Page 29 of Taking It To Overtime
Friendship is a kind of love. He loves the twins, and Michael, who sits next to him in homeroom, but what he feels for Vera is different. He’s had other friends come and go, and not one made him feel like he had to make it right. He has to. There is no other option.
“Why not?” He steps closer, her finger curling into her palm. “I’m not yours?”
Her hand drops to her side.
“That’s not fair Robbie.” She jams them into her pockets and scuffs the toe of her boot along the ground. “You’re the one who left.”
He didn’t leave. Going to Harvey Middle the year before she did wasn’t leaving. It’s not his fault his a year older than her, it’s not his fault that meant a different bus, and it’s not his fault he likes hockey. Technically, he liked hockey before he even met her. So he’s definitely not sorry that he’s still playing. Not sorry that he’s good at it.
“I’m the one who kept waving. You didn’t wave back.”
Her cheeks go pink. Actually, they’ve been pink this whole time, from the cold and the righteous anger she’s been brewing, but the flush deepens. He can’t stop his smile because if he’sactivated this side of Vera Aster Novak’s temper—the fireball, her dad calls it—then he’s closer to getting them back tothem. Vera and Robbie. Them against the world.
She looks away, and he steps around her, putting them chest to chest again. He wants to have this out, and he has practice tomorrow. And the day after that. It’s now or never.
“Did something happen?” Her eyes dart to the left. “Someone say something?” Left again. “Tell me who.”
He fists his hands. The team might not allow fighting, but he still knows how to throw a punch. A real one too, with his thumb out. And he doesn’t fight on the ice, but he can take a beating, even without his hockey pads.
Cool fingers slide over his and there she is again. When did she disappear?
“Robbie.”
He thinks her voice echoes a bit, but he blinks and everything looks sharper.
“Who?” This time she laughs, and just like that, his hands unclench and he loops their fingers together. “Please tell me.”
“It’s not like that. It’s stupid.”
If it’s her, it’s not stupid. He might not understand it, but it’s not stupid. And if it made her stop waving back at him, stop smiling at him, then it deserves to be punched.
“They called you my boyfriend. Said I had a crush on you.” She tries to pull away, and he tightens his fingers to stop her. She’s the color of a tomato, face ducked away so he can’t see her and he doesn’t like that.
“Do you?”
“No.”
That’s good. Right? A crush would be inconvenient right now. She’s his friend. Hisbestfriend. He doesn’t even want a girlfriend. Not any time soon.
“Then don’t worry about what other people think.” He loops an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his body for a hug.
“It’s just embarrassing,” she mumbles into the bulk of his coat, and he tightens his grip. “You’re like the coolest guy and you’re a seventh grader, and I’m just the freckled baby with red hair that follows you around and can’t take a hint.”
“I’m not that cool,” he says, trying to gather his thoughts. “And your hair isn’t red.”
There’s also no hint, other than that he misses her. Fiercely.
She sniffles into his coat and his stomach bottoms out, like a free fall to his knees.
“Everyone else thinks so.”
“It’s like a cherry coke. That’s not the same at all. Besides, you’re the only person allowed to wipe their snot on me.” She laughs again, but it’s congested and watery. “I can stop waving if you think it’ll help, but I’m not done being your friend.”
“What if they start sayingyouhave a crush onme?”
“Let them,” he says. “You and I know the truth. None of it matters.”
Another exaggerated sniffle, and a swipe of her nose, and she pulls back to look at him.
