Didi #2
I blink up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I’m failing math. If I don’t pass, I won’t be able to run. I won’t get into college, and my life will be ruined. Maybe you could help me, and I can keep bringing you food?”
I can’t keep my eyes off that sandwich. “Fine. Give it to me.”
He smirks as if he’s won some prize and hands me the other half. It looks good—turkey and bacon. I suppose that’s a fair trade off. He wanted something from me. No one actually likes me.
“It better not be poison,” I quip before taking a bite, and he chuckles. I moan at how good it tastes. He watches me with a grin on his face that turns serious.
“Why do you think I’d ever poison you, firefly?” He brushes a piece of my hair with his fingers.
I flinch as he makes contact, suddenly feeling very trapped under these bleachers. Firefly…why does he call me that? Mama would hate it if she knew. Mama would also hate that I’m alone with him in a kissable distance.
The nickname makes me uncomfortable.
My heart rate becomes too much for me to handle, and my hands shake.
He must sense my discomfort, because he moves his hand down my cheek before he pulls away. His fingers are soft, hands slightly callused.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “I forgot, no touching.”
I bring my hand to my cheek, the warmth of his touch lingering. I can’t help but compare it to the way Remy touched my face in the library. Both touches affect me in ways I can’t describe.
Finally, after a few tense moments, he says, “Don’t be scared of me, Didi. I’m a good one.”
I fold my arms and sigh. “I’m not scared of you, Tommy. I just…rarely talk this much to anyone.”
He leans back on his elbows. “Alright. If that makes you more comfortable with me, we can sit in silence. Then tomorrow you can start helping me?”
It does make me feel better. I don’t know how to talk to him—I’m not even comfortable in my own skin.
I take another bite of my food, which brings instant comfort, filling my otherwise empty stomach.
If Tommy’s watching me, which I’m sure he is, he doesn’t say a word, and as he promised, we sit in silence.
I keep my eyes lowered because part of me is afraid that if I lift them, then this moment will be over, and Tommy and his sandwich will be gone.
He hums something. I’m not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it, but he starts to tap his hand, too. I watch him, and he seems to have forgotten I’m even here.
Whatever song is playing out in his head, he’s completely lost in it.
“What are you singing?” I ask.
He leans back relaxed. Almost embarrassed. “Nothing, it’s stupid…”
“I want to know.”
“Just a song I’ve been practicing at home.”
I lean closer to him. “What kind of song?”
He squirms a little, almost like the music in his head is a dirty little secret. “It’s just a few lyrics. I’ve been strumming it on my guitar.”
My lips part. “You’re a musician?”
His face drops slightly. “No. I wish. I’m an athlete. My old man would hate it if he knew about it. He says rock n’ roll is a waste of time. Plus, it’s not like I have a ton of time to work on it. I only practice when he’s not home.”
I open my textbook and pretend to read it, pretend not to care. “Well, don’t let me stop you. You can keep practicing if you want.”
I glance at my book as he closes his eyes, working on the song he’s composing in his head. He even starts singing.
His voice is nice and soothing, and I get lost in it. He catches me looking and smiles at me when he finishes.
“Was that, okay?”
I nod and eventually give him a shy smile. “It was more than okay.”
The way he stares at me brings goosebumps to my skin and a tingle in places where it shouldn’t, causing me to hold my breath.
He’s so talented…
The bell rings, and his face drops. He bites his lip and glances toward the school. “Will you meet me here again tomorrow and help me?”
I shrug and finally smile at him. “I have nowhere else to go.”
Tommy meets me the next day, and the next.
He’s quiet and sweaty as he hands me half of his lunch, usually at the end of the hour.
Which I don’t mind. I enjoy the smell of him and his company, and it’s become my favorite part of the day, even if it’s fleeting.
I eat and help him with math as I promised.
I love helping him, I love explaining everything and watching it click in his mind.
It seems like I have a knack for tutoring.
I’ve avoided the library like the plague since my interaction with Cindy. It’s easier here, and Tommy reminds me of sunshine—the kind that doesn’t blind me.
They still haven’t caught the killer, but the rumors it was Remy still run strong through the school even though they cleared him.
Remy’s been ignoring me, so I’m not as certain that the masked guy was him anymore. But I don’t wish to chance running into him. Although I can sense someone watching me.
