Page 6 of Off the Rim
Marcus wins the match, but it's close. I could have been more aggressive, but every time I get close enough or need to touch him, I get jittery and feel like I might throw up.That would be embarrassing.
The voices of the rest of the camp being released from dinner filter up to our little haven. I'm not ready for the night to be over, but I'm not ready for my friends to find us together, either. I want to keep it to myself a little longer, if only to protect this little bubble of closeness we've formed tonight.
"Wanna meet up again tomorrow for a rematch?"
"R-really?" I stammer like a loser. Like he's some kind of famous person, and I'm an adoring fan who can't believe he chose me to have a one-on-one with. "I mean, yeah. That'd be cool."
"Alright, see you tomorrow, Princess."
"Princess? Really?"
He mimics bowing down, and I can't help but laugh through my cheeks heating.
As he walks away, I think back to all the times my father has mentioned Marcus and his family. I don't understand what the issue is between them, but I know they hate each other. My dad talks about the Vell family like they're pests, a family of rodents taking up residence in his house. A lump forms in my throat thinking about the way my mother and Mimi trash talk Mrs. Vell all the time. Like they’re better because she spends her days at a country club rather than working. Yet the Vells are the ones making an honest living, working hard for what they have and still making time to support their son at basketball games. They seem happy, despite not having a fraction of what my family has, and it's always miserable in my house.
A couple of years ago, my father's company bought out a huge chunk of the town to build a massive shopping center. The big-name box store, hardware depot, and chain restaurant replaced a slew of mom-and-pop shops, a local pet store, and a bunch of other small, locally owned businesses—including Marcus' dad's sporting goods store. I remember how pissed off my dad was back then, always raging about how Mr. Vell refused his offer to buy him out. I couldn't help but feel a surge of respect for Mr. Vell. I’ve never seen anyone stand up to my father, but this small business owner with a chip on his shoulder gave him a run for his money and put off the project for two years before AJames Enterprises finally steamrolled their way into getting what they wanted. Even if it ended up costing him his business in the long run, Mr. Vell stood his ground. I could see where Marcus got that spine of steel from.
I skip dinner entirely the next night, feigning a headache and eating a protein bar after everyone leaves. Even though we're going to be sweating, I take a shower, mess with my hair, and brush my teeth. It's not until I'm an inch away from the mirror, checking my teeth and running my fingers through my hair to arrange it for the third time, that I realize what I'm doing.
I'm primping. To see Marcus. For a casual one-on-one game I've played a million times with dozens of other friends. It's nothing I haven't done before, but this time it's… different. Because it's him. And he makes me feel…
I don't know. Some sort of way I don't really have a name for.
When I get to the court, he's waiting for me. He's wearing the same clothes he was wearing when I saw him just before dinner, but his hair is wet and pushed back off his forehead. It's not long until his curls bounce back to life on top of his head, and I love it. I wish it was still long like it was when we were kids. I wonder if he'd remember that day if I brought it up, but it feels strange to admit that I remember it, or that I think about it at all.
We're more relaxed tonight, joking and laughing with each other as we play. For once, I catch him watching me just as many times as he catches me, although I'm not sure if it's for the same reason. Thesomethingbetween us feels thick, like the rising humidity of summer in the south. And when we finish the game and walk off the court, we do so side by side. When our arms brush, neither of us moves away. We stop at the end of the fenced-in court, just outside the ring of light. The air aroundus feels alive, like there's an electrical storm brewing. Energy crackles between us.
"Marcus?" My voice, despite being barely above a whisper, cracks in that embarrassing way it does when I get worked up. He doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he doesn't react because it happens to him, too.
"Ashton?" He repeats my name back to me with the same inflection, minus the pubescent voice strain.
"Can I ask you something?"
He nods, casually leaning back on the edge of the fence. Or at least I think he's trying to come off casual, but he's too twitchy for it to work. It makes me feel brave. He's nervous, too.
Whatever I wanted to say gets caught in my throat. I lean into his space without thinking, close enough that I can smell his sweat mixed with the faint scent of his soap. I'm so close I can feel his breath on my skin.
The air gets heavier. My heart beats so hard my eardrums rattle.
My eyes flutter closed, and I lean in another inch.
"You know our dads basically hate each other, right?" Marcus blurts. I fall forward, dodging at the last moment and catching myself against the fence. The bounce back of the chain link pushes his chest to bump into mine. We both sputter, trying to pretend we didn't just humiliate ourselves.
Trying to play it cool, I shrug. "Yeah, so?"
"Just curious if you knew."
"Yeah, I know. I've known for a long time. I don't get it, but I don't care."
Marcus scoffs. "Of courseyoudon't care."
"Why should I care about what a couple of old guys choose to bicker about?"
He looks lost in thought for a moment. I can see the wheels turning. He bites his bottom lip and shrugs again, still looking unsure. I wonder how much he knows about our dads and the relationship between them. I don't know much. I found some old pictures in a box in the attic last year when I was digging around for something to use for a school project. One of them was a picture of my dad around my age, with my grandfather and his second wife. I knew they died in a car accident, but other than his business acumen and the inheritance that passed down to my dad, I don't know anything about my grandfather. That's not what I was interested in when I found the picture, though. My eyes caught on another boy in the picture, who was maybe a couple of years older than my dad, who looked incredibly familiar. He looked a lot like Marcus.
When I asked my parents, they told me to mind my business. Even after I pressed, all I could get out of them was that Roman Vell is a grifter who tried to steal something from my dad.
I don't know what to believe. As curious as I am, I'm more curious about the boy standing in front of me. The one wetting his lips and looking at mine with wide, unsure eyes before darting his searching gaze back to mine. I step forward again, my mind reeling.
