Rebound (The Love League #2)

Prologue. Promise.

Tamara

Then

It’s been a week and there’s no sign of Patrick and now I’m worried.

He’s always the first person to greet me when I get out of my grandparents car. This time, he wasn’t there. And nobody has a good explanation for why.

Since we met at sports camp five years ago, we’ve been attached at the hip.

At first I wasn’t sure of this shaggy-haired boy that everyone seemed to love instantly.

Two years younger than my fourteen, he had the rest of the kids and coaches eating out of the palm of his hand.

I wanted to make him my enemy, to keep him at a distance to protect myself.

But he was too charming and confident even at that age.

During the first group activity, he walked over and flashed me a smile with one hand held out.

“Hi, I’m Patrick.”

“I know who you are,” I replied, staunchly ignoring his light brown eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“Thaamara.”

“Lotus flower,” he said and my gaze finally snapped to his. “Your name is Lotus?”

“It’s Tamara.”

“That’s not what you said.”

I sighed and turned away, ignoring the way he looked at me. “Nobody calls me that but my grandmother.”

“Can I call you that?”

“Why?”

“We’re friends and friends have nicknames.”

“What do I call you?”

“Anything you want.”

It took me the rest of that summer to come up with a name for him and only because he played a prank on the entire girl’s dorm.

Patrick became Tricky and then eventually shortened to Trick.

And he became mine. He didn’t know it at the time, but when my Velliamma and Velliappa1 came to pick me up at the end of summer, I had a full-blown crush on Patrick Joseph.

We started the next camp season as best friends and ended it as people who pressed lips together.

The year after we practised kissing some more and by the end of summer, I was addicted to him.

I confessed my feelings and Patrick insisted he fell for me first. Given that not a single boy looked at me during the school year, I couldn’t believe anything he said to me.

That didn’t stop him from grabbing my hand whenever we walked together or kissing me when we were alone.

Sneaking around became our thing. I was always worried we’d get caught, but Patrick was confident we wouldn’t.

He insisted he’d scoped out the perfect hiding places for us and I trusted him implicitly.

We explored forbidden parts of the camp property, got trapped in an abandoned shed for hours and punished separately when we got back.

For all the secret things we were doing, we were definitely oblivious to how the coaches and counselors were very aware of our activities. Well, almost all our activities.

I hoped they never told my grandparents. The last thing I wanted was for Velliamma to take camp away from me. I’d lost enough already.

My parents died when I was six, in an accident that even now nobody talks about.

My mother’s family took me in instantly.

It was two more years before I was enrolled and spent the school year in Chennai with my mother’s older sister, Tessammai2.

And the summer with my grandparents in Bangalore3.

Older than most of the kids in my class, I kept my head down and did the best I could to keep up.

When it became clear that I was struggling to get through assigned holiday tasks, Velliamma signed me up for sports camp.

I’d love to say she did it as a way for me to learn a sport, but it was mostly to help me lose weight and keep me busy.

By that point, I knew better than to fight with her about how she criticised my body while stuffing me full of food.

So I went along with her camp idea. It got me out of her crosshairs for a month and a half.

Madar Summer Sports Camp was started by a retired army major who believed children of all ages should explore and experience different sports and athletics.

I wasn’t a sporty type of person—unless you asked me to pick my favourite Spice Girl—but when I got to Madar, I discovered there was so much more to it than running and cricket.

That first summer, I tried everything at least once.

Patrick joined me for a few things, but kept insisting he was going to be a famous hockey player one day.

When I asked him why he was experimenting, he simply shrugged.

I never brought it up again. He taught me how to swim, we learned table tennis together, we tried out basketball and gave up.

Every time I attempted something new, I was rewarded with his beautiful smile.

Then it turned into kisses and being pressed up against trees as our hands explored each other’s bodies.

Love was what people said in books and movies—even the ones Velliamma and Tessammai forbade us from consuming—but I knew what I felt for Patrick was pretty damn close to it.

It might have taken us a few more years to say the words, but when he said it the first time, I felt sparks everywhere. Like we were meant to be.

The kissing evolved and improved, our hands traced each other thoroughly and everything changed.

So did our secret spots. They went from being around the corner to taking fifteen minutes to reach.

The only reason we didn’t keep our relationship a secret anymore was we saw other couples doing the same thing.

Most of them only held hands and sat together during Friday campfires and meals.

Patrick and I were inseparable. He always found me in the crowded dining hall and I knew when he was in a room before I saw him.

Last year, a whole crop of new people joined camp and there was this pretty girl from Bombay4 who took a liking to Patrick.

He was oblivious, of course. But I saw her following him everywhere.

Standing on the sidelines as he played hockey, cheering him on, flirting with him during meals.

He was always so polite and never said anything to her.

Until she tried to kiss him at the campfire one night.

In front of everyone. I was so angry I didn’t stay long enough to hear his explanation or her excuses.

