Page 29 of The Significance of Moving On

“I’m going to hug you, Casey.” She warns when I open the little, white door to slide into the passenger seat. “Just a warning. I’m going to hug you and you’re going to like it.”Hell.As if menotliking her hugs is the issue. “A car? I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve anything you’ve done for me, yet you continue to just do for me all the time.”

My knees knock against the glove compartment when I sit. She reaches over to grab the seat adjustment lever at the same time I reach for it. Our hands bump but neither of us pulls away. We tug together and the seat rolls back far enough that my knees no longer poke through my back. Good thing we aren’t picking up passengers because I’m pretty sure the one sitting behind me would have to be an expert contortionist.

Being here with her my heart feels lighter and I become unguarded. Reaching over I flick the string on the hoodie she’s wearing. “We do have a washer, you know, since you’ve apparently run out of your own clothing.” It’s my hoodie. My favorite Michigan State hoodie. Then I tap the side of my knitted State hat and tug at one of the pigtails popping out from under said hat.

Her nose crinkles tiny like the size of a button. Her smile looks lopsided. Without an ounce of apology, she says, “I told you, I’ve missed you.”

“And you can’t miss me in your own clothes?”

“I miss you less in yours.” She starts the car, reversing out of the spot while my mind travels elsewhere. Namely, changing up that dream I had by picturing her straddling my lap wearing only this hoodie. Hell, it doesn’t even matter if she keeps the hat. Of course, in the scenario I picture, the hoodie doesn’t really stay on too long either.

“What?” She asks pretty much out of the blue. “What are you staring at?”

“I’m not staring.” Am I?

“Oh, you’re staring. Concentrate any harder and your eye beams might start me on fire. Already started smelling smoke,” she laughs. “So what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing’s on my mind.”

She clicks on her blinker and turns into the school’s parking lot. “Something is definitely on your mind,” she says. The lot is packed. It takes four sweeps, up and down each row to finally find a parking spot which Tally totally steals from a car blocked off by another car pulling out of another spot to readjust between the lines.

“They were waiting for this spot.” I point to the pissed off looking driver as he guns past us squealing black tire tread across the pavement.

“I didn’t see them.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Yeah well, something’s on your mind and you won’t tell me, so I’m gonna hug you now.”Tal, put the two together and you’ve just about got it. She starts to lean forward and I tense up, because damn it if I don’t want this hug more than air in my lungs right now. But she fakes the lean in, jumping out of the car instead, running around to my side and opens the door.

“What’s this?”

“I’m here for a hug.” She tugs at the black hoodie I’d stolen out of my brother’s closet because, get this, I’d forgotten to pack my favorite Michigan State hoodie before I’d left. It’s lined. It’s warm. He’ll get it back. “C’mon Mr. Davenport, out of the car.”

She’s trying to kill me. If she wasn’t, she’d let this go. A right public execution at the homecoming game. As she leaves me no actual choice, I push out of my seat and stand with one bent arm resting on the roof of the car while the other rests on the rim of the door frame.

Tally ducks under my arm to stand between me and the V where the door and car connect. The girl is about a head shorter than me which would make this situation appear to any passerby that I’m the one yielding all the power.

She’s like a rabid animal. I drop my gaze for a second and that’s when she attacks, lunging herself, hands wrapping sweetly tight around my neck. Completely automatic, my arms drape around her waist. We melt against each other. Her pigtail shimmies from the relieved sigh that I can’t contain any longer. Tally. In my arms.

“Look everyone,” She shouts. Her cheek rests against the zipper of my hoodie. “I’m hugging Casey Davenport and nothing’s happening.”

“Then he ain’t doin it right.” Some kid in the middle of a group of about ten guys shouts back. They all laugh while making inappropriate gestures. Damn. I give it to him and laugh, too.

“Wow.” A girl that Tal obviously knows stops beside us. “Chantal Bradley, good for you, girl.” The girl over exaggerates a fanning motion as she eyes me up and down. “Cuz something’sdefinitelyhappening to me.”

Tally’s hands tighten even more around my neck. I practically have to lift her off the ground to stand straight.

“Chantal doesn’t want you anymore, come see me,” the girl finishes and winks at me. No thanks. One high school girl is more than enough. “I’m Jessa Ramsay. And in this case, I’d be happy to call her my Eskimo sister.” Where were all these girls when I was a lonely, horny teenager?

“I’ll always want you,” I pretend not to hear Tal say. But as it was low and delicate, I choose to believe it was the wind rustling against my ear or the echo of some far-off conversation.

We follow the large crowd over to the box office. Students get in free with school ID. Tal stands off to the side waiting for me to pay my five dollars. And since she’s a snacky person, I turn us to walk toward concessions. She knows I know this about her. Why she tries to play the ‘I don’t want anything’ game is beyond me. I may not be rich, but I can afford to get my girl—shit—my friend, my roommate, a drink and some nachos.

“Whatever,” I tell her. “I’ll get something for myself, then.” She follows behind me. People are everywhere. Periodically I look over my shoulder to make sure we don’t get separated. The game has already started. They’re only in the first quarter, but every time her team makes a good play, cheers erupt from the stands and my feet get crushed under scampering people hoping not to miss anymore of the action. I see her little nose sniffing up and down like a prairie dog sniffing the wind the closer we get to liquid cheese and corn chips.

A bucket of corn, peanut m&ms, her nachos and a gallon of soda later, we find a good spot about halfway up the bleachers where we’re able to see everything. The team brings it tonight. And Tal watches the game instead of just the cheerleaders like most of the other girls I see around us. Not trying to sound condescending, I ask if she understands what’s happening on the field. She nods. Damn, on top of everything else, she likes football.

Every good play gets my arm squeezed or tugged violently. Every bad play her vanilla scented hair burrows into the crook of my arm to keep from seeing the bad news until the draw of the action becomes too much again. Tal stuffs her face withmypopcorn, eatsmym&ms and washes it down withmysoda she didn’t want after finishing the nachos that she wouldn’t let me touch.

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