Chapter 5 #2
I take the pen tucked behind her ear, reach around her to check off berries.
“Assuming you’d tell Elliot.”
“There isn’t anything to tell her.” Really? “Besides being volunteered, I don’t know anything about—”
“You laughed,” I interject, the truth falling out of me. “That’s why I left.”
Sutton stops and turns to face me, one elbow resting on the handle of the cart.
“I shouldn’t have laughed.” And then she apologizes, genuinely.
Sutton is the kindest person I know, but to me, there’s an edge, like a dog with a spiked collar daring me to get close.
“I asked Dr. Manning again about getting a new student.”
She continues shopping, turning down the aisle with bread and cereal.
“Will that put you behind?”
“Yes,” she says bluntly. “I’m already behind everyone else who attends schools with the major.” She rambles on under her breath, and I move to the front of the cart.
Her attention is focused somewhere between oatmeal and her thoughts. The front of the cart rams into my abdomen. I let out a tight groan, coughing to clear my throat and suck in a ragged breath.
“Then I’ll do it.”
“Don’t worry about it. Move, please.”
“No. Not till you agree to let me be your partner on this.”
“I’m not a pity project, Cooper.”
“That’s not what this is. I don’t think of you that way.”
“Right.” She rolls her eyes and tries to move the cart around me. I take a step to the left, blocking her path.
Sutton sighs, eyelids fluttering against her freckled cheeks. Constellations across both of them. You can’t count them, there are too many, but the left has more than the right.
“I’m not doing this with you,” she says.
You don’t want to do anything with me is what I want to say, but instead I ask, “What will it take for you to let me help you?”
“Nothing. If you wanted to help, you would have responded to my texts.” She has a point.
I let go of the cart. Drag my hands over my face and through my hair. I hate myself for hurting her, over and over. The more I try to stay in her atmosphere, the further away I feel.
How do I keep fucking up with her?
I’d do anything for her. She could tell me to get on my knees and beg, or stand in the middle of campus dressed like a fool and sing a Hannah Montana song. I’d give up hockey for her if she asked. I’d do anything she wants.
“Leave me alone, please.”
Anything but that.
There must be something sticky on the floor because my feet don’t move. I’m stuck watching her examine ingredients in boxes of cereal for one, then two minutes. Mustering up enough courage to walk away, I pass by her and silently scream out an apology for everything.
I’m about to turn for the exit when there’s a death grip on my bicep. In my rush out the door, I forgot a coat. A T-shirt is not ideal for a Midwest winter.
Her hand is warm, hot enough that it’s burning into my skin.
Sutton’s breathing picks up, and I can feel it dance across the skin on the back of my neck when she whispers, “Does he see us?” The tip of her chin rests on my shoulder.
“Who?” I look around the checkout. “Zach?”
“Yes. Now shh.”
“He can’t hear you, he isn’t—never mind, he’s walking our way,” I warn.
“Stay in front of me. Tell him I’m not here.”
“Why?”
Before she can answer, Zach is standing in front of us. “Hey, Carmichael.”
“Zach. What’s up, man? Did you have a good break?” I clap his outstretched hand, giving him one of those bro hugs. Stepping away from Sutton, revealing her behind me.
“Yeah, it was good. Saw my parents in Tampa. What about you?”
“Quick. Only got a five-day break this year.”
“That’s right. I saw your double-win last weekend against the Firehawks. Shutout both times? St. James is on fire right now.”
“The entire team is, man. When do you start spring training games?”
“In a month. I’m ready, I think this is our year.” Zach’s hope isn’t far-fetched. A freshman came in pitching almost one hundred as a lefty. “Are you with Sutton?”
“Oh-uh-um…no,” I stutter around the sentence. Around the entire question. I get he’s asking me where she is physically, in the grocery store, but my mind immediately jumps to being together like that.
He stares at me, confused.
“Hi,” her sweetly smooth voice responds. Sutton’s head peaks through under my armpit.
I adjust my arm around her so that she’s standing next to me.
“Hey.” Zach grins, bigger than I’ve ever seen him smile. There’s an essence of nerves, but they don’t outweigh his confidence. “You haven’t called me yet.”
“I-I-I’ve been busy.” She picks at a curl. The strand bounces with the movement. “Prepping for classes, searching for a summer internship…” Sutton starts to ramble on, and I subtly tap her upper arm to get her to stop.
“Any that you are excited for?”
“Dr. Manning’s abnormal psychology class.”
“Me too. I didn’t realize you were taking that.”
Sutton nods, and her face blooms red. She swallows slowly, tugging at the strand of hair more. “We’ve been in the same classes since freshman year,” she admits slowly.
Zach runs his tongue along his front teeth, and if I were him, I’d too would be embarrassed for not noticing her earlier. “Can I walk you to class on Monday? You live in the campus apartments?”
“Oh. Well…Elliot and I usually…”
I jump in, jealousy itching up my spine, but I’m also trying to sort through why she’s embarrassed right now. “She’s walking with me. Old traditions of starting the school year together.” I snake my arm around her tensing shoulders.
“Didn’t realize you two were close.”
“Sutton”—her shoulders roll back, a rigidity overtakes her. Shit, I never call her Sutton—“likes to pretend we aren’t.” That’s not completely a lie.
Zach sways, clutching his basket tighter.
“I guess I’ll see you around. In class or something.” He gives her a once-over and walks away. I don’t like it.
As soon as Zach is down an aisle, Sutton moves my arm off her.
“Never do that again.” She jabs a finger into my chest.
Do what? Defend her? Put my arm around her? Say we are close?
Probably option D: all of the above.
I hate how much this hurts, knowing that she doesn’t want me.
Sutton drops her finger. My hand jolts forward with the smallest movement, and it takes a conscious thought to stop. To not grab hold of her and never let go.
Her hands move to her face, covering the entirety of it. Pale blue nails with small, darker blue dots look fresh.
“Ugh,” she groans, then talks to herself. Soft enough I can’t make out what she’s saying. Sutton groans again, dragging her hands over her face.
I add up the equation. “You like Zach?”
Her eyes flutter. Her hands pressed against her mouth and maroon cheeks.
“You didn’t see or hear anything.” I open my mouth to talk, but she continues, “Or do you want to tell everyone about this, too?”
“No.” I pause, exhale, and restart. “Dave, I came here to apologize to you. I’ll do the project. I don’t want to screw this up for you.”
Sutton takes a long inhale, shutting her eyes and reopening them. “You don’t get it, do you? Doing this for me isn’t going to get us anywhere. The only way this could work is if you want this for yourself.”
I blink and she’s moving into a checkout aisle, I know she doesn’t have half of the items she needs. Once again, I’m frozen in place. This time, because her words are shackles on my feet.
I think about it. Think about how it felt when Coach told me not to help, and I felt relieved even for a second, not to have to give away a minute of my day.
I think about the pieces of me being pulled at, that I freely give, because if not, then who am I?
Every time an article comes out comparing me to my dad and I feel the pressure to be more than I am.
How long am I going to let this go on before I let it consume me? Before there is nothing left but a shell of who I am? Before my love for the game runs out?