Chapter 10
I WANTED TO DO nothing for the rest of my Sunday.
Nap, beat the boys at FIFA, watch whatever anime P é rez and Nguyen are bingeing right now.
But then I got a reminder on my phone about a paper for Philosophy that’s due tomorrow, remembered I only have the roughest of a first draft done, and was forced to get my ass back up and my head in the books.
Should have realized that, if anything’s going to ruin some relaxation time on the one day I decide, “It’s cool, I don’t have to do drills today,” of course Philosophy is going to be that anything . It knows I don’t like it.
Which is how I end up spending hours in the library, most of them with my hands clenching my head, eyes straight at my laptop screen, staring so intensely at notes and a half-assed attempt at five pages of explaining shit I could not care less about they’d probably be burning right now if it weren’t for my blue light glasses.
I’ve never been so deeply in this gray space of concentrating so hard I’m about to break my brain but also not able to force any thoughts out, as hard as I’m pushing. Mental constipation, for sure.
Which is why, when a backpack lands on the table with a loud enough thud to shove me out of my headspace, I don’t react like a normal person.
No. It scares the shit out of me, I let out a way too loud “?La puta madre!” and nearly fall out of my chair.
And as I’m catching my breath, pulling out my AirPods, coming to terms with the fact that I overreacted and panicked and probably embarrassed myself in front of hopefully only a few people, I realize, “ Vale. What … what are you doing here?”
“It’s the library,” he says through a laugh, covering his mouth with a hand carrying some kind of boba tea in a big cup. “You realize I do go to this school, right?”
“I … yeah. Obviously. ”
He shakes his head, giving me a smile and glances at the written-down notes and books and laptop I’ve got in front of me. “Sorry I scared you. I was studying upstairs, saw you, and thought maybe you could use a study buddy.”
“Oh, sure. As long as I’m not making you bail on friends or anything?”
“Nah, I’m not. It was just me tonight. And, at this point, I’m more just wasting time until I have to go home. Well, to my cousin’s house. So, looks like I’m all yours if you want me.”
“Definitely,” I say, smiling and pushing the chair next to me out for him. “You wouldn’t be super into philosophy by any chance?”
“Actually, yeah. I would be.”
My head goes back as I let out a “No mames. Really? Are you joking? You don’t sound like you’re being sarcastic.”
His smile gets bigger as he bites the corner of his bottom lip.
“We’re actually in class together. I sit behind you, so I’m not taking it personally that you haven’t noticed me.
Also, you always walk in looking so miserable to be in that room.
You were really good, though. Like, with that whole ‘Are we even human?’ conversation on the first day.
Right away became one of Coolidge’s favorites. ”
“Yeah, but at what cost?”
Vale laughs, sitting sideways on his chair, leaning on the back part. “I’m sure you’ve got a better hang of it than you think you do.”
“Trying to understand what he wants for this assignment says otherwise. Plus, it’s like every time he asks me for my thoughts, he looks like he’s waiting for me to give him more.
To realize something that I’m missing, but I can’t figure it out.
Like I’m supposed to find a point to this class when there isn’t one. ”
“I don’t know, I think philosophy gets into the idea of who we are as people. What makes a person a person.”
“Okay, but that’s why it’s actually kind of bull because we could just talk about that and not have to get wild about what ifs and hypotheticals.”
“Parables and hypotheticals have been around for forever. And I’m not saying that there isn’t a time for getting straight to the point—”
“That time is all the time .”
“Exactly what I’d expect from a math major,” he teases, his hand going close to my laptop, waiting for me to give him a nod so he can take a look at what I’ve written so far. “Still looking for a specific solution. For someone to tell you that you’re right.”
“Instead of what, then?”
“Instead of ‘This matters. What I think matters.’ Discussion matters.”
I groan, slouching in my chair. “Okay, but I’d rather be a math major any day over doing this. A day full of calculus, differential equations, linear algebra? Will always take that over being a Philosophy major.”
“My parents would probably agree with you.”
“I—hold up.” My hand goes up, covering the screen. “?De veras? You’re majoring in Philosophy?”
“Yep. This is my life. This and English, double major.”
Well fuck. “I, uh … sorry about saying your major’s shit.”
