Chapter 21 Bryson
Bryson
The trip home from Poly Tech is less than two hours, but knowing that Jaden isn’t her usual fiery self and I’m not able to lift her up in person makes it feel as if this bus is crawling along on rims. On a gravel road. In the rain. A hurricane-type rain.
We won a tough game, and the bus hasn’t been quiet since the moment we pulled out of the stadium lot.
Our O-line has a tradition when we win conference games on the road of writing and performing their own raps on our drive home.
They’ve come up with no less than eleven dis tracks about Poly Tech so far, and they’ve laid them all down thanks to this app Corbin found.
At least they’re letting Ashton do the actual rapping this time.
He’s good. Ollie, our right guard, and Nez, the center, usually take the lead, and they have zero sense of rhythm.
It’s like listening to my anatomy lab TA read the periodic table to a bad drumbeat.
Normally, I’d be entertained. But all I want to do is talk to Jaden, and I’m not about to call her with a bunch of rowdy football players swearing in rhymes in the background. Instead, I’ll stick to texts.
Me: We have an hour left. Wanna tell me about your day?
I watch the response dots flicker, then fade a few times before she finally responds.
Jaden: No. But yes.
I chuckle silently and slip lower in my seat, stretching my legs out under the seat in front of me, where I’m fairly certain Coach is asleep with his enormous noise-canceling headphones on.
Me: Want me to go first?
Jaden: Only if you promise to share nothing but the bad stuff. Like, interceptions and sacks. No game-saving passes. I can’t handle your success.
I snicker and think for a moment of something embarrassing to share.
I had a damn good game, and for once, I stayed on my feet the entire time.
I did slide for a first down twice, and it was real grass, not turf, so my socks got grass stains.
Probably not the level of devastation she’s looking for, though.
I start to type so she knows my response is coming.
Me: It was terrible.
I send that to buy myself some time. I’m about to give up, when bless Ollie and Nez for saving my ass.
I hit record on my phone as they attempt their first rap of the night.
It’s cringey beyond belief, and Nez keeps messing up which word he’s supposed to emphasize, so nothing rhymes even though it could if he weren’t such a dumbass.
I hit send once I’ve captured forty seconds, then wait for her to listen and respond.
Jaden: Yeah, that wins. In fact, I’m saving this and making it my alarm tone for the week. It’s a great reminder that I could always sink a little lower.
I laugh out loud at her response, and the defensive line coach rolls his head to the side and cracks an eyelid open to look at me from across the aisle. He points his thumb over his shoulder to the performers all gathered in the middle seats.
“This shit is laughable, all right? The one damn time I forget my earbuds.” He shakes his head and shifts his position so his right ear is smushed against the headrest. If he can sleep through this, I’ll be shocked.
Jaden: I won my match. Taryn and I won doubles. We got a trophy.
I wait for the bad news to drift in next, but the dots stop.
Me: Seems like you had a pretty good day. What am I missing?
I have an inkling of what it is, and it’s not something that’s easy to describe to most other people. But I hope Jaden knows I’ll get it. Sports at our level are hard on the heart and soul. They can crush you, even when you’re winning.
Jaden: At the end of the day, I’m still number 2.
I nod. It’s exactly what I thought.
Me: For now.
I follow my text up with a smiley face, though I thought about adding a heart.
Jaden and I have shifted into new territory.
We haven’t really talked about what we are, and I wouldn’t want to assume I’m anything I don’t deserve to be.
But as it stands for me, if she’s okay with it, she’s my girl.
I haven’t been pretending when it comes to our relationship for a while, not since I dunked her in the fountain and she excoriated me over it, if I’m being honest with myself.
Jaden: I guess. I can challenge this week. I need to find my swing, though. I’ve been hitting too many net shots. I get lucky most of the time, but it’s like I’m calibrated wrong. That probably makes zero sense.
I shake my head, because actually, it makes a ton of sense.
Me: No, I get it. Last season, I had two games with five interceptions total. It was like my arm simply wouldn’t align with my eyesight. I went in to see Aaron, and you know what he did?
She sends back a quick question mark.
Me: He gave me Pop Rocks.
Jaden: Liar.
Rather than typing my response, I decide to send her a voice memo. It’s still pretty loud in here, but she should be able to hear me on her end.
