by Gina Ciocca
“I get it,” Jadie says. “My birth parents gave me up for adoption because I wasn’t a boy. And even though I love my mom and dad, part of me is always, always aware that the people who created me thought I wasn’t good enough for them.” She spots Coach Tori waving her over, and squeezes Joel’s wrist. “Let me know if you ever need to talk,” she says before jogging back to the squad.
“Wow,” Joel says, scratching the back of his neck. “I feel like an idiot for complaining.”
“Don’t. You have a right to your feelings. That saying about no one being able to make you feel inferior without your permission? Total bullshit.”
There’s an all-too-brief second where Joel’s blue-green eyes are looking at me with a mix of appreciation and something else that I don’t have time to decipher. Because someone slams into his back then, and he crashes into me with a grunt. Joel is able to catch himself, but I hit the Astroturf hard, seeing stars of pain as my bum wrist breaks my fall.
“Shit, are you okay?” Joel says, rushing to kneel next to me. “I’m so sorry.”
I hug my wrist to my chest. “It wasn’t your fault. Who the hell was that?”
“Davenport,” Joel spits out. “Fucking douche bag.” He gently pulls my hand away from my body and inspects my brace. “Did you hurt it again?”
“Well, I definitely didn’t help it.”
Joel’s features twist into a snarl of disgust. “Forget his collarbone. Next time I’m breaking his face.”
He cringes, probably because that would’ve been the wrong thing to say in front of anyone else. But I can’t help it—I laugh. And soon Joel is chuckling right along with me, and it’s like there’s no one else on the football field except the two of us.
Joel takes my good hand and helps me to my feet. But he doesn’t let go once I’m standing.
“I’d better get back,” he says. He gives my fingers a gentle squeeze. “Sorry I’m such a high-risk person to be around.”
I squeeze back. Some risks are worth taking.
* * *
I cut out of the game a little early to avoid the post-game traffic jam, and arrive at Buck’s before everyone else. It’s not a huge place, but the atmosphere is great. It’s like stepping into the 1950s, with red leather seats atop silver stools that line the counter, a black-and-white checkerboard floor, and even a jukebox beneath the window that overlooks the street outside. I love coming here after the games almost as much as I love the games themselves.
When I see Ben standing behind the polished silver counter wearing a soda jerk hat, I can’t stop myself from giggling. He gives me a sheepish tip of the canoe-shaped headpiece, and I pull myself onto one of the stools, marveling at how empty the place is.
“Where is everybody?” I ask.
“Haven’t you ever noticed that the only people here on a Friday night are the same ones who just rolled up out of the football stadium? It’s a morgue before the game gets out.” He nods toward my camera. “How’d tonight go?”
“We were killing them when I left. Wanna see some pictures?”
I free the camera from my neck, and Ben leans on the counter as I scroll through my frames. I captured some pretty sweet action shots, and I’m super-pleased with myself when Ben looks impressed with what he sees. But when I scroll too far and accidentally show him a picture I snapped of the lake at sunset, he takes the camera right out of my hands.
“Wow. Did you take this one too?” He studies the screen, where the houses and treetops edging the water are silhouettes against a sky full of brushstroke clouds in gray and white and pink and yellow. The colors blur in the water below, a distorted mirror image.
“I did.” My stomach does a little flip of embarrassment when he continues scrolling through more of my sunset shots. “I took all of those. It’s a weird hobby of mine, I guess.”
“It’s not weird. It’s awesome. These look like they belong in a magazine.”
That makes me blush. Maybe it’s because the only other person I’ve shown those pictures to is my mother, and that’s only because it’s her camera. I’m used to being known as the bubbly cheerleader. The introspective part of me isn’t something many people see, and giving someone a glimpse into my quiet time is weirdly personal. But Ben seems to appreciate it, and I kind of like the way that feels.
“That first one was from a few nights ago,” I say. “Aaron was having a bad day, so I suggested we all drive down to the lake to watch the sunset. It seemed to help . . . for all of five minutes.”