He lets out a laugh as he pushes my hand away, keeping his on top of mine when they hit the table. “It’s cool. I’ve never once in my life said anything nice about math, so we’ll call it even. But, getting back to this paper currently making your life hell?”
I only let out another groan as my head thuds onto the table, nodding into the wood or whatever fake wood it’s made out of.
I can hear Vale chuckle as he pets the back of my hand and then gently scratches it before admitting, “For some reason, I could’ve assumed talking about being trapped in caves, cannibalism, the justice system, and the death penalty would be the last way you’d want to spend a weekend. ”
“I don’t even know how to pronounce it,” I whine, my head now resting on the table, my eyes looking up at Vale. “Spunky-an, Spell-seen—”
“Speluncean. The Case of the Speluncean Explorers.”
“That. Like— ugh . It makes me mad, actually. Between this law that leaves no room for exceptions, and this no-balls judge who wants to stay neutral about it, and a bunch of guys put in a shitty situation who are forced to eat one of their own, and almost every judge at least agreeing they don’t deserve to die, I just …
when I think about it, I get frustrated.
And then trying to make words come out that sound like a reasonable argument for, I don’t know, them not having been executed, or writing about everything that maybe we don’t know about what happened just sounds like yelling. ”
“Well, take some deep breaths. This paper isn’t going anywhere.
At least, not for twelve hours and some.
Then I’ll be worrying about you if you’re still here.
” Vale looks at his phone, checking the time.
“You want to take a walk? Before I saw you, I was thinking a breather sounded nice. And you could use a breather, it looks like.”
“Wait, you were on your way to some fresh air, saw me, and thought, he looks too defeated to just leave him?”
“I know, right? Try reasoning that one,” he says with a smirk.
“Simple,” I tell him back, wasting no time standing up and packing everything into my backpack. “You like me.”
And here comes that burgundy in his cheeks again. Something about it is really satisfying, knowing I make him blush like that. “I guess I must, huh? Probably the glasses. Somehow they make you look even cuter. Even with how stressed you were giving.”
The transition from cool AC to warm, moist air is one of my least favorite experiences.
I gladly take Vale’s drink when he hands it to me, trying my best not to down the rest of it in seconds.
But after how much I’m taking, I’m going to have to treat him to boba one day to make up for drinking all his tea.
“Make sure we don’t stay out here all night, all right?” I tell him, bumping my side into his. “Half an hour and then I’m back to figuring out this essay.”
“Half an hour,” Vale repeats before bumping me back, looking at my bare arms when he goes back to giving us a foot of space.
We walk past a few buildings, heading for Ocean Drive.
And when we get to the road, Vale looks left, then right, and then starts power walking across, making me catch up to him because I was busy ripping apart the plastic-wrap top of his cup trying to get some ice.
After that, there’s only a small strip of sand separating us from the water.
“Weren’t you going back to studying after this?
” he asks, watching me take off my shirt and lay it down on the beach.
His words, acting like I should know better or something, are giving me a very different energy than what his eyes are doing, staring real shamelessly at my chest and stomach, appreciating the abs and V lines that have been coming in after—between my last high school season in the spring and going right into training and this season—almost three-quarters of a year of nonstop football.
“I’ll go back to my place to finish that essay. Don’t have to wear clothes there.”
“Valid,” he says back, his hands going to the bottom of his own shirt and pulling it up over his head. And, got to say, confirmed: he’s got a nice body.
Our shirts go side by side to make one large square of fabric over the sand, and the two of us sit close together, bodies pressing into each other.
My hands go back, getting sandy but holding me up so I can lean back.
And I don’t say anything when Vale takes that as an opportunity to move the littlest bit farther into my side.
Nothing worth bringing up. It keeps him from getting sand on his butt, and it feels nice.
“You’re from Corpus, right?” he asks.
“Yep. My whole life’s basically been here.”
“You like living on the water?”
“It’s alright. I’ve never known anything different though. Even when we take trips down to M é xico to see family, they all live on the coast around the Tamaulipas and Veracruz border. I think my first time farther than a few hours from the water was for our game against El Paso a few weeks ago.”
“Got salt water in your blood.”