Chapter 5 #2
“You’re not pathetic if you go back home,” I say.
Lord knows my life would be a lot easier if Connor left.
I could recalibrate and get back to the normal I’m accustomed to.
“You should count yourself lucky, actually, that you’ve got someplace to be homesick over.
Only homesick I’ve ever been is sick-of-home. ”
“Why don’t you leave?”
“Like I said, Artie pays for my school.”
Sending me a small, teasing smirk, Connor asks, “Do you even care about school?”
No, is what I should say, because it’s the lie. But lying to Connor isn’t as much fun as it is lying to everyone else. “I do. I like school. It’s the one thing I’m good at, now that I suck at soccer.”
“You don’t suck,” Connor insists, his tone laced with too much sympathy for my comfort. It’s too gentle and too warm. I don’t know what to do with all that. “What’s your major?”
Usually, I’d give another lie. Pretty sure Artie still doesn’t know what my major is. Every time he asks, I tell him something different. Something I know he’ll look down on. Something in the arts, or something notoriously underpaying. Last time, I told him I had switched my major to ceramics.
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
“I won’t.”
I’m the one staring off at the horizon now, because it’s safer than staring into Connor’s eyes when I tell him truths I probably shouldn’t. Wasn’t I worried about him being a snitch? What happened to that?
“Outdoor resource management.”
After a beat, Connor asks, “Why would I laugh at that? I don’t know what that means, but it sounds cool.”
“It’s basically outdoor recreation, outdoor education, park administration, that sort of thing. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a forest ranger. Now, as long as I’m doing something outside, I’ll be happy.”
At that, Connor does laugh, but it’s a breathy, awestruck sort of laugh that has my stomach flopping and my smile widening.
I’m lulled into adding, “Right before you showed up, I’d finished a month-long internship in Yosemite.
Mostly, I was a trail leader. Lived in a tiny cabin in the woods with no cell service, no electricity or running water for four weeks.
It was amazing. Didn’t wanna come home. Told Artie I was vacationing at a buddy’s family’s house in Oakhurst.”
“What would’ve been so wrong with telling him the truth?”
Finally, I risk meeting Connor’s eyes, and they’re just as all-consuming as I’d feared, melting me quicker than the afternoon heat.
“Trust me. The less Artie knows about me, the better. I’m not a pathological liar.
I can tell the truth. I’m just constantly surrounded by people looking for reasons to use the truth against me.
If they don’t know what the truth is, they can’t hurt me. ”
I shouldn’t have said all that, but my lips get awfully loose around guys who make me feel a certain way. Not just horny, but deeper than that.
“But when do you get to be yourself?” Connor asks.
“When I’m by myself, I guess. I never lie to myself.”
He nods slowly, wearing his thinky face, but before he can divulge what those thoughts are, he flinches, looks to his lap, and digs his phone from his pocket.
Mom, the screen reads as it buzzes in Connor’s hand.
“Shit. Sorry,” he says. “It’s my parents. Do you mind?”
“Nah, go ahead.”
When his phone is to his ear, his tone turns sweet and his volume picks up a few notches, greeting his mom with more affection than I’ve paid anyone in as long as I can remember. His dad must be on the call, too, because Connor says hi to him next.
Figures Connor’s parents are still together.
With no other kids, Connor must be their pride and joy, and judging by how Connor beams toward the sea as he catches up with them, they must have treated him with a lot of love growing up.
No wonder he’s so homesick, if he's got loving parents back home to miss.
“I’m at the beach, actually,” Connor tells his phone. “I’m not going in the water this time, promise. I’m hanging with Thalia’s brother.”
Hanging sounds better than training. Like we’re friends, even though I told him I’m not interested in that. Thalia’s brother stings a little, especially since, for all intents and purposes, I’ve been an only child half my life.
“No, I’ve been feeling better lately,” Connor says. “Been seeing more of the city, working out again, and I even played a little soccer last week with Dane and his buddies.”
Dane…now that sounds a lot better.
Listening to Connor’s cloying goodbyes is bizarre. So protective and lovey-dovey.
“Be careful up on that ladder, Dad. There’s no shame in contracting someone to fix the gutter… Have fun at your book club, Mom. Hope it’s a blast… I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow, alright? Love you… Yeah, I love you too. Hugs. Bye.”
