Chapter 10 Dane
Dane
For the last two weeks, Connor and I have been back on a steady diet of protein shakes and training sessions.
Between school and video games, I’ve been grinding hard to get to a point where I can help my team rather than hurt it.
I even score an insurance goal before the final whistle blows, and the dopamine hit is pure euphoria.
Sure, things aren’t perfect. Connor’s still dating my sister, but on the flip side, that means we’re still living under the same roof, which means seeing each other a ton.
He still says he only wants to be friends.
Friends.
As excruciating as that word is, there’s a purity to it that’s almost romantic.
Somewhere in the catacombs of my early memories, my mom’s voice says, “Crushes are temporary, but friends are forever.” I’m not convinced my crush is temporary, but regardless, I want to be a good friend to Connor.
Not a thirsty, careless, selfish friend, but a good friend.
Even if I drown in wet dreams, I’ll power through. For him.
When we hold Riverside down to a 3-1 final score, I feel like a damn superhero. We tell our opponents good game then huddle up so Coach can praise us for not playing like total backwash. In the locker room, I check my texts, and there’s one from Connor’s number.
Connor:
Nailed it! Want a ride back to SD?
Me:
Hell ya. Lemme shower up
He’s waiting for me on the promenade in his stonewashed jeans and plain white tee, grinning those pearly whites and holding his palm out. “Congrats, man.”
Screw a high-five. We won! I drop my gym bag and bulldoze into my boy, hugging him tight enough to feel everything that’s in his pockets.
He laughs and shoves me away, face all blushy when a few of the guys whistle at us from halfway across the parking lot.
I flip them off, but only because I love them.
“You were awesome out there,” Connor says, making my own cheeks red.
“Couldn’t have done it without you.” I scoop up my gym bag and sweep my other arm around Connor’s shoulders while we head to the car.
“Seriously, Dane. You did great. You ran hard, stayed focused, and made your shot. I’m really proud of you.”
“Mmm, say more nice things about me.”
He chortles and hits his car fob to bleep the black SUV a few spots down. “You’re running a little less like an ostrich lately.”
“That sounds a little backhanded, Connor.”
“Get in the car. I’m starving.”
A British robot woman recites GPS directions to the nearest Del Taco, but while we wait in a crowded drive-thru listening to country radio, I realize I don’t want to go back home.
The only thing worse than being criticized when I lose is being criticized when I win.
Birdshit bombs Connor’s windshield, and while he’s whining about it, the most brilliant idea flashes into my mind.
“Dude!” I crank my head sideways. “We should go to the zoo.”
Frosty brows crinkle up like he’s caught in my high beams. “The San Diego Zoo?”
“No, the Copenhagen Zoo. Duh, the San Diego Zoo! Let’s do it. It’s gonna be so much fun.”
“Right now?”
“Hell yes! I mean, after I get my tacos, but then let’s go! C’mon, bro. We can’t road trip to SD just to go back to Artie’s house. We’ve gotta do something fun to celebrate. Have you been to the zoo yet?”
“Nah. Mostly, the only places I’ve been are places you’ve taken me.”
Jeez, Thalia is really neglecting this kid.
“Alright, we’re going. I’ll pay. This is gonna be so dope.”
“Okay, but we have to hit a car wash on the way.”
Traipsing around a giant park in October weather that still feels like August weather shouldn’t appeal to me as much as it does, especially right after a match. But I’m pumped. Connor’s pumped, too; I can tell. He even lets me put on pop music, and we sing car-karaoke all the way to the zoo.
I haven’t been here since I was a kid, before Lori left.
She took me for my tenth birthday and let me invite a few friends.
I can’t remember much of how the day went, only that it ended with Artie yelling at Lori that she was never allowed to take me to the zoo again, so I must have really screwed it up somehow. I won’t screw it up for Connor.
Takes forever to get through the security line, since Connor’s packing a lot of questionable items in his backpack, apparently. Maybe they think his camera has a bomb in it. Eventually, they let him go, and I’m so excited I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet.
“Where to first?” I ask.
“Let’s see…” Connor, the dork that he is, peels open the pamphlet map and starts skimming.
“No way!” I snatch that junk and smash it into a ball between my hands.
“Hey, that’s my map!”
“No map.” I smirk and nail a three-pointer into the nearest garbage can. “Pick a direction.”
Dude takes so long to decide, left or right, that I hum the Final Jeopardy song until he rolls his eyes and settles on right.