Two of Ben’s co-workers burst in from the kitchen, and Ben jumps, like he just remembered that he’s supposed to be working. So I order a banana milk shake, and Ben makes it before checking on the whole two tables that are occupied.
When he comes back, I’m fiddling with my brace. My last dose of ibuprofen is wearing off, and whether I make it tighter or looser, nothing seems to help.
“That had to hurt,” Ben says, nodding toward my wrist.
“This is a walk in the park compared to some of the things I’ve done.” I swivel on the stool and point to my right leg. “See this knee? When I was thirteen, I broke it in the middle of the Avalon ice rink while news reporters were filming a story about their Christmas village. My kneecap split in half, and the gap was so wide that I could fit two fingers between the pieces.” I demonstrate by holding my index and middle finger over the spot that was once a canyon separating my bone. “And they got the whole thing on tape.”
Ben laughs, even as he shudders like a thousand tiny bugs are crawling over him. “You might as well send me the link, because I am so googling that tonight. Okay, my turn.”
He tells me about the time his brother flung a stick at him while they were building a tree house and it hit him in the eye.
“My eyeball was huge,” he says, shaping an example with his thumb and pointer finger. “I thought it was going to pop right out of my head.”
I scrunch up my face. “That sounds gross.”
“I had to have surgery, and I still ended up with a trauma cataract. It’s small, but if you look close, you can see it.”
He leans over the counter and angles his head toward me so that I have a direct view of his right eye. At first I don’t notice anything unusual except for the sheer number of colors in his iris. When I followed him to his shed the first time he helped with the homecoming float, I thought his eyes were the same color as his hair. Up close I can see that there’s nothing on the spectrum to describe them. They’re not any one color; it’s like a solar flare of gold and green and brown and blue, or an artist’s interpretation of the sun reflecting in the ocean. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“Can you see it?” he prompts.
I blink when I realize I’ve been staring. I recover by squinting and taking a closer look. “I think so. Right there,” I say, pointing at the tiny translucent spot to the right of his pupil.
Ben nods, looking proud of himself. “Hard-core.”
His face is still only a few inches from mine when the bell that signals the opening of the door sounds. I turn around to see Meredith and two of the other cheerleaders filing into the restaurant. She bounds up to the counter and takes the seat next to me. She’s all bubbliness and energy, but the once-over she gives me out of the corner of her eye isn’t lost on me. It’s the same ice-cold look she gave Jadie on the football field earlier.
Nine
SENIOR YEAR
I never make it down to the football field to meet Joel. By the time Meredith and I end our mess of a conversation in the courtyard, there are only two minutes left until the first bell. I send him a text asking if we can reschedule, but when he still hasn’t answered by the start of lunch, I check my message to make sure I wrote actual words, since I was so rattled that I can’t be sure.
“Hey,” Noah says, sidling up to me as everyone is filing back into the school.
We’ve finished up lunch outdoors, and the promise of fall is in the air—which really just means that stepping outside o
f an air-conditioned building no longer feels like venturing onto the surface of the sun. Real autumn weather is still at least a few weeks away, but for now I’m enjoying the warmth on the back of my neck that would’ve burned me to a lobster-red crisp up until a few days ago.
“Hey yourself.” I catch sight of myself in his aviator sunglasses, and I hate that I look a little unnerved.
“So it sucks that the flag hunt was canceled,” he says. “I was kind of looking forward to it.”
“I’m sure Meredith will reschedule it. No way she’ll let it get sacked two years in a row.”
I look up at that second to see Jadie and Tyrell walking parallel to us a few feet away. Jadie’s stare is fixed on me as if to say, Are you seriously sharing your personal bubble with another Pirate right now?
I pretend not to notice.
“What happened last year?” Noah asks.
I stifle a snort. “A few of the girls wanted to change things up and try new team-building exercises. So we voted the hunt down in favor of something else, and Meredith was not happy. But now that she’s the senior captain, it’s back.”
