by Karole Cozzo
Naomi wags the tip of her tongue at me before turning to go.
Anger rises up within me like bile.
I shouldn’t feel so angry, I remind myself. She’s just playing the only game we’ve ever played, and it’s not her who’s acting differently. It’s just today I don’t feel like playing—I don’t feel like playing at all—and I have no idea how to forfeit.
All I can do is be thankful that she’s back inside her car and on her way before Eve emerges from the building. I feel a strange combination of relief and panic when she appears, and when I have the opportunity to talk to her without everyone staring, I do so, eager to get back to the good, to shove all the other shit out of the way, even if I know it’s not really going anywhere.
“Pssst,” I call when she walks by.
She trains her death stare on me. “I’m not a cat.”
I roll my eyes, take my hat off, place it across my chest, and give a half bow. “Excuse me, Miss Marshall. Would you perhaps be able to spend a few moments in my company after this wraps?”
This makes her smile, but still she shakes her head. “I can’t. I rode with Scott.”
I pause for a moment. Then, “So tell him you’re staying.”
My challenge, the inherent meaning behind it, hangs in the air between us. We’re locked in a staring contest, an unspoken question awaiting an answer: Are we really going to do this? Here? Now?
Eve ducks her head and nods, bowing out first. “Yeah. Okay.”
I feel immensely victorious, happier about her answer than I should.
But I’m close enough when she offers up an explanation to Scott, when she grabs her sneakers from the floor of his car, tying them on and telling him she wants to go running at the park the next block over.
I don’t call her on it, and she doesn’t call me on it when Nate asks what I’m doing and I answer, “Nothin’. Just working later.”
Neither of us says a thing about how we wait them out at opposite ends of the property until everyone’s left, until it’s a completely empty parking lot we walk across to meet in the middle.
I just look her in the eye, pretending there’s nothing weird about any of this. “Want to walk to Wawa and pick up some lunch?”
“Sure.” I swear she glances over her shoulder a final time to make sure everyone’s gone. “I could eat some lunch.”
Eve leaves a foot of space between us as we walk. We barely look at each other on the way, talking about everything except the fact that we’re walking together, apparently.
We both order meatball subs and share a bag of chips at the dilapidated picnic table behind the store. I silently admire the way she puts food away, that she doesn’t seem to think twice about eating in front of me, two scoops of ice cream, an entire sub, or more than her share of a bag of chips. And just like that I’m softening toward her again, hoping I’ll say something to produce one of those genuine smiles, eager for the next barb she comes up with to launch at me. When no one’s watching.
And by the time we’re walking back to the school, the temptation to grab her hand and hold it as we go is so strong, I have to bring my hands together, crack my knuckles a few times to keep from going for it. I’m guessing she’s not a hand holder. I mean, neither am I, but …
I pull a pack of gum from my back pocket, offer her a stick, then glance at the sky as we go. Clouds have appeared from nowhere, so I guess maybe the weather gods only gave us a brief reprieve for our event. The meteorologists may have been right after all.
“So whatcha up to later?” I ask her as we walk.
“Marcella’s big state pageant’s tonight,” she says. “I promised her about five years ago if it ever came about, I’d go. Luckily, it’s on this side of the state this year, downtown Philly. I’m going to take the train down with Brian to watch.”
“Sounds like a blast.”
“Oh, trust me, I am counting the minutes,” she says sarcastically. “Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”
“Is Marcella actually going to win, you think?”
Eve shrugs. “I can’t imagine a girl being more motivated, dedicated, or authentic about wanting it, I know that much. So if that counts as much as how you look in a ball gown, then yeah, I’m pretty confident she has a shot.”
She lifts her face to the sky. The sun is still shining behind the clouds, but a few drops have started falling, creating a sudden sun shower. It’s still warm, and the drops don’t really bother us as we head back to school.
“You have to text me your commentary, all right?” I say. “I picked up an extra shift tonight, and I’m sure your comments will be entertaining.”
She glances at me and sneaks a smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I will be fully embracing my feminine side.”
This actually makes me snort.
Eve sticks her hand out before her, bigger, faster raindrops falling on it. “Is it just me or is this pleasant little shower about to turn into a downpour?”
I feel some heavy drops pelt my shoulders, watch a few more turn my T-shirt dark gray. “Uh, yeah … you might be right.”
We cross the final block leading back to school, but we still have all the sports fields to cross before my Jeep comes into view. So when the sun disappears from view entirely and the raindrops turn almost violent, without speaking the two of us dash into the nearest dugout before we get drenched.
Inside, Eve swipes at her shoulder, wiping away the raindrops. “What the hell was that?” She laughs. “That came out of nowhere.”
“Yeah.” I stare out over the infield, the force of the rain now stirring up a dust storm as it pelts the field. “Guess we could’ve made it to the cars, but I don’t feel like getting drenched.”
I collapse onto the low bench, and a few seconds later, Eve joins me.
More than a few times over the course of my baseball career, I’ve huddled in a dugout during a sudden shower, waiting it out with my teammates beside me, either praying a game wouldn’t get called, or that it would, depending on the score at the time. It’s not a bad place to hole up, with the sound of the rain hitting the roof overhead, the fresh smell of grass and dirt and baseball reaching you inside.