“So indecisive,” I tease as we start our course.
“I know,” he says just before some middle-aged dickface in a tank top, showing off his cherry red shoulders, knocks into Connor’s side. Connor is so passive that he mutters an apology to the guy. Unbelievable.
Switching around, I holler at the sunburnt punk to watch where he’s going. He whips around, but I only catch a glimpse of his menacing snarl before Connor yanks on my arm and we make a run for it. We swerve for cover behind a churro cart, but the punk isn’t following.
“C’mon, I coulda taken that guy,” I say.
“You’re gonna get us kicked outta this place before we make it to one exhibit.
” Connor's face is flushed with nerves, like he was actually worried. Makes me think back to when he squared up against me at the party that shall not be mentioned, giving me a taste of the fire he keeps bottled up. While I loathe fighting with Connor, I’m glad he has that fire in him, just in case.
“You’re afraid of risk.” I hook an arm around his shoulders so we can walk as a unit.
“I moved here, didn’t I? That’s about the riskiest thing I’ve ever done. Well, one of them.” He must be thinking about that party, too, because I swear he’s blushing.
“Stick with me, puppy. I’ll have you taking all sorts of risks.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
A sign for the flamingo enclosure steals my focus, and we race like kids to see them up close.
It’s times like these I’m grateful half my DNA is Artie’s.
Perfect view. Connor stretches himself taller with his toes on a short curb at the railing, and I feel the familiar heat of his stare on the side of my face.
When I turn my head, we’re exactly eye to eye, but his tick upward to just above my brow.
“Checking out my scar again?”
His eyes float down to my mouth, then away to the flamingos. “Nah. Just thinking.”
“About what?” There’s a wrinkle on the back of his shirt that I know would drive him nuts, so I iron it down with my palm in one long stroke.
“You’d get along really well with my friends back home. You remind me of them.”
“And here I thought I was unique.”
“Oh, you’re still unique. You remind me of them, but you’re different too. I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”
“Thanks, puppy. You’re unique too.”
“Nah,” he sighs, lifting his camera and peering through the viewfinder. “Not me.”
After Connor snaps a few shots of these pink, majestic dorks, I push off the railing and tug Connor with me toward the next enclosure.
After two hours of swerving around rogue children and marveling at beasts large and small, my feet are begging for a reprieve. I spot a soft-serve stand and order a cup for Connor and a cone for me, then we find a shady bench to post up for a bit.
“You don’t have to keep treating me,” he says, digging a neon pink spoon into his chocolate-vanilla swirl.
“Eh, as long as I don’t get caught screwing dudes, Artie will keep paying my credit card bill. I figure you’re surviving on financial aid, which probably isn’t much.”
“My grandparents left me a college fund I’m still working through, and my folks send me spending money now and then.”
Watching his creamy lips as they take another bite, I say, “You’ve been putting up with me since the summer, and I know I can be a handful. Gotta show you I appreciate it. That’s what friends do, right?”
He looks sideways into my eyes, sucking the soft-serve off his bottom lip and not saying anything. Puts a little worry in me that I said something weird. Before I can second-guess myself into oblivion, Connor-style, the guy fumbles on a bite and drops his spoon between our shoes.
He curses under his breath, but it’s no biggie. I pluck the unused spoon sticking out of my cone, lick off the strawberry cheesecake flavor, and hand it over. Eyeing the spoon with wary intrigue, he mumbles a thanks and digs up a fresh bite with it.
I eat my cone and people-watch a bit until I realize Connor is just Dane-watching. By now, I should be used to his incessant staring, but it never ceases to make my skin hot.
Peeking at him, I ask, “You good?” with a restrained smirk and a semi-frozen tongue.
“Yeah.” He snaps out of it and lifts his spoon halfway to his mouth, but that’s as far as it gets before his dazzling blues are back on me. “When’s…when’s the last time you saw your mom?”
Wincing from a hard swallow, I’m tempted to ignore the question. I don’t like talking about my mom, and I especially don’t like thinking about the last time I saw her. It’s bad enough I have to see that scar on my forehead every fucking day when I look in the mirror.
“You mean my birth-giver? About nine years ago.”
“You haven’t spoken to her at all since she left?
Not on the phone or nothing?” He sounds aghast, and that’s one reason I don’t like talking about it.
No one gets it. No one understands. How could they when I don’t even understand it?
A parent is supposed to love their kid, right?
The light of their life. It’s, like, the main requirement of being a parent—love. Not mine.