Page 4 of Blitz

“What are you in the mood for?”

Wordlessly, I point to the sandwich bar. She looks up at me with such innocence in her eyes. So trusting.

“You can talk to me, you know,” she says, manhandling me. I let her drag me through the different food stations. People are probably staring, this curvy softball player pulling a giant football player behind her. I don’t care. “I’m here for you.”

“No, you’re not.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Just because I’m dating Miles doesn’t mean you and I aren’t friends, Tuck.”

I grunt, spreading peanut butter over a slice of bread.

“Just think about it,” she says, making her own sandwich with the chunky nectar of the gods. This confuses me.

“You don’t like peanut butter.”

“No, I don’t, but I know someone else who does,” she says. Her eyes drift over to our table, and a sappy smile takes over her face.

“So you two… you’re good?”

“We’re solid,” she says, smooshing together the two halves of her sandwich and grimacing. “This is so gross. How do you like this?”

I take a bite of my sandwich and nearly groan. It’s good. It’s so good.

“Come on, big guy,” she says, wrapping her hand around my elbow again. “I still want ice cream.”

We’re standing at the soft serve station when I see her. Mason. She’s eating alone, her headphones on and a thick textbook open in front of her. Her lips move as she reads to herself. Her makeup is natural, emphasizing her rich brown eyes and sharp cheekbones, her high forehead and prominent nose and mouth. She looks more and more like her Korean-American grandmother every day. Mrs. Prince could have been a beauty queen if people weren’t so racist and hadn’t barred her entry.

She must be part of the track team if she’s in the student athlete dining hall. She probably got a scholarship—she’s brilliant, yeah, and she’s an even better sprinter. I wonder how long she’s been here. I wonder if she’s made friends.

I wonder why I still care about her.

“You like her?” Sam nods towards Mason. “You should talk to her.”

“Can’t.”

“Come on. You’re allowed to date. You’re allowed to—”

“Can’t,” I say again. “Ex.” The words get caught in my throat. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Her face falls, her eyebrows knitting together as she processes this. “I thought you didn’t date.”

“I don’t.”

“Because of her,” Sam says slowly.

I nod. My shameful secret is out. The gorgeous woman across the room completely destroyed me. It’s been two and a half years, and I still can’t tape up the battered and bruised shards of my broken heart.

“I’m going to beat her up,” she declares. She puts down her soft serve and pushes up the sleeves of her sweatshirt, an enormous Newton Football thing she stole from Miles. “She’s going down.”

“Easy there, Cujo.” I set my hand on her shoulder and press until she calms down. “I’m a big boy. I can fight my own battles.”

Sam sniffs. Right there, in the middle of the cafeteria, she wraps her arms around me and burrows into my chest.

“You’re a good man, Tucker Kingsley,” she says, emotion clouding her voice.

“You’re all right, I guess.”

She laughs, looking up at me, her chin on my sternum. “So this girl… should I tell the softball team to make her life hell?”