Noah pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. “It’s weird to hear you say ‘we’ when you talk about the cheerleaders. I know you were on the squad for a long time, but it’s hard to picture you waving pom-poms when I’m used to seeing you with that thing”—he motions to my camera—“hanging around your neck all the time. You carry it around like it’s your kid.”
I finger the edge of the lens. It might not share my DNA, but this camera has definitely become part of me. I lift it to my face and snap a picture of Noah. “You never know when you’ll need to capture a moment.”
He smiles, but holds up his hand to mock shield his face. “Let’s keep this off the record. Then you can tell me the real reason why I need a bathing suit for the flag hunt.”
“What do you mean, ‘the real reason’? Everyone goes swimming in the waterfall afterward.”
He makes a face, and I can understand why he’s confused. Old Mill is a park built around the ruins of a Civil War–era manufacturing mill that burned down in the 1800s. The creek alongside it was dammed in order to use the water for power, and the result was a gorgeous waterfall that looks like it should be tucked between picturesque mountains, not around the corner from a main drag in the suburbs of Atlanta.
When I tell Noah as much, he stops walking. “Wait, is this the park near that country club? The Mill Club, or whatever?”
“Yep. Have you been there?”
“Nah, but I’ve heard of it. At least now I know it’s not some kind of prank. Like, tell the new kid to bring a bathing suit, and then hang it from a branch while he’s bare-assed and covering his junk with a rock.”
I really wish he hadn’t said that. Because now I am definitely picturing him naked.
“Um, no,” I say, shaking the image out of my head as we approach my locker. “No one ends up naked. Unless they want to.” OH MY GOD. A flush of heat crawls up my neck, burning hotter and faster when a roguish smile spreads across Noah’s face. “I mean—I meant—no one’s ever stolen someone’s bathing suit. At least not that I know of.” My face is so hot that I’m convinced wisps of smoke must be rising from the top of my head.
My phone vibrates in my bag, and I fumble for it, grateful to have somewhere else to look. Until I see that Jadie has texted me a picture of herself with a mock stern look on her face. She’s pointing two fingers at her eyes, and then a second photo pops up of her making the same motion toward the camera, as if to say, I’ve got my eyes on you. Beneath it is the caption: FRIENDS DON’T LET FRIENDS CHASE PIRATE BOOTY!
As I’m reading it, a second text pops up: TWICE.
I clear the screen before Noah can see, though I’m not sure he even has a chance, since a couple of football players walk by and nod at him at that moment. It’s crazy to me how smooth Noah’s transition from Mortonville Pirate to Ridgedale Raven has been, at least in comparison with Joel’s. Maybe no one’s willing to test Noah’s take-no-shit vibe, or maybe the novelty of a Pirate on Raven turf has started to wear off. Either way, Noah’s arrival hasn’t brought a fraction of the drama that Joel’s did.
So far. But I have a tendency to speak too soon, and that’s the exact moment when Joel walks by.
“Mace,” he says. “Can we regroup after school tomorrow? I have to work tonight.”
I wonder why he’d phrase the question in such a dodgy, nonspecific way, until I see him eyeing Noah and realize Joel must not want him to know what we’re going to do. Even if it’s only having a conversation. Which is weird, but I’ve noticed friction between them before, and I get the feeling it has some pretty deep roots.
“Do you purposely wait until you see us talking to come up and start bothering her?” Noah says, giving Joel an acidic once-over.
“Because what, you own her?” Joel shoots back. “You don’t need to act like a caveman just because you have the hair, you know.”
A muscle in Noah’s jaw twitches. “Fuck off, Hargrove.”
“Guys, stop,” I cut in, holding up my hands like that would actually prevent them from pummeling each other. I look at Joel. “After school tomorrow is fine.”
“Sounds good.” His gaze cuts right back to Noah. “You’re the one who needs to fuck off. Right back to where you came from.”
Noah doesn’t flinch under Joel’s glare. He stretches an arm toward the hall, glowering right back at him. “After you.”