I look at Eve, and there’s this really unfamiliar peaceful expression on her face. I can tell she’s thinking the exact same thing as I am, and I stop resisting the temptation to hold her hand. I reach for it, finding it cold and damp. “Kind of nice in here, though, right?” I ask quietly.
She turns and looks at me, the expression on her face that one I sort of love, stripped of defensiveness, seemingly soft. She nods, just once, before glancing down at our hands. Nods again.
And just like that, we’re kissing again.
Or, we’re trying to. But our hats are in the way, and we’re both laughing as their bills push against each other, keeping our mouths from making contact. She pushes hers off, and I turn mine around so I can get to her, eagerly finding her mouth once there’s nothing in the way.
At first her lips, her cheeks, her skin feel chilled against mine, still damp from the rain, but Eve warms quickly at my touch, her breath warming me in return in those few seconds we break apart to grab some air before finding each other again.
My hands ghost over her shoulders, fingers run down her back, finding more exposed skin, more chilled patches in need of warming. Guiding her back with my hands, I ease her down onto the bench, covering her body with mine, kissing my way down her neck and planting kisses on her shoulders.
Her hands make their way under my T-shirt, running up and down my back, and gradually her hands turn warm and transfer their heat to my skin.
God, this is hot.
Making out with a girl on the field, or at least in the dugout, has always been a fantasy. When I reach up to touch her hair, I’m suddenly aware of the knotted wood beneath her head. She isn’t complaining or anything, but it doesn’t seem comfortable. So I pull away from her, and in a quick second pull my T-shirt overhead, balling it up in on
e hand and sliding it beneath her head like a pillow.
It doesn’t escape my notice the way her face flushes at the sight of my bare torso above her, the flash of something unfamiliar and eager in her eyes, and I lower myself over her again, meeting my lips to hers.
Desire grips me in that second.
I swear, I’d only been thinking of her comfort when I took my shirt off. But the result is the bare skin of my stomach rubbing against hers, affecting me viscerally, making me want more. Making me want to touch her more. Kissing is falling short of fulfilling how I’m feeling today.
It’s lying here with her … it’s remembering the sight of her getting out of the car, hot as shit and untouchable in her workout clothes.
I can’t lie—the whole thing is turning me on, and today, I want to do more than kiss her.
I get that it’s Eve. I get that there are limits, but … I just want to touch more of her.
And the way she’s kissing me in return, the way she’s wound her hands around my neck, pulling me ever closer, I get the sense she wouldn’t mind if I touched her a little more today, too.
One of my hands is under her back, keeping her close, steadying her on the bench. My free hand, it creeps up over the waistband of her pants, slowly making its way up across her stomach, then on to her rib cage.
She stops breathing when she becomes aware of its ascent up her body. I feel it, and my hand pauses.
Then she starts kissing me again, at first somewhat restrained, guarded, but within minutes, it’s as hot as it ever was, her skin growing even warmer beneath me.
My hand starts moving again. It reaches the bottom of her sports bra. My fingers inch beneath it.
Eve sits up in a flash, her forehead nearly slamming against mine.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” she gasps.
She won’t meet my eye, not as she stands up, adjusts her clothes, twists pieces back into place. Her entire torso is flushed with color, but it still pales in comparison to her cheeks.
She gestures vaguely toward the field. “It’s a little … a lot … public, so…”
Eve spins around in a circle, trying to find her hat. When she does, she slams it onto her head, pulling it low, hiding her face.
It takes me a second to get my bearings. I stand up, too, disappointed, hell yes, but mostly concerned.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
“I’m fine.” She turns toward me for a second, flashes a small, pained smile before turning around again.
“Sure?”
“Yeah.” She nods emphatically, still struggling to meet my eye. “I mean … it wasn’t … you didn’t do anything wrong, just…” Then she gives this small embarrassed laugh, squeezes her eyes shut. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure what she’s apologizing for, not sure what’s happened at all.
But clearly, Eve is ready to go, ducking her head outside, saying, “Looks like it’s letting up,” even though I’m not sure it really is.
“We should probably make a run for it now,” she says. “I need to get ready for tonight.”
I just nod, not sure what to say.
Eve looks like she’s ready to take off and sprint across the field. But just before she goes, her stance relaxes, and she doubles back. “Ummm…” She leans toward me, kissing me on the lips, finding my hand for a second. “Text you later, okay?”
“Definitely,” I reply weakly, watching her take off, feeling rooted in place.
I collapse back onto the bench, not so much in the name of cooling off, but in confusion. I feel like I missed something, misread her cues, even though it sure didn’t feel like that at the time.
I let my head fall back against the concrete behind me, confusion turning to frustration, frustration turning to something like anger. I’ve always known how to read girls, how to read them and how to give them what they want from me.
But Eve is turning out to be just as complicated as I’d imagined she would be, clamming up out of nowhere, and bolting away more often than not. It’s unnerving, how she can shift so quickly from feeling right there with me to somewhere else entirely, how just like that she goes back to needing to establish these boundaries, where it feels like I’m on one side and she’s on the other.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply, the breath vibrating in my chest.
