I laugh. “So it’s not what you expected?”
“No.” He laughs with me. “I guess I thought…I guess I thought that if I came back to Franklin, I would feel good again. Like in high school.”
“College was really that bad?”
“It wasn’t what I expected. Like I said, I thought I’d be playing ball and going on to bigger things. I thought if I came back here I could at least have fun with my old friends…but they’re all busy planning weddings and buying houses and having kids, and I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
This conversation feels very adult-ish and mature. I’m glad he’s speaking to me about it, but I can tell he doesn’t want to. “Okay, on to a more important question,” I ask, propping my chin on my fist.
He glances up, wary.
“What’s your most embarrassing moment?”
“What?” He looks amused. “That’s your important question?”
“It’s very important!” I nod seriously, trying not to crack up.
“Okay, well, if I tell you this, you can’t tell anyone at school. Understand?”
“Pinky swear.” I link my finger with his.
“So…in high school, this buddy of mine and I discovered that if you climbed up on top of the lockers in the boys’ locker room, you could push the ceiling tiles up and crawl into the ceiling next to the girls’ locker room.”
“So you like, fell through the ceiling?”
“I didn’t fall through the ceiling! At least…not then anyway.”
I laugh. “I gotta hear more.”
“Up in the ceiling, the wall between the two locker rooms was made of concrete.”
“Concrete.”
“My friend Evan got this idea that we could chisel through the concrete. Like make a tunnel.”
I laugh.
“We spent two months chiseling through the concrete.”
“Weren’t you worried about structural damage? Why didn’t you just run into the locker room or something if you wanted to see the girls so bad?”
“I was sixteen. I wasn’t thinking about structural damage. I was thinking about how if Evan and I ran in the locker room all the girls would scream and yell.”
“I’m sure you were hot in high school. Why’d you need to spy on girls to see them nak*d?”
I cannot. Believe. I said that.
Brian’s face goes redder than the ketchup. “That’s beside the point.”
“Oh really?”
“It was about the adventure!”
“The adventure of chiseling through concrete to spy on girls?” I snorggle.
He gives me a look. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story?”
“Yes.”
“Then behave.”
I salute. “Yes, sir.”
“Would you stop calling me that?”
“Tell the story already.”
Our drinks sit untouched as Brian and I move closer and closer, leaning across the table toward each other. We’re laughing as Brian goes on to explain that after they chiseled through the concrete, he edged onto the ceiling tiles on the other side, they couldn’t support his weight, and he fell straight down into the locker room. Girls wearing nothing but bras and panties ran screaming while he sprained his wrist and got suspended for a week.
“Now I get to ask you an important question,” he says, once I’m done wiping tears of laughter off my face. “What’s your earliest memory?” he asks.
The Waitrix brings the cheese fries, and we dive in. He invited me out, so screw the calories. I nod, I listen, I ask him questions, I laugh.
To be here with me—a seventeen-year-old, and having a great time, he must truly be living in the now. And so am I.
It’s not my earliest memory, but it’s my favorite.
When I was eleven, I packed up my suitcase and went to sleep-away camp for the first time. Cumberland Creek church camp. Laura and Allie went too. We spent the week canoeing and cooking burgers over a crackling campfire and doing three-legged races in Field Olympics. I spent a lot of time in this outdoor chapel, praying and writing in my journal about how much fun I was having and how I loved being a Christian because it made me feel good about myself. I liked being a good person.
During night devotion, the counselors allowed us to write prayers on slips of paper and burn them, so whatever we prayed for would be just between us and Him. I hoped for things like relief for Gramma’s arthritis and for Dad and Ryan to stop being allergic to animals so my parents would let me adopt a yellow lab puppy already.
Campers received mail, but if you received more than three pieces of mail, you had to sing a song in front of the entire camp. On Wednesday, I sang “Twinkle, Twinkle” in front of three hundred kids. But I didn’t care. My parents loved me enough to send fifteen postcards.
That’s my favorite memory.
On the last night of camp, a dance took place and everyone could bring dates. Nobody asked Laura and Allie, and they felt disappointed because that was the activity we’d been looking forward to most. This boy J. C. and I went together and held hands. I’d never done that before. At the end of the night, he kissed my cheek.
I never saw the boy again because he was from Nashville, but Laura and Allie saw the kiss, and I saw the envy in their eyes. Laura told me that I was moving too fast and should be careful or I would end up pregnant, or worse, I would sin. After that, I worried what other girls thought of me. I knew how pretty I was, I knew that boys liked me. But I didn’t so much as hold hands with another guy until after Mom left. Up until then, I’d never done anything wrong, never even kissed a boy on the lips. But my church turned on me anyway.
Brian pulls his truck up to my house.
