Page 68 of It’s All in How You Fall
Mouth full of scone, I nod.
“And… you’re fine with that?”
I just shrug and continue chewing.
Nat’s eyes narrow under his Northfield-sanctioned ball cap. “And are you supposed to practice with him today?”
Last night, Nat said he’d stay out of it. I could stiff-arm him with a reminder, but it doesn’t matter. He’s asking me all the questions I should ask myself.
“I mean, yeah?” If I’m really going to do this tennis thing, I have to take all the practice I can get. Plus, if I don’t act normal after last night, will Alex know I wanted to kiss him as badly as I did? Ignorance is bliss.
To my surprise, Nat’s lips pull up in a sugar-crusted half smile and he points the remainder of his scone at me. “You really are a glutton for punishment.”
I swallow. Guilty as charged.
Though, come to think of it, it’s like Nat’s stolen metaphor of the elephant sitting between us at Burger Fu. Maybe I don’t just want to ignore the elephant between Alex and me.
Maybe I just want to eat the elephant to be rid of it entirely.
Over text, Alex cancels our training session because of the rain. He gives me some drills as homework over the weekend.
I give him a thumbs-up.
We don’t discuss the date. I don’t even wish him good luck.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But I do know that the rain has me covered. It’s a mood, and it’s perfect, and it hangs around all weekend. It’s at once hot and sticky and damp, the pressure change applying a vise to my prefrontal cortex and holding on tight. I use the headache to beg off the plans Peregrine and I had to wait out the date together.
As Friday spreads into Saturday, then Sunday, and the rain batters the windows, Sunny doesn’t text me. Alex doesn’t text me. Even Peregrine doesn’t prod me with a well-placedHave you heard?
On Monday at lunch the rain is gone, and I stare at my phone, alternately wondering if it’s broken or if the pair of them hit it off so well that they fractured the time-space continuum and I’m stuck floating by myself in negative space without knowing it.
Of course then Nat comes home from work and begins microwaving three-quarters of a bag of frozen chicken nuggets. I expect him to ask me if I finished the ketchup (I didn’t, but Dad did) when I walk into the kitchen in my tennis gear and find him standing at the counter eating the nuggets dry (ew). Without a word, I drop a couple of ice cubes into a clean water bottle and begin to fill it, the ice crackling under the pressure of the liquid and thwacking the sides of yet another fake Nalgene.
Nat swallows and coughs, but rather than admit defeat and grab his own water, he takes a moment and clears his throat. “Did you hear from Sunny?”
I shake my head.
“Alex?”
I shake my head.
Nat shifts on his feet. And for once he goes the extra mile and doesn’t make me ask. “He was at work but didn’t mention it. At all.” Nat notices my clothes. “Are you going to meet him? Now? Still?”
I nod. Tighten the lid on the water bottle.
Nat inspects a chicken nugget. “Do you want me to head to the school? I’m always good for some extra stadium stairs.”
He’d probably have an excellent view of the tennis courts from the top of the Northland stadium. Actually, from pretty much anywhere on the track or infield.
I swallow and shake my head and readjust the racket, which has slid down from its original position pinned between my upper arm, rib cage, and armpit. This is the grave I dug. I set up my friends and developed a crush on one in the process. I can handle this. I will handle this.
Nat sets his plate on the counter. His eyes weigh on me, and I don’t meet them, staring instead at the toes of my suddenly beloved Nikes. Finally, he lets me go without a fight. “Okay, well, text if you need me.”
That might be literally the most subtle my brother has ever been when it comes to my feelings as a human being.
Alex is there when I arrive—already changed into a clean tank, already on the court, bag on the bench, yet another blue hat (this one sporting a swooshy KU logo) shading his face as he digs through his bag, hauling out cans of balls, hand towels, racket tape.
My heart ratchets up from the relatively normal beat of a brisk walking pace to an all-out pound as I make my way to the court. My knees soften and the whole thing feels like a slog. Like I’m pushing through time and space. And yet here I am, no coward, ready to face this boy who makes my heart double beat, after his date with one of my best friends.