It’s fucking impossible to tell whether we’re on the same team if I don’t even know what game she’s playing.
Chapter 23
April 26
Eve
For the last four days, Marcella has been on top of the world. Pretty much since the second that crown was placed on her head, she hasn’t stopped beaming. I bet she’s even smiling while she sleeps.
It might not be quite as noticeable, but in truth I’ve been smiling right along with her. It doesn’t matter that I don’t really “get” the nature of her competition; I get competition. I understand commitment, and work ethic, and the thrill of being rewarded after days, weeks, months of hard work. So I’m proud of Marcella. I’m happy watching her experience this victory.
Her winning the Miss Pennsylvania Teen crown has been a big deal at school, especially with the East kids who hadn’t yet learned about Marcella’s pageant life. A huge picture of her, taken in the final moments of the pageant when confetti rained down, was on the front page of the Farmington Reporter. There was even a quick blurb on the local news. This week has been victory week, the crown seeming the focal point of Marcella’s life these days.
So when she bursts into my room at ten forty-five on Wednesday night, eyes red, trails of makeup on her cheeks, still wearing the top she had on at school with a pair of pajama pants, all I can think is that something happened to that crown. I feel panicked at once, wondering if some missed factor made her ineligible, if she failed to meet some requirement that was uncovered after the fact, resulting in her losing the crown.
I scurry out of my bed when she appears in my room, pushing the door shut behind her. “What’s wrong?”
Marcella hurls herself at me, collapsing against my chest, sobbing so hard it’s actually soundless. So I don’t hear her crying; I feel her crying, her body quaking so violently it’s hard to stay upright.
“Marcella, you’re making me worry,” I say. “What’s wrong?”
She pulls her head back, only long enough to gasp, “NO!”
I wait as she tries to take a few deep breaths and attempts to talk. But then her face just crumples anew, and she slides down the side of my bed, curling into a ball against it. Silent tears start running down her cheeks. “It hurts too much to say it,” she finally admits. “I can’t say it out loud.”
I sit down next to her, wrapping my arms around my knees, and wait.
“Brian…,” she finally whispers, voice cracking as she says his name. “He ruined everything. He ruined it.”
Her admission surprises me. Brian wasn’t even on my radar. I reach for the box of tissues on my nightstand and hand it to her.
“Thanks,” she says, taking one, balling it up in her fist, but neglecting to use it to wipe her tears.
After a few more minutes, Marcella finally turns her face to look at me. She looks ashamed, which makes absolutely no sense to me when she finally spits it out. “He kissed someone else.”
“What?” I shake my head. It doesn’t compute. Brian would never hurt Marcella. He adores her. “Who?”
And what idiot would ever mess with what Brian and Marcella have, anyway?
“He wouldn’t tell me.” She squeezes her hand into an even tighter fist. “Some girl from East; I don’t even know her name.”
Oh. Right. An idiot girl from East would mess with it. Because she doesn’t really know Marcella that well; she doesn’t know them. She wouldn’t care.
“When?”
I can’t seem to stop asking questions, like any of these details matter.
Marcella’s lips start shaking. “Saturday,” she says, hands going to her face as she crumples
all over again.
I inhale sharply, understanding her hurt on a new level. While she was at the height of happiness, having just realized her dream, Brian was out doing this.
Which makes me feel really pissed off. I’d been with Brian on Saturday night, and I sort of feel betrayed by association. Sure, on the train he’d been sort of … distant. His enthusiasm about the pageant seemed halfhearted in comparison to past events. I’d just assumed maybe he was getting a little tired of all of it, maybe feeling miffed about how it had taken so much of her time and attention recently. And when we got off the train together, Marcella having stayed at the venue for follow-up interviews and pictures, he hadn’t said a damn thing about heading somewhere other than home.
“It happened Saturday,” she continues, taking a deep breath. “But he only bothered to tell me tonight.” She waves her hand and rolls her watery eyes. “I guess he wasn’t going to, but the guilt got to him. He said it was stupid, a mistake, just … all these new people around after we’d been together for so long.” She pounds her fist against the carpet. “I hate this stupid school.”
It’s not fair, that she should have to hurt like this. She’s tried so hard; she’d been so open to changing schools. I was the one who put up a fight every chance I got. It’s not fair that it ended up biting her in the ass.
“He was crying,” Marcella tells me. This makes her start crying again. “I’ve never seen Brian cry, but at my house, he was crying. I mean, I actually felt bad for him. I know he feels really bad about it; I know he probably regrets it. I know he loves me, but … I don’t think I can, Eve. I don’t think I can forgive him.”
My best friend’s looking at me, waiting on something. Like I have any idea what the right answer is here.
She shakes her head. “I just can’t look at him the same way. He’s not my Brian anymore; he just isn’t. My Brian wouldn’t have done this, especially not weeks after we…” Marcella starts looking a little queasy. “It makes me want to throw up. It’s like after he got what he wanted…”
I jump to my feet, rushing to the hallway bathroom to get her a cold washcloth.