When Mama asks me if I’ve spoken to any boys, I deny it—and she doesn’t question me. She ventured into town this week and played bingo. She came back with money and beer and seemed in good spirits as she did her nightly prayers. I came home with groceries and didn’t eat any of them.
I’ve spent my evenings catching up on my homework, leaving Mama to her God’s work. Her nightly prayers for God to save her, for God to save my soul.
At the moment at least, she seems settled to leave me be.
I leave early every day, catching the first bus with Marty, who brings me a cup of coffee with one cube of sugar—and that gets me by until lunch.
I get to school early and shower, since Mama and I only have well water at the Sheffield house, and I can usually sneak into the locker room to at least wash myself.
It’s lunchtime again but instead of heading directly under the bleachers, I wanted to watch the end of Tommy’s practice to see what all the fuss was about.
So I sit on the bleachers for once, instead of beneath them.
Today is overcast so the sun doesn’t have such a strong impact and I can see him clearly.
I understand why Tommy is so loved. He’s impressive on the field—fast and strong.
He moves so effortlessly, almost gliding along the track.
But my gaze keeps drifting to Remy who is running on his left.
He’s just as muscular and keeping up with him.
The two of them don’t even acknowledge each other.
I can’t help but stare at Remy, and I hate that I enjoy watching him. He’s not in his usual ripped jeans, but the same yellow striped shorts as his teammates.
Behind his darkness, he’s just a boy with pain in his eyes. Watching him now, I have to wonder if he had anything to do with that boy’s murder.
Remy pauses suddenly, walking in a circle with his hands on his head, catching his breath. I’m pinned in place as he glances in my direction, watching me as he wipes his sweat from his dark hair, his muscles rippling.
I bow my head, forcing myself not to glance up just as Cindy and her crew walk onto the field for their practice and the boys’ practice ends. She notices me and gives me the ‘kill’ sign. I hurry to the bottom of the bleachers, where I should have stayed the entire time.
Tommy comes in faster than usual today. He crawls in, settles a few feet away from me, and pulls out his notebook, oblivious to the fact I am shaking. My heart bounces like it does every day, even though his excitement has nothing to do with me.
I smile at him as he crunches his eyes together and begins to scribble. “Guess what?”
“What?”
He grins ear to ear. “I got a B on my math test.”
I watched him this week, and he looked much less stressed in class. I was hoping that was the case.
“That’s good Tommy.”
He sits on the ground and pulls out a notebook. “And I figured out the guitar solo in my head. I need to write the lyrics now.” He starts scribbling, taps his toe and hums, and I don’t dare interrupt him.
He looks so happy and comfortable—the happiest he’s been all week.
He spends the rest of the lunch hour songwriting—scribbling and humming and playing air guitar, ignoring me while I read. Eventually he stops, and I can sense him watching me as it grows quiet.
I shoot my eyes up. “Tommy…what is it?”
His eyes widen. “Oh, shoot. Didi, I’m sorry.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a paper bag, crawling over to me. “You must be hungry. Here, have the whole thing.”
I peer up at him through my white lashes. “Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“I’ve never been so sure of anything.”
I gave a bashful smile. “Okay.”
He doesn’t say anything as I pull it out and take a bite. I’m sure he had breakfast, and he will have dinner. He isn’t thinking about when his next meal is like I am. I’m sure he’s aware by now that this is the only time of day I actually eat, and that he is my sole source of food.
I devour every crumb of his lunch and take a sip of the water he hands me when I’m done. Now it’s Tommy’s turn to watch me, and he’s doing so with extreme amusement.
“You don’t have to keep doing this,” I say, wiping sauce from my mouth.
“Doing what? Watching you with my lunch on your face?”
My cheeks heat, and I wipe off the rest of it. “You don’t have to keep having lunch with me.
He shrugs. “I don’t want to stop having lunch with you Didi. It’s my favorite part of the day.” I don’t want to stop having lunch with him either. Tommy is the only good part of my day.
I cross my legs to hide how uncomfortable I’ve gotten over the past week from the belt. The most recent skin sore hasn’t scabbed the way it usually does. It’s clear to him that my discomfort goes beyond hunger. He ought to see the pain in my eyes; he just doesn’t know how to handle it.
He moves closer to me. “I like it under here with you, Didi. The world seems less dark and lonely with you in it. I don’t want you to ever leave.”
I’ve gotten used to him over the past few days as I realize his presence here has more to do with him than it does with me.
“How are you lonely?” I ask him. “You seem to have lots of friends.”