing for about an hour when Sayid and Emerson called a time-out to argue over a line in the song—Sayid thought the original “you throw your arms around me, while all the lights surround me” was better, while Emerson was pushing for the obviously superior, “when darkness seeks to blind us, a fire ignites inside us.” Izzy, who thought lyrics were only there to complement an epic drum track, decided to mostly ignore them while she experimented with different beats, humming the chorus to herself. I wasn’t able to focus—I’d been a ditzy, gooey mess since Thanksgiving—so I perched myself on a stool and watched the others with a vague smile. So vague, even, I didn’t notice Izzy had stopped drumming. Until she threw a Skittle at my head.
“What are you all smiley about?” she asked. “You look like a Disney princess; stop it.”
I hunted for the Skittle on the carpet then popped it in my mouth.
“Ew, I touched that,” Izzy said. “My hands are all sweaty.”
“It was a red Skittle. A sweaty red Skittle is worth three green Skittles.”
“What kind of bodily fluid would bring a single red Skittle below the net worth of a green Skittle?”
“It’s less about the bodily fluid, and more about who the bodily fluid comes from.”
She cackled. “Touché.”
Emerson paused in his argument long enough to give us a withering glance. “You guys are really killing the mood.”
“Your lyrics killed the mood,” Sayid muttered. “You took it from a love song to a song about overthrowing the establishment.”
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