Chapter 15
Tabitha texted me while Parker was driving me and Lewis to Logan’s Point.
Jamie had to work, and Tyler’s parents guilted him into visiting his grandfather.
Even though I was shotgun, I found moments to text Tabitha back.
Parker wasn’t looking because his eyes were on the winding roads around the mountains.
Lewis was too busy describing the assets of his latest crush to worry about who I was texting.
But I kept my replies to the point. Just to be safe.
Now, I’m beat. The guys and I found an old hiking trail, and it ended up being really rocky.
It took a lot of stamina to pull myself up some of the rock faces.
Especially when I was being careful not to bust any stitches.
I could’ve let the guys beat me up the trail, but even without Jamie spurring me on, my competitive edge wouldn’t die.
I needed to beat them.
And now I’m wrecked.
As I flop on my bed, rubbing the raw scrapes I got on my arms today, I can’t help fixating on the fact my text message is last on the text chain.
Tabitha hasn’t texted me back, and it’s driving me crazy.
Ugh, I hate this feeling. I preferred it last night when she triple texted me. Man, just text me back.
I pick at a long scratch on the inside of my forearm, and hiss when it bleeds.
Dang it.
I get up, move into the bathroom, and wash my arm.
When I was climbing up the side of a hill, I grabbed onto a branch to pull myself up, and there was a dull ache in my wrist. It happens now and then; a side effect of sprains, fractures, and dislocations from over the years.
In reaction, I let go and stumbled off balance until I slid down the gravelly ground.
The scratch isn’t deep enough to need a band-aid.
It’s too long and awkward, anyway. It’ll heal if I just stop picking at it.
And I’ll need to remember to wear long sleeves around my parents.
I drag my feet back into my bedroom and groan.
If only Tabitha would respond, then I could stop being so antsy.
I dive onto my bed and pick up my phone. Why can’t I get over these texts?
No longer able to bear it, I text her. "So, did it work?"
Seriously, I hate myself.
I should be over the freaking moon she hasn’t texted me back. It’s done. She’s having it out with her mom, with no reason to send a message my way. Why do I want to know what happened? I shouldn’t want to know.
As I spiral into self-loathing, a reply pops in. "What?"
That’s all I get from her? A what? I drop the phone onto my lap, and my hands ball into fists. She knows what. What else would I be asking about?
Another text comes in. "You mean about my mom?"
I hold on to a breath and stare at the phone. I exhale with a whoosh and slump over. Okay, she’s not dumb. Maybe I took her off guard.
Probably.
Because she wasn’t expecting a text from me.
She doesn’t want a text from me.
Ah, man. Why do I keep texting her?
"Yeah. Did she get off your back?"
"I’m not home yet," she replies. "I doubt she’ll buy whatever I say."
Hmm. She’s not home. Do I stop texting her then?
I check the time. 10:18 p.m.
How long does a girl like Tabitha stay out on a Saturday night? Is it lame that I’m already home? I mean, I have early soccer practice tomorrow followed by a game. I can’t be out. If anything, I should be catching some zees.
"Let me guess. You’re at the mall, studying at the food court?"
"Lol, where are you living?" she texts. "When have you ever known the food court to be open past 9 p.m.?"
I don’t want to ask what she’s doing. I don’t want her to know that I want to know.
Man, why do I want to know?
Maybe because I’m afraid she’s with her friends. She told me they bully her. I can’t imagine the only people I hang out with making me feel like utter crap. If she’s with those girls, and she’s texting me, does that mean she’s trying to escape their wrath?
Or she’s with a guy? She could be on a date.
I tap the phone against my forehead. Why hasn’t she told me what she’s doing?
She wouldn’t text me if she were on a date. The guy wouldn’t stand for that. Not that I care if she is with a guy or not.
A lightbulb goes on.
Tabitha double messages. If I’m patient, she might tell me what she’s doing without prompting.
I stare at my phone screen, waiting in misery.
Over it, I swipe out of messages and back into podcasts.
I have a playlist of episodes that mention our town.
Victoria Falls gets brought up now and then because of the Ashworth family’s net worth.
It’s probably a good thing I don’t know anyone from the family.
I have a severe need to deep-dive into all the theories and discover what’s true or false.
When I’m fifteen minutes into an episode, it pauses when a text notification chimes. I tap my lamp back on and sit up, clutching my phone.
"Nope. She’s still on my case."
I reply with, "I take it you’re back home?"
Dang it. Why did I reply so fast?
"Yeah. Am I lame for coming home before midnight?"
I can’t help it. I have to ask. "Who were you hanging with?"
