Chapter 35 Colson
thirty-five
Colson
While the school has been a saving grace by offering a place to hold camp and practice, it’s not the same as the courts we’re used to. That’s why me and Sadie, and even other volunteers, have been putting in work at the rec center whenever we have a free moment.
This camp, what Sadie is doing for this community, feels like something my mom would’ve relied on when I was a kid.
A place for me to spend my summer, being safe and bettering myself in some way.
Not to mention it was critical for her to be able to work shifts during the day.
That’s one of the reasons I kept coming back to the rec center early on.
Feels right to help restore it to a workable space.
The professional cleanup crew packs up faster than I expect. The day seemed to fly by. One minute there’s the steady grind of machines and voices carrying in and out, the next it’s only the sound of trucks pulling out of the driveway.
Sadie doesn’t slow down. She rolls her shoulders, wipes her hands on the back pockets of her shorts, and grabs another stack of broken-down cardboard like she hasn’t already been at this for hours.
If we want to stay on pace with the tentative re-open date, we knew it’d take some extra work.
We. There I go again. Fuck.
I watch as she works like this is normal—like giving everything she has to a place that isn’t glamorous, shiny, or easy is part of who she is. No complaints or dramatics. Just steady, almost stubborn effort.
She’s a different kind of productive. The type where you know she has to dig deep, that her muscles ache, the exhaustion is starting to touch her bones. But she doesn’t quit.
It makes something in my chest tighten. She’s a force and I feel like she barely knows it.
“Hey,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “Don’t push it.”
I hook my fingers around the edge of a metal folding table and lift it, testing my shoulders before committing. Recognizing how she cares about me.
“I’m good,” I reply. “Promise.”
She squints at me, the way she does when she’s deciding whether or not to believe something. “You say that, but—”
“I know,” I cut her off gently. “No heroics.”
She hesitates, then nods. “You know what I’m thinking now, huh?” she teases.
This is one of my favorite parts of her. The one where she gives me shit. She carefully makes fun of me.
Truth is, if there’s a scenario where I stupidly push the shoulder too far, it’d probably be from keeping up with Sadie.
We work side by side as the sun dips lower, the sky bleeding into that soft late-summer palette—orange melting into pink, pink fading into blue. The air cools enough to raise goosebumps on my arms. Somewhere in the trees, crickets start up, slow and uneven, like they’re warming into it.
It’s hard not to notice how pretty it is here. It seems like every night, the lake dares the sky to do better than the night before.
Sadie hums under her breath while she gathers trash bags, her movements efficient, familiar. Like she knows this place the way I know the lines on a court.
Watching her makes me want to keep going, even when my arms start to burn. Not because she’s watching—but because she isn’t. Because she assumes I’ll be there, doing the work with her.
That kind of faith sneaks up on you.
We work in quiet silence, doing our best to get as much done as possible. My muscles are tired and my feet are sore, but Sadie shows no sign of stopping and I follow her lead.
It’s when I’m carrying a stack of flattened boxes toward the dumpster that I notice it—the first tiny spark of light drifting up from the grass near the fence.
Then another. Then three more. I stop short.
Fireflies.
They blink on and off like they’re breathing, rising slowly into the dusk. Little floating embers. It’s the sort of thing you forget exists until it’s right in front of you.
Sadie follows my gaze. “Oh,” she breathes. “They’re always out over this way.” She gestures to the line of houses and the rec center.
“I haven’t seen them like this in forever,” I blurt before I can stop myself.
She smiles, a little surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. Chicago may get a few but not everywhere.” I set the boxes down, suddenly careful, like I might scare the moment away. “Or maybe I’m not paying attention.”
More fireflies drift up from the edges of the tall grass, pulsing gold and green against the deepening sky. The sound of the crickets becomes the soundtrack for the glowing.
For a second, I’m eight years old again, barefoot in the park with my mom, chasing lights with a mason jar while she sits on the edge of the slide. I remember how she told me not to catch them for too long—that some things are better when you let them be.
Sadie breaks the silence gently. “What’re you thinking about?”
“My mom,” I admit. “She used to make a big deal out of fireflies. She’d take me to the park where they were always bright. I’d be in my pajamas and we’d go in our flipflops.”
Her head tilts. “I love that.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
She’s quiet for a beat, then carefully asks, “What about your dad?”
The word lands flat.
I shrug, easy. Practiced. “Non-factor. Left when I was five. Never came back.”
Her face shifts—not pity, not shock–with understanding. Like she’s filing the information away, respecting it for what it is.
“I’m sorry,” she offers and I swear her voice cracks.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” I tell her honestly while sitting down at the picnic table. “My mom made up for him.”
She sits next to me, close enough that her arm bumps into mine. Her head tips and she rests it on my shoulder. Together, we watch the fireflies rise higher, their lights blinking, like stars that fell from the sky.
This doesn’t feel real. Also, it feels so sweet and wholesome that my teeth should fall out. I don’t move, and neither does she. Like we both understand this is one of those moments you don’t interrupt. Her weight makes it feel like she belongs here. With me.
The fireflies blink on and off around us, careless and glowing; for the first time in a long time, my thoughts don’t race ahead to what comes next. There’s no pressure. No noise. Just this—her, the quiet, the soft summer night holding us exactly where we are.
Sadie exhales slowly. “This is, like, sickeningly sweet, yes?”
“Totally,” I agree.
Sadie laughs, I feel her shift against me, and even though we’re the most annoying people to exist in this montage, neither of us move.
After sitting in the memory of my mom and me at the park, I wonder about Sadie. Where did she grow up? Does she have memories like I do? I want to know everything but that seems aggressive. So, I start small.
“What about your family? Are you close?”
Sitting up straight and turning to me, she says, “They’re great.
We talk all the time, but my dad has a hard time leaving the college.
Ever. Coach Becker identity runs deep. But I’m thankful for them.
They love each other, they love me, and they showed me what it was like for a marriage to be full of love. ”
The way her mouth says the word marriage feels off. Like she doesn’t want to think about it. Or it’s like when lemon juice is getting too close to a cut.
“Probably great having a dad who knows the game. Understood what it meant when you got hurt.”
She looks down, her foot tapping the ground. “For the most part, yes. My dad loved watching me play.” Her lips almost turn down, but not quite.
Past tense. Loved.
“Do they ever come visit?”
“Typically at the end of August. Before classes start and my dad has his team to keep tabs on. They like it here, but they don’t love it like I do.” She looks around, the fireflies still glowing like they’re showing off.
“This place isn’t what I expected,” I admit.
“Those are the best kinds of things if you ask me.” Her shoulder bumps into mine.
She hits her hands on her knees. “Okay,” she says. “One more trash run. Then we’re calling it.”
I nod. “Deal.”
She walks ahead of me, and I already miss the weight of her head on my shoulder.
“And then I’ll take you back home.”
“But you’ll stay?”
Her eyes are wide enough I can see them in the dusk, the darkness cloaking around us.
“Of course.”
And if there’s one thing worth staying for, it’s definitely Sadie Becker.