Chapter 13
Jamal King
I didn’t mean to overwhelm O’Keefe. He’s not pissed off anymore, but I can’t read him. That makes me nervous because the unknown is so much worse than understanding what I’m dealing with.
We walk in silence, and I decide not to show him my public school because it’s too far and we’re being tracked. The same guys have sized us up several times. I steer O’Keefe to a different subway stop that is better lit. If someone jumps us, I’m totally to blame.
Theo screams money, and that attracts people we don’t want.
Theo? Since when is he Theo? I brush aside the significance of changing how I think about his name. Can’t let my mind dissect it, or I’ll spiral.
PS 158 looms to our left. “Is that where you went to school? At first, I thought it was a jail.” O’Keefe quickens his pace.
“No, my school was better.” Not by much, but I keep that to myself.
“Good, good,” Theo says, and I’ve noticed that his voice is higher, but I haven’t figured out if it’s because he’s nervous or confused. He mutters to himself when he’s mad.
“Where are you going to stay tonight?” I ask, and Theo’s mouth drops open. “You said you can’t go home. What’s your plan?”
“No idea.”
“If you’re desperate, I’ve got a couch,” I offer as an olive branch.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be that desperate. Can I assume you’ll take me back to the city? I’ll get a hotel room, and John should be gone in the morning.”
“Suit yourself.” I shrug, relieved.
We don’t talk on the trains back to the city. I take him to an area near lots of hotels. “This is your stop.”
“You’re not getting out here?”
“Nope. Have a good night. Text if you need anything.” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I regret them. He doesn’t have a phone.
“Thanks for not getting me killed,” he says so low I doubt he meant me to hear.
I watch him walk along the platform, but the train departs before I see him exit onto the street. I should’ve walked him up. No, I’m not his keeper, and he’d probably have been offended.
My skin itches, and I crack my neck. Being with Theo makes me crazy. I should avoid him, not try to befriend him. It’s a desperate idea. We can be teammates without being tight.
There’s no way I can wait until tomorrow, so I text my dad.
Me: You up?
Dad: You okay?
Me: How long does trust take to build?
Me: For real
Dad: It takes as long as it takes. It’s not an easy process. Can I help?
Me: Nah love you ttyl
Dad: Goodnight son
I’m zoning out and almost miss the stop to my apartment. Deadass, I’m unsure if Theo looks down on me now and I made our situation worse or what. His default expression on his good days is indifferent, but more often his expression says I’m-so-much-better-than-you. Tonight he looked disgusted.
I enter my apartment and try to see it from Theo’s perspective. That is not a hole I want to fall into. Imagining what he thinks will only depress me.
I wake up to the team chat blowing up, trying to find Theo.
Me: I left him at Times Square and 42nd Street to get a hotel room
Benz: You left him alone?????? *screaming face emoji*
Ace: Do you know which hotel?
Me: No
Me: He’s a grown-ass man
Mav: I’m getting popcorn
Brant: I’m sure he’s fine
Ace: No one panic unless he misses practice
O’Keefe: I got a new phone
O’Keefe: Thanks for trying to find out if King killed me
O’Keefe: Hours after I’d be dead
Brant: No one say anything incriminating in case this is a hoax
I silence my phone and take a shower. My head throbs with a tension headache. No surprise. I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish with Theo. Maybe I’m being selfish and letting him hate me is the nicest thing I can do for him.
If John speaks that way in public to Theo, how is he behind closed doors? He doesn’t give Theo any credit for his success; he only expects him to score goals. It wouldn’t surprise me if John hurt him as a child. Theo seemed resigned and more focused on his mom.
I forgot to ask him about his mom. Shit.
Dripping wet, I lunge for my phone.
The least I can be is someone who doesn’t add to his burden.
Me: Is everything okay with your mom?
O’Keefe: New phone who dis
Me: *eye roll emoji*
I take a picture of my hand and send it.
Me: Guess
O’Keefe: Are you flirting with me? Do you have a hand fetish?
Me: Don’t change the subject
Me: You were upset I made things worse for your mom?
I phrase it as a question because I’m not sure.
O’Keefe: Don’t worry
Me: Too late
Someone without anxiety could never understand the mental fixation of our fears and problems. They loop in our heads over and over until we pass out or figure out a solution.
O’Keefe: Whatever
I drop it since he’ll get upset if I don’t. He makes it hard to be nice to him, like he does it on purpose.