"Just the girls. We watched a rom-com. Cammy chucked her popcorn at me."
"Why?"
"I was so stupid. I compared the leading man to her dad because he was starting over with a new family while trying to balance life with his old family."
"And she didn’t like that?"
"Evidently not," Tabitha texts. "My fault, though. I should know better than to bring up her dad. It just slipped out."
The fire that builds inside whenever someone rags on Jamie burns within me. "It’s not your fault. She needs to check herself."
"It’s no biggy. It was only popcorn. Could’ve been worse."
"Have you dealt with worse?"
"It’s Cammy. But since her dad’s wedding, she’s been in overdrive."
"And that’s why you sicked her on Jamie?"
It takes a long time for her to reply, and my stomach knots.
Tabitha texts, "I’m sorry I did that."
And then she texts, "I hope you believe me."
I don’t know why, but…
"I do," I reply.
"Thank you."
I’m left wondering if I should ask if she’s okay, and if she wants to talk more about her friends, when she messages me again with a subject change.
"What have you been up to tonight?"
"Kicking it at home after going hiking," I reply. "Feeling kinda sore. Not great when I gotta get up early for a soccer game."
"Eww. How early do you play?"
"Eww? Soccer’s not eww."
"Lol, I meant the time was eww."
"Oh, well, practice is at 7 a.m. and the game is around noon."
"You practice for 5 hours?"
"LOL!! No, we don’t practice the entire time. Practice is an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Then we kick it around the field, watch some other games, and maybe run a few more drills before our game starts."
"Sounds like it takes up a lot of your Sunday."
"Yeah. We’ll finish our game, and you’ll just be getting out of bed."
"Rude. I don’t sleep in that late."
"Sure, sure."
I put the phone down after my last text and stare up at the ceiling. What am I doing? It’s like I’m addicted to every incoming text from her.
How do you stop addictive patterns? Cold turkey?
I release a deep exhale and nod to myself. Yep, that’s it. I won’t look at her next reply.
My fingers twitch. Whenever it comes in.
I glance back at the phone, face down on my bed. If she replies.
Why wouldn’t she reply?
Gah! Kai, you’re not supposed to care!
You don’t care.
Snap out of it.
The text chime taunts me.
Nope, not looking at it.
I wriggle further down my bed and get comfy against the pillows. It dawns on me I need to look at my phone to turn my podcast back on. With a sigh, I rub my palms over my tired eyes.
I don’t want to look. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to look.
I lower my hands and in one fluid motion, scoop up my phone.
Tabitha texts, "Well, I’ll let you get your beauty rest then. Good luck with your game tomorrow."
Whoa. What the heck? There are tingles under my skin. Gross. I hate it.
But it was a really frickin’ sweet message.
Ugh, no. She’s not sweet, she’s the dev—
Who am I kidding? I can’t call her those names anymore.
I text, "Thanks."
I hit play on the podcast episode. Leaving my phone on my nightstand, I roll over, falling asleep to the vision of Tabitha’s long lashes and pouty mouth.
***
The next day, the mood at the soccer field is electric. The crowd is ready to cheer us on, and our team is ready to go after a string of drills this morning.
“One touch,” Coach says, gripping my shoulder before I run onto the field. “You buy the defense time and stay ten steps ahead. You hear me?”
I nod, jogging on the spot. “I got it, Coach.”
Coach releases my shoulder and slaps me on the back. “Get out there, Cap.”
“Yes, Coach,” Tyler says, jogging past me and onto the field.
I puff out a laugh, following Tyler onto the field. “He was talking to me.”
“As far as the refs are concerned,” Tyler calls out, “I’m captain today.”
“Pfft. Since when?”
Tyler turns around, jogging backwards. “Since we’re alternating weeks.”
“Don’t you think it’s ridiculous we have two captains?”
Tyler smirks. “Yeah. You should abdicate.”
“I’d quit breathing first.”
Before I know it, Tyler’s taking part in the coin toss with the other team’s captain. In my head, I call tails.
“Tails,” the ref calls out, lifting the coin high. He then signals to the other team’s captain. “Your call.”
The other team points in the direction they want to play, and it’s already a poor start. What was Coach thinking? Tyler can’t even call a coin toss right.
Tyler jogs toward the goal with a big grin, and I just have to ask, “What are you so happy about?”
He hangs a thumb at the goal. “It’s the way I would’ve called it.”
I can’t help cracking a smile. Dang it. Nothing ever gets him down. I can already tell he’ll be laser focused, protecting our goal. It’s the whole reason I can’t shake him as my co-captain.