Page 12 of Where We Left Off

I write “I don’t think mine is very good” on a scrap piece of paper and push it over to her.

She pushes it back to me and whispers, “This note is better than Madden’s poster.”

I don’t know who Madden is but I laugh and get back to copying Mr Miller’s diagram into my Bio book. I glance over at Kit and she’s drawing a severed penis with a sad face on her hand.

Once Biology class ends and we try to get out of the room we have to shove our way through the bulging swarm because there’s a blockage in the upper corridors. Everyone is pressed up against the window panes, trying to get a glimpse at the outside sports courts.

“That sophomore team is annoyingly good,” Kit remarks as I put my biology book into my locker. “It’s going to be so gross when some of them go pro, and whenever we see them on TV we’ll remember what assholes they were in high school.”

We push past the wall of bodies and make our way downstairs.

“Wanna objectify them a bit?” she asks, craning her neck over the students by the windows as we walk down the corridor.

“We’ll only encourage them,” I say.

In reality, the reason why I don’t want to look is because I have purposefully been avoiding Tate Coleson all week and I know that he will be out there scoring hoop after hoop with the other sophomores. I watched him like a sleuth all of last week and in a stomach-sinking twist it turns out that hedoessit outside alone every single night.

There’s something that none of the girls at the windows know.

Kit slips into a small gap and peeps out at the court. She sighs dramatically. “I hate this. Why couldn’t I be more gay? This feels so anti-feminist.”

We have one more minute until the next bell for class so I wait with her as she watches the court melancholically. I stand with my back to the window, my heart thumping hard as I think about what I’m going to do when I see Tate outside again tonight. I’m so nervous that my hands are sweating. I rub them down the front of my skirt and I shakily re-tie my ponytail.

“Oh my God, incoming,” Kit hisses, and she shoves herself against me as the crowd moves away from the doors to make room for the players heading inside to the water fountain. I keep my eyes on my shoes but I can hear the bass tones of their voices as the joke around and get their drinks.

“Cocky pricks,” she whispers. Then she adds, “Whose penis do you think is the tiniest?”

The bell will ring any second now so I push myself off the wall and turn to walk to class. I feel Kit behind me but I can sense her potent glower on the boys up ahead.

“The blond one,” I whisper to her, and she nods earnestly in agreement.

As we approach them I feel a wild animalistic pull and I can’t seem to stop myself from shooting a glance towards the big sweaty bodies lounging around the fountain. The boy with spiky black hair is drinking directly from the spout, his eyes on us as he lets the water gush between his lips, over-spilling only slightly. I look away, mortified but also mesmerised, and my eyes naturally find the most beautiful thing in the area. Tate’s smooth tan skin is glistening with sweat and rain, and his hands are fisted low in the pockets of his basketball shorts. His eyes are scorching, like liquid fire, as they pierce into mine. They burn a message deep in my brain that saysI know what you know about me.

I send backI know that you do. And I’ll see you tonight Tate.

*

Now that the moment is here I am a lot less confident in my plan. I know that I shouldn’t be going out there – we haven’t exchanged one word to each other in ourentirelives– but he seems so depressed and alone. If I was in his…giantshoes, I would want someone to look out for me.

I go to my window and look down at Tate’s porch. His head is ducked just outside of the porch roof, allowing the rain to run down the tousles of his hair, and his hands are gripping his head, pressing firmly against his ears.

Enough.

I run quietly downstairs, not wanting to disturb my mom from her work in her office, and I quietly unbolt the door. Once I’m outside I look up at Tate’s porch, and to my surprise he is now on his feet. It’s as if he knew that I was about to come out here. It’s as if he was awaiting me.

I’m instantly fifty times more nervous than I was a minute ago, so I watch my feet as I step in puddle after puddle instead of looking up at his face. It takes all of ten seconds to get across the street and then I’m standing right in front of him.

I risk a glance at his face and he’s frowning down at me, large tan hands clenched at his sides.

“You shouldn’t be over here,” he says in a commanding tone. He almost sounds like he’s disappointed in me. I’m actually a little confused as to why I’m over here myself, so I shuffle on my feet for a moment, my wellies squelching.

I glance at the door behind him because I can hear sounds coming from inside, his mom and her boyfriend both home from work for the day.

“I… I brought you something,” I croak out. I’m embarrassed and breathless because I have never spoken to this boy in my life, and now I am deciding to technically give him a present. I hold my hand out and cringe for being such a weirdo.

His brow creases even further. “What’s this?” he asks. He’s looking at me like I’m insane, which is probably accurate.

My stomach has folded into itself so many times that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat again.

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