Did he say the word hugs?
“Sorry,” he tells me with a bashful smile as he slips his phone back into his pocket.
“You talk to your parents every day?”
“Not every day. Just…most days. Sometimes twice a day if they forget to tell me something the first time around.”
“That’s adorable.”
His eyes roll as if that will cancel out the blush on his face, and he hoists himself to his feet. “C’mon. It’s been over five minutes.”
Well over, but I wasn’t going to complain. I could sit out here all night as long as Connor sits with me.
I crawl to my feet and follow him back to the trail, heading back the way we came. Two miles to get here, now I have to make it two miles back.
“Hey.” I steal a bit of time from the universe and lay a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone the shit I said, okay?”
Realizing I’m asking him to keep more secrets from Thalia, it’s especially comforting when Connor says, “It’s your business. I won’t tell anyone anything.”
“Thanks, man.”
He smirks, looking all proud of himself. Probably thinks he won something by getting me to open up, but I’m already regretting it. Post-truth clarity. I’m thankful when we start our run back up, because I’m too busy counting my strides and trying to lead with my stupid clavicle to run my mouth.
When we get back to our starting point, I’m huffing and heaving, and my calves are burning. Connor asks if I want to go again, and I sock his arm so hard he whines through his laughter.
Noticing that the fruit cart dude is still vending on the knoll, I ask Connor if he wants to split a fruit salad. He looks at me like I suggested dropping acid, but shrugs an assent, which is good enough for me.
I’m already hopping off toward the cart when Connor calls out, “Make sure there's no pineapple, alright?! I’m super allergic! Really fucks my shit up!”
“Ha!” I chortle, imagining the horror show he’d inflict in our bathroom, and I make a mental note to keep that dude away from pineapples as well as large bodies of water.
I come back to him with a takeout box brimming with cut melons and mangos, topped with Tajin, Chamoy, and lime slices.
“This is a SoCal staple.” I hand him one of the two plastic forks I grabbed from the vendor, and I flip the lid.
“Try it and tell me what you think. No pineapple, swear.
Dude doesn't even have any on the cart.”
Mouth scrunched skeptically, Connor waits for me to dig in and holler out my approval before he spears a hunk of spiced cantaloupe. He slips it between his lips and chews slowly, rolling his lips and humming with reluctant liking.
“It’s interesting,” he says.
I wring the lime slices over everything and egg him on to try some more. “If you don’t like this, you gotta go back to Sacramento.”
“We have fruit in Sacramento.”
“Wouldn’t know. Never been.”
Connor’s chin tilts down, eyes on my body again. This time, his hand follows, and the sudden brush of his fingers across my stomach triggers my tickle-reflex.
“Ah,” I laugh, twisting away despite how badly I want Connor touching me anywhere, at any time.
“Sorry. You have—”
Instead of finishing his sentence, Connor swipes his thumb above my navel. A bead of watermelon juice hitches a ride on Connor’s thumb and leaves a cold spot on my belly. He pops that thumb into his mouth, stunning me into silence.
“What?” he asks with genuine confusion before skewering another melon chunk on his fork.
“Nothing,” I answer, as if my life depends on it.
Connor had warned me he was going to come watch me play, but I didn’t actually believe he’d show. I’m sure there are a million and a half better things he could be doing than sitting on a hot aluminum bench for two hours, watching his girlfriend’s brother lose his fifth match in a row.
But halfway through my team’s pre-game warm-ups, I glance over my shoulder, and there’s a particular blond cutie sitting in the stands in khaki shorts and a Vans tee.
He’s such a normie, but he gives me goosebumps anyway.
He spots me looking and sends me a wave and a thumbs up.
His camera case is on the bench beside him because I told him it’s cool that he take photos of my match.
That’s the real reason he’s here, but my chest is tight all the same, day-dreaming a scenario where he shows up just for me.
Get a grip, Dane.
I can’t help the mushy feelings, though.
No one ever comes to my matches. Sure, I explicitly tell Artie and anyone else related to me by blood or marriage that I don’t want them here, but sometimes I wish someone would show up.
A boyfriend would be cool, but since that’ll never happen, I have my sister’s boyfriend instead.
The team huddles up before showtime, and Lyle pumps us up with words Coach Hannick is too straight-laced to say until we’re all on the same page: it’s time to kick some ass.