Page 13 of My High School Rebel Boyfriend
“I had training.”
“On a Tuesday?” Nothing gotpast him.
“Titan and I got asked to help with the volleyball team. You know, they wanted some tall guys in there.” He didn’t need to know it had been the girls team.
“Three thirty,” he said, tightening the straps on his wrists. “Gonna try five reps.”
“Awesome,” I said, standing behind the bar. My PB was a hundred and seventy pounds, three reps.
Wade took a few deep inhalations and made a loud grunt, his way of psyching himself up. He positioned himself on the bench and gripped the bar. My hands hovered, ready to assist if he couldn’t do the final lift.
“You got this,” I encouraged, as he pushed for the last one.
He let out a whooping sound and raised his hand. I winced, expecting a slap around the ears but he high fived me. I heaped praise on him and there was a genuine shared moment of joy. I lamented that it wasn’t always this way.
I guessed Wade had his issues, I mean, he didn’t have any family that we’d met. Mom said they lived in New Mexico, as if it was the other side of the galaxy. For the past few years he’d worked as a security guard, his shifts always changing, tonight he had a graveyard shift. Sometimes he stood in a bank, watching people going in and out. Maybe it sucked.
“That eye okay?”
“Yep.”
“You got homework?”
“Yep.” My cue to leave.
“Help your Mama with dinner.”
“Yep.”
Mom and Jessie were giggling as they watched something on her laptop. Laughter was a rare sound in this house.
“Daddy okay?”
“He benched three thirty,” I said, though I don’t know if she knew the significance of that. “Can I help with dinner?”
Mom patted my arm. “You’re a good boy, Mitchell,” she said, and she turned to Jessie. “Isn’t he a good boy?” Little Jessie nodded and Mom gave me instructions, and I smiled.
I felt happy,
ordinary and happy.
And wished it could always be this way.
Chapter 6
HARPER
I DON’T KNOW WHY Iwas thinking about Mitchell Finlayson’s eye later that evening as Mom and I sat in front of the tv eating dinner, watching our ‘girly shows,’ as Dad called them. We always binge watched a few episodes when he worked late.
“Mom, do you think a ball in your face would give you a black eye?” I asked.
“Huh?”
I repeated the question with more precision. “If a basketball hit you in the face, would you get a black eye?”
Mom seemed to mull it over, then said, “Well, who got hit last season? Was it Bella or Maddie? Remember when the ball-”
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “Bella. That Centennial player hit her smack in the face.”