“It’s true,” I say. “He’s the reason I believe in the power of the candy. I went through four packs of watermelon-flavored ones, and voilà. I haven’t thrown a pick since.”
I hit send and wait for her reply.
Jaden: Bullshit. You threw one in the playoffs.
Shit. She’s right. I did. I threw two, actually.
I press record again.
“And you know why? Because I didn’t get my weekly dose of the rocks that week. I’m telling you. Go find those suckers and try them. It works. You’ll be serving like that pro you idolize.” I can’t remember her name, but I’m sure Jaden will school me on it. I hit send.
Jaden: I doubt Kathrine Maltese deploys Pop Rocks.
I smirk and type back.
Me: Well, not now, she’s retired.
Jaden sends me the neutral face emoji in response to my lame joke, but finally types fine. One second.
I scroll through my social apps while I give Jaden enough time to locate and try the candy.
There are a lot of videos of her at my first game, and I save a few to my phone to look at later.
She’s cute in my jersey. I know she’s not a huge fan of being constantly stalked by the public on campus, but most of the posts are gracious.
The trolls aren’t as loud as they were in the beginning.
My phone buzzes with an alert, so I close out of my apps to read Jaden’s text.
I sit up with a hard laugh when I take in the video she sent of her open mouth filled to the edge of her teeth with purple crystallized sugar shards.
She starts chewing after a few seconds, and her lips transform into a soured frown of disgust.
“What are these made of? This is awful. Literally the worst thing I’ve ever eaten. I’m spitting them out.”
I have to replay her video and press my phone to my ear to hear her, and despite the volume in the bus, I can still make out the crackling of the candy in between her words.
My phone buzzes again with another video, so I press play and laugh as she scrapes her finger over her purple-stained tongue. I bring the phone up to my ear when she talks.
“Why won’t it stop? I spit them out, yet it’s still popping. What have you done to me?”
Me: Okay, so they don’t taste amazing. But admit it. You feel better.
Jaden: No. I feel worse. And now I’m a walking onomatopoeia.
Jaden: Okay. Maybe a little better.
Me: See?
A full minute passes without a response, so I flip through some photos of us that I’ve saved, looking for the perfect one to send her way for an extra confidence boost. It strikes me while sifting through them how funny it is that most of the pics of us together doing things are images of her beating me at something.
It’s too bad I didn’t snap any photos during Skee-Ball, but also, I sort of love that some things between us aren’t a part of the app promotion. I want more real moments with her.
I land on one of the outtakes from our cornhole round at Slices, but before I send it, my phone buzzes with another message from her.
Jaden: My parents are selling their restaurant. It’s my fault.
So that’s what’s really at the core of her blues tonight. I hate that she thinks it’s her fault. I wonder how she found out.
Me: Did they tell you during their visit?
Jaden: Yeah. Somehow, I still played well after. I know they don’t want to sell. They love that place.
I haven’t met them yet, but from everything Jaden has told me, I’m sure she’s right.
I pull up the search I did a few weeks ago on her family’s restaurant and read through the article again that highlighted their struggles.
I’m guessing Jaden hasn’t seen this, so I send it to her without pausing to think it through.
That’s probably not what she needs, but damn it—my brain just fires, and my body acts.
My phone buzzes with her call, so I lean forward and cover my left ear and press the phone to my right.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to send that without context,” I say.
“How did you find that? Oh my God, they’ve been scraping for a while. There are numbers in here, like . . . painful numbers. A hundred thousand in debt!” Her shock comes through in the timbre of her voice.
“I know. I saw it a few weeks ago. I figured you knew, though.” I squeeze my eyes shut. More talking before thinking. Damn it, Bryson!
“A few weeks ago? And you didn’t mention it to me?”
There’s a long pause of painful quiet after her question, and I finally respond with a hoarse “No.”
“Why? Is it because you didn’t want to embarrass me?
‘Poor little Jaden, who needed that check, and then I came to her rescue. Too bad I can’t buy her family’s restaurant for her.
’” She’s not being fair, but also, I can hear her sobbing between her words, despite how hard she’s trying to mask it. She’s hurting.
“I didn’t know how. And it’s not like you’re easy to talk to about things like that.” Welp. That’s gonna make it worse.
“Yeah, well, nobody really likes to share how broke they are with people. Especially rich boys who have the world at their fingertips.”