Even in my rage I knew it wasn’t entirely Patrick’s fault.

She’d seen us holding hands, she knew he was off limits.

But he never once asked her to leave him alone.

“Lotus, come on,” he said, trailing me to the abandoned shed where I hid my contraband romance novels. “You know it meant nothing.”

“I told you to say something before.”

“What would I say?”

I spun around to face him and put my hands on my hips. “That you have a girlfriend and you’re not interested?”

“Oh.”

When I continued my trek, he stayed behind me.

Neither of us spoke until we got to the shed and despite my frustration, I let him lock the door behind us.

Instead of a novel, I grabbed my sketchbook and tucked myself into the corner.

There was a dull bulb in the centre of the room and I used it to finish the lines of the house I’d been drawing before.

“I’m sorry, Tamara.”

“I know. I think everyone knows you’re sorry.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

Why indeed? I was angry with him, with her, with the situation.

If Patrick and I had more than just the summer together, the world would know he was taken.

But we lived in different cities—Chennai for me and Cochin5 for him—and there was no way we could be together.

Other than my cousin, Vera, I didn’t have any friends in school.

Partly due to the fact that I was two years older and everyone liked making fun of me for it.

None of them knew why I started school late, so the only thing they could do was bully me.

I let them. It was easier than trying to make them understand.

None of them were orphans and their parents always showed up to PTA meetings.

I loved Tessammai and Jakesappapen—Vera’s parents and my guardians—but they weren’t my Amma and Appa.

“Hey, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.” Patrick’s thumb brushed over my cheek and I startled when I felt wetness slide down my face. “Tamara?”

“You love me, right?”

“More than anything.”

I arched an eyebrow as I wiped my face. “Anything?”

“Okay,” he said sheepishly and sat down beside me. “I love you a lot. So much.”

“I love you a lot too. So much.”

He slipped his hand into mine and linked our fingers. I stared at where our palms touched, how even at this age, his hand was so much bigger than mine. His darker skin looked like chocolate against my lighter brown. When I looked up, his amber eyes searched mine.

“Maybe when we finish school we can go to college together. Do you know where you want to go?”

“Never thought about it. You?”

“Anywhere you’re going, Lotus. I’ll go with you.”

I rolled my eyes and he laughed, the sound wrapping around me like my favourite blanket. I leaned against him, head on his shoulder. “I’ll go anywhere with you too, Trick.”

“Good. But right now, maybe we can just stay here for a bit.”

“As long as I can beat her up later.”

He laughed and squeezed my hand. “No violence, please. She knows now and that’s all what matters.”

“Well, if she tries it again I won’t be able to hold myself back.”

“Okay, Rocky,” he said and laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“I’m sorry, Tamara, there’s nothing more we can do,” Coach Mathan says as she sets the phone back in the cradle.

I slump in my chair and stare out the window.

Two weeks without Patrick and still no word.

Everyday since I got here, I’ve been harassing the office to find out if he’s okay.

They’ve called the numbers in his file and nothing.

They assured me he’d probably show up late, but they didn’t seem convinced.

Now that we’ve done everything possible to track him down, it’s clear he’s vanished without a trace.

He’s done with me, he’s never coming back. This was his way of not having to keep his promise.

My heart cracks at the realisation. It might seem like an extreme reaction to some, but after all the things we said to each other last year, this feels like abandonment.

I know what it feels like to be left behind and I hate it.

My grandparents, aunt and uncle, and cousins are still here, but it’s not the same as having Patrick.

He made spending the summer away from Vera and her brothers bearable.

He made trying new sports an exciting activity.

He even helped me learn so much about myself.

And now he’s gone.

“I’ll try again in a few weeks, okay?”

I realise Coach Mathan’s trying to comfort me, but it’s pointless.

With a nod, I leave the office and head to the girl’s dorm.

Everyone’s been very aware of my mood this summer and they’ve stayed clear, which is not helpful given that this camp is also about teamwork and making friends.

The only friend I wanted left me after making tons of promises and telling me he loved me.

How can I trust that others won’t do it?

I pull my sketchbook out from under my mattress and flip it open to the page where I drew Patrick’s face.

Drawing people is not my strong suit so it looks terrible.

Give me nature and buildings, structures with straight lines and firm shapes, and I can do it.

But the boy smiling up at me from the page is definitely the one I love.

I rip the page out and carry it to the low fire outside and toss it in.

I hate you, I say to myself as tears prick the back of my eyes.

You broke your promise, I add and furiously wipe at my face before anyone can see me crying.

You left me here alone, I yell inside my head when only ashes are left.

“I wish I could hate you,” I whisper before walking away. The tears don’t come anymore and I’m grateful. Since I promised to join the volleyball match, be the anchor in the swimming relay team and plan a birthday party for one of the junior campers.

Every romance novel has told me to never cry over boys.