I slam my locker and grab Noah’s outstretched hand before the sparks in Joel’s eyes can set something on fire. “No one’s going anywhere, except to class,” I say, tugging Noah away from my locker. “Let’s walk. Joel, I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah,” he says, still scowling at Noah. “Later.”
“What was that about?” I ask as we head toward the science wing. I try to drop his hand, but he doesn’t let go. So now I’m walking down the hall awkwardly holding hands with Noah Granger two minutes after seeing him naked in my head.
“Hargrove’s a prick.” He side-eyes me. “But I get the feeling you don’t need me to tell you that.”
“What was your first clue?” I’m asking how he knows about my history with Joel, given that he didn’t go to school here last year, but he must think I’m referring to whatever beef the two of them obviously have, because he says, “I’ve known him a long time.”
“And did you learn that lesson the hard way, or have you always hated him?”
“Mostly column A. Watch your step around him. He can be pretty heartless.”
Don’t I know it. But before I can harp on it, Noah stops walking and pulls me into an exit alcove. “Listen, back to what we were talking about before. Why don’t you and I go over to Old Mill after school? I was going to say tomorrow, but—” He throws an annoyed look in the direction of where we left Joel.
I’m about to tell him I can’t because I have cheerleading practice, until I remember it’s a knee-jerk response that’s no longer true. So instead I say, “Don’t you have football practice?”
“We can go afterward,” he says with a shrug. “My knee’s not up to snuff yet, so I’ll probably cut out early anyway. You can give me a tour of the park. That way if the hunt’s rescheduled, I won’t be wandering around like a blind dog.” He glances out into the hallway like he’s half expecting Joel to reappear, then turns back to me with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. “And maybe you and I can finally have a conversation without being interrupted. There’s something I want to talk to you about anyway.”
My pulse picks up speed. My first thought is that he’s going to confess to kissing me. But if that’s the case, I want to know now.
“What is it?”
“Nothing that can’t wait. So what do you say? Is it a date?”
Alarms start flashing in my head, telling me I need to find some way to say no. That saying yes is the first step down a road where I already crashed and burned last year. I hold up my brace-bound hand. “
I can’t really swim” is the best I can come up with.
Noah flashes a grin. “There are ways around that. Text me your address, and I’ll pick you up at four?”
“I—okay.” I’m still nodding dumbly as I watch his back retreat down the hall, knowing I might’ve just done something supremely stupid. But when he looks at me over his shoulder and smiles before disappearing around the corner, I have to wonder if this time it might be worth it.
Ten
JUNIOR YEAR
I gather the pleats of my uniform skirt in my hand to soak up some of the clamminess.
I finally convinced Joel to join us for Friday Night Eats. And even though I keep telling myself that it’s stupid to be nervous about it, I’m lingering by the diner door, mutilating my skirt, ready to whisk him off to a free seat the minute he sets foot inside. I’m determined to make him see that life at Ridgedale isn’t all that bad.
And if I’m wrong, at least I’ll be close enough to protect him.
I wave frantically when I spot him, then guide him toward the counter, where Ben greets him with a high five. “Hey, man. Good to see you here. Heard you made an awesome play tonight.”
“Yeah, followed by a not-so-awesome play, which apparently negated any awesomeness that came before it.”
“Bull,” Ben says, waving off the comment. “I saw Macy’s pictures of that pass you caught last week. If anyone’s still talking smack, it’s because they’re jealous. You’ve been killing it out there.”
Joel looks at me. “You got a picture of that? Can I see it?”
I groan internally at my decision to delete last week’s pictures after saving them to my laptop. “I don’t have it with me, but if it’s okay with you, I’ll post it to the Ridgedale’s Finest page when I get home tonight. I think everyone should see it.”
“Ask her to show you some of her other pictures too. She’s a really good photographer,” Ben adds, wiping the counter next to my elbow with a rag. “You should enter contests and stuff, Mace. I bet you could be a professional someday.”