He peers at my yard. I hope he’s not disgusted by the stench of fried chicken and laundromat. “This is it?”
“This is it.”
We sit in silence for a minute, listening to the Fray. This silence isn’t awkward. It’s nice, and I probably should get out of the truck, but I don’t want to. Not yet.
“So will you think about playing ball this year?” he asks quietly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
Ever since Corndog asked me to stay away from Drew, I’ve been thinking about my reputation. How even though I’ve never made a move on Drew, Corndog thought I might, which goes to show that even if my intentions are good, someone could misinterpret them.
If someone saw Brian and me at Foothills Diner tonight, they might’ve thought:
1. He’s my big brother. (Ew.)
2. He’s my husband. (Kinda weird.)
3. Isn’t that the new coach of the Hundred Oaks baseball team and the new manager? (Truth sucks sometimes.)
4. Isn’t that the new coach of the Hundred Oaks baseball team with some gorgeous model? (Ideal.)
5. Isn’t that sweet Parker Shelton with some gorgeous male model? (Doubly ideal.)
So who knows how people interpreted my quitting the softball team? Sure, I was trying to prove I’m not like my mom, but did everyone realize that? Or did they think Parker Shelton is a big ole quitter?
And how is it fair to people like Brian, who tried so hard, for me not to even attempt playing again?
“I’ll talk to Coach Lynn tomorrow,” I whisper.
Brian chomps his gum as he stares out the window into the night. The moon and stars shine brightly on his smiling face. Then his smile fades. “I guess this means you won’t be managing anymore.”
“I guess not.”
“I liked hanging out with you. It was fun. You’re easy to talk to.”
I bite back my grin. “I feel the same way.”
“So I’ll see you around?” he asks quietly. He turns to face me and drops a hand on my shoulder. His touch zaps my senses, and a jolt runs up my arm and down through my body to my toes and between my legs. Sin lightning. Or something.
I steal a breath. “I hope so.”
“Me too.” He folds his hands and glances up at my face.
“Thanks again. For everything,” I say, and he nods before I climb out of his truck. I walk to the door and turn to wave bye. He waves back. The Ford’s headlights flicker on as he reverses out of my driveway. I smell my arm, to see if I picked up his scent. Nothing.
The door pops open behind me, letting out lamplight and warm air.
“There you are,” Ryan says. He peers over my shoulder at the driveway. I slip past my brother to go make dinner for him and Dad, who’s stretched out on the couch watching a Law and Order rerun.
“Who was that?” Ryan asks, following me into the kitchen.
“It’s nobody.”
Nobody who I hope will become somebody very, very soon.
trust
48 days until i turn 18
I’ve had a chance to date before. Right before Mom left, before I quit the softball team, Jack Hulsey invited me to the Winter Wonderland formal. Jack was a senior and played center on the basketball team. The moment after he asked, a bazillion things ran through my mind.
Why would he want to take a girl like me? I’m overweight.
What color dress should I wear?
Should I make a hair appointment?
Get my nails done?
Will we go to dinner first?
Will I get my first real kiss at the end of the night? Or will he kiss me in front of everyone on the dance floor, when I’m curled up in his arms, swaying slowly?
Laura likes him. Laura likes him a lot.
Jack smiled while waiting for my answer.
I ended up going with Laura and Allie, and we giggled and danced and had a great time, but tears filled my eyes when I saw Jack slow dancing with another girl, kissing her.
It was okay, I decided. Laura would’ve made me feel guilty for accepting. Besides, I always put my friendships first.
Funny how Laura didn’t return the gesture when I needed her more than anything. Are you there for me, God? Are you putting me first? Or is something else way more important in your eyes?
Written at the breakfast table on February 16. Burned.
Call me presumptuous, but I bring my cleats and workout clothes to school. I don’t have any softball pants or jerseys that fit this 110-pound frame. I’ll have to buy new stuff.
I blow out air before knocking on Coach Lynn’s office.
“Come in,” she says.
I open the door and step inside, and she beams.
“I can’t wait to tell Coach Burns I’m stealing you,” she says with a smile, touching her swollen stomach.
Late that afternoon, I accompany her out to the field, and when my cleats sink into the clay I suck on my bottom lip to stop myself from grinning like a crazy person. I gaze up at the lights, which are already blazing because the sun is beginning to set. The boys have just finished up their practice, and I wave at Drew, who gives me a thumbs up.
“Noooo, Parker, don’t leave us!” Corndog yells, getting down on his knees and clasping his hands like he’s praying. “I need you! Who’s going to take care of my cup?”
I flip him the bird down low, making him laugh. Then a bunch of the guys get down on their knees and start begging me to come back to them, and I’m laughing and playing with my tangly ponytail, to calm my nerves.