29. Foster
TWENTY-NINE
FOSTER
Tonight was weird. It was like Sophie and I were dancing to the same song, and then suddenly her beat changed. I sat there trying to keep time with her but kept losing it.
The only thing I can think of is that I made her uncomfortable with what I thought was some innocent flirting. Not that I was trying; it just comes out when she’s near me.
“You were no help,” I say to Gary who is lounging lazily on the window ledge in my bedroom. “You couldn’t be polite to her?”
Gary yawns and turns his attention out the window. He never cares about what I’m saying unless it’s food-related.
I know things ended poorly with her ex, and I find myself wondering how badly things had been at the end. Or perhaps things had been bad for a while. She wouldn’t be the first person to stay in a toxic relationship far longer than they should.
I roll on my side and close my eyes, but I’m greeted by my imagination playing an alternate reality version of tonight. I should open my eyes, but I’m curious to see where this goes.
Delicate hands lift my shirt up and over my head. Her voice, clear as day, asking if she can touch me. When I nod, she moves closer. I watch as her hands trail across my skin, over the artwork, admiring each unique piece.
I feel myself getting hard and clench my fists. I can’t touch myself while I’m thinking about her. I won’t be able to look her in the eye on Monday if I do that. But it is taking every bit of strength I have to not give in. If I come with her name on my lips, there will be nothing fictional about it.
Rolling onto my back I let out a frustrated sigh and try to think of something that resets my body. Gonorrhea? Sophie’s voice cuts in, and I chuckle. Nothing like an STI to break the tension.
“Horse hockey,” I grit out as Gary lands on my chest. I sit up. “Hockey… H.” I forgot to bring it up while Sophie was here.
I forgot to ask tonight, do you have plans for Tuesday night?
Heather’s hockey team is in the playoffs and she invited us.
“Us” jumps out at me. Us as friends, us as nothing more than that.
Sunshine
I have a meeting after school with my supervisor. What time?
7:25.
Can I meet you there?
Absolutely!
Would I rather us go together, yes but I can keep some things to myself.
See you tomorrow. X
She put an X. She put an X . What does that mean? Did she mean to put an X? She hasn’t done that before. I scroll back through all our previous conversations, and there is a definite absence of Xs. Maybe she does this for all her friends but didn’t feel comfortable doing it with me until this moment. Like I’m a friend worthy of an X.
I keep waiting for her to message again and say it was a mistake, but no such message comes. The X grows and multiplies in my head. It becomes something it’s probably not.
Did those looks she gave me tonight mean something? Did the slight flair of her nostrils when I told her she wasn’t allowed to touch trigger something inside of her, something good? Slipping back into the movie that had paused in my head, I hear myself tell her to lay back and keep her hands to herself. I tell her she can’t touch me. She has to watch as I worship her. And in the process I lose control, the angel on my shoulder loses the battle to the devil, and despite how good it felt, I’m instantly filled with regret.
“Mr. Walsh?”
“Yeah, Pete?” We’re walking well behind the rest of the class around the track. Some days he doesn’t want to partake, but today he said he felt like a walk, so here we are.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, bud, why?”
“You look…” He stops and squints up at me, studying every inch of my face. “Tired but…I don’t know, different?”
It’s shame, kid is what I want to say. “I didn’t sleep great last night, that’s all.”
“Bad dreams?”
Bad? No, the best, actually. “Yeah, you could call them that.”
“What were they about?”
“I was being forced to eat pizza after pizza covered in green olives.” I gag.
“Mmm,” he says in delight, stopping to rub his stomach dramatically. “That sounds like a dream come true.”
“I bet it does.” I chuckle at him as we continue around the track.
“Mr. Walsh?”
“Yes, Pete?”
“Do you think Miss Hore is pretty?” I stumble a bit as I look down at him, speechless. “You smile a lot when she’s around. She’s away today.”
“I told you, I’m tired, buddy.”
“But do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Think she’s pretty.”
“I think she’s beautiful inside and out.”
He stops abruptly and looks up at me in horror. “You’ve seen her insides?” he whispers, looking around as if I’m about to admit something scandalous.
I chuckle at his horrified expression. “It’s a saying,” I assure him. “It means someone is a good person.”
His face cracks open in a big smile. “I know, Mr. Walsh, I’m only joshin’.” I love this kid. “So, have you told her that?”
“That I think she’s beautiful inside and out?”
“Yeah. I told my mom she looked beautiful the other day, and she said it made her whole day.”
“That was nice of you. Are you going to tell her more often?” I ask, hoping to redirect the topic of conversation to his mom rather than Sophie.
“Depends.” He shrugs.
“On?”
“If she looks beautiful. I don’t lie, Mr. Walsh.”
“Well… Lying isn’t great, but what if it makes her whole day again? It’s kind of a victimless lie.”
“But what if she gets a big head? She could die from that, you know.”
“I don’t think anyone has died from too many compliments, Petey Bird. Real or not.”
“No one has yet, but I don’t want my mom to be the first.”
“Wow, okay. Well, you’ve got me there. Stick to what you’re doing, I guess.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “Do you know what you want to write about for your story this afternoon?”
“I think so.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
Pete looks up at me with his lips pursed. “I think I’m going to surprise you, Mr. Walsh.”
“Cool, I’m looking forward to it.”
When Pete stands at the front of the room reading his short story, I want to immediately melt into the floor. It’s about a tall redheaded man who can see into people’s bodies to determine if they are in fact beautiful inside and out. The body he’s looking into in this particular story is a tall blonde woman in a mushroom-patterned blouse.