Page 24 of No Capes
“I’m also thinking about tennis,” Jamie chirps.
“Tennis is fun. And just between you and me…” An image of Damian Scott Jr. wearing his immaculate tennis uniform and pouring water over his hair comes to mind. “Tennis players are way cuter.”
Jamie leads me to a bookshelf by a massive refrigerator in the basement’s corner. I remember when they bought that refrigerator. It was right after Fox got into his obnoxious sports drinks.
The room is not empty, but not packed, and it’s not filled with any of my friends, i.e., Kristen. Kristen never really overlapped with Fox though; her family went abroad over the summers, while I was here.
Fox’s iconic pool table takes up the middle of the room, and long couches border the walls. There’s a dartboard, a chest full of board games, and a stereo that makes the room vibrate. Most of the kids present are offspring of Mr. and Mrs. Levine’s friends. This time, Brynn apparently let Fox ask some of his friends, such as Damian Scott Jr. and Molly, who quietly argue by the dartboard. I can’t remembereverseeing the two of them argue, but I haven’t spent much time with them outside of school.
Damian looks up when I appear. His stare lingers. I pretend not to notice, but my cheeks flame.
“I still read these. They’re awesome,” says Jamie. He crouches by the bookshelf. Glossy comic books stack in two tall columns. This shelf had been in his room the last time I was here. After Damian started working atLeague of Comicsand could give out a friends & family discount, Jamie began to collect them. The first ones he bought were theEssential the Amazing Spider-ManandX-Men: Curse of the Mutants—fictional, though still great Supers—which he read aloud to Fox and me.
A mischievous voice approaches. “There she is. Excited to be partying with the cool kids?”
I turn to Fox. “I’d have to go upstairs for that.”
“That was sharp, Maddragon. I can feel the blade from that one.” Fox brings a hand to rest on his dark sweater, over his heart. “By the way, don’t think I forgot our game.”
“What?” I pretend to misunderstand.
“Allow me to refresh your memory. We were over there.” He points to the pool table, but his eyes never leave mine. “Having our world championship game. The tie-breaker to end all tie-breakers. I was one ball away from winning—”
“Three balls,” I correct him.
“I knew you remembered. Anyway, you had to go to bed.”
“I had a curfew.”
“Excuses, excuses. I was about to win, Maddy.”
“It’s Madeline. And you’ll never beat me at anything pool-related.”
His lip curls with glee as I walk into his trap. “Prove it.”
“Leave it alone, Fox.” Molly pushes between us, rescuing me. Her white dress ripples around her like she has a personal breeze, and she hands me an unopened can of soda. “You don’t have to play him.” Molly eyes Fox. “He’ll get bored soon and ask Damian.”
“What about Damian?” Damian’s velvety laugh fills the room. He waves to us. To me.
Stop staring, Madeline.Molly isrightthere.
Fox, seeing his best friend is no longer occupied, calls out, “Scott, grab some sticks, man.” Fox examines the green felt on the table as if trying to rig it in his favor.
Damian angles toward me. He pushes the sleeves of his dress shirt up, exposing his forearms. Even the crease in his elbow is perfect. Damian is the only boy in our school who can look like that and not know how attractive he is. At least, he never acts like he knows. Still, there’s something behind his silky movements, the tiniest hint of exhaustion.
I want to study it more. I want to learn what keeps him up at night.
Molly steps back and gives Damian an annoyed glance. Guilt sours my soda, especially since I’ve rescued her tonight as much as she’s rescued me. Mostly, I associate Molly with being Damian’s girlfriend and hating Supers. It’s easy to forget how genuinely nice she is.
Fox and Damian set up the billiard table. Jamie assists and the three boys squabble over who will play.
“I used to intern for your mom. And Fox’s,” says Molly. “They were great.” Right. I’d forgotten about that. Molly, theprecocious journalist, had briefly overlapped with my mom at theCapital Chronicle. As aneighth grader.
“Once,” Molly continues, “I was working on this fluff piece about silkworms destroying the wedding industry—so boring—and your mom was the editor on it. She read what I had and gave me all these ideas to research. I mean, she wasbrilliant.She’s the person who made me want to keep writing.”
Fox’s loud taunting makes us both turn to look at the pool table.
“Sorry,” says Molly, turning back to after a brief moment. “It’s probably hard to talk about.”
