Page 43 of A Play For The Heart
Where my boobs are nearly falling out of my tank top. The girls are trying to escape.
They must have lost some support while I was looking for the totally-not-lost chapstick. An immediate feeling of triumph and warmth floods me. Henry got flustered. Over my slightly revealing top. The power I feel overwhelms me. I quietly thank the ole gals for doing a good job and continue my search, digging around under the seats.
Maren may be right. God, that hurts to admit. Henry might have feelings for me. He’s at least attracted to me. The color of his face makes that obvious. Thoughts pour into my head about what it could mean and if I should do anything.
I search for another minute before I throw in the towel and declare to Henry, very dramatically, that the chapstick is lost forever.
R.I.P. imaginary chapstick.
You will be missed.
I wander back to the curb, unsure of what to do now. Henry must be as unsure as I am because he follows me over and stuffs his hands into his pockets. He shifts forward and backward on his feet a few times awkwardly.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t find your chapstick,” he offers.
Oh, Henry. If only you knew.
I dissolve into giggles at the absurdity of this entire situation. People say that you shouldn’t jump off the deep end if you can’t swim. I leaped without a floatie. This crush has caused me to lose my ability to make rational decisions. Competent Sawyer would never panic-call someone because she freaked out that they left.
Henry joins in on my laughter, finding my lapse of sanity amusing. Slowly, we both regain our composure and look at each other.
“Well, I should get going,” Henry says, scrubbing at the back of his neck.
“Oh, yeah.”
Once again, I feel disappointed he’s leaving. These feelings are debilitating, and I’m not prepared for how I’ll feel when he leaves for an away game. If I can’t even watch him drive off, then I’m sure knowing he’s in a different city will be fun for me.
He pulls me in for a hug, which ends entirely too quickly for my liking. I watch as he gets back into his car and drives off. Again.
Sadness flows into me like a wave.
I’m so fucked.
CHAPTER 20
“Say my name and everything just stops, I don’t want you as a best friend”
Dress—Taylor Swift
Henry
I’vespentthebetterpart of a week weighing my options. Tell Sawyer. Don’t tell Sawyer. Back and forth until I’m at a stalemate. I keep thinking back to what Maren told me at the bar: that Sawyer has feelings for me. My immediate reaction is to brush it off and deny it. Years sitting on the sideline makes it hard to wrap my head around the idea she’s into me too. However, I can’t help but notice how weird she’s been acting lately. I haven’t concluded what the chapstick debacle was about, but it was out of character for her.
After thinking through every moment and interaction, my confidence begins to grow. Sawyer is into me. Her actions prove it, at least based on what Jack and Deon told me. I forced the two of them to analyze every interaction, just to make sure I wasn't creating something from nothing. She reacts to my touch, her eyes linger on my body, and she’s been acting flustered and weird lately. Maren confirmed what I wanted to hear. The only thing I need to do is put my big boy pants on and tell her. Which I plan to do. I need to do it soon before I lose what little courage I’ve mustered up. The idea of putting my heart on the chopping block makes me want to vomit, but I would rather face the fear of telling Sawyer and being shot down than say nothing at all and miss my shot.
Deciding to tell her before we leave for an away game probably isn’t the best strategy if she rejects me, but the confidence I have is slightly overpowering the anxiety. And on the off chance she does reject me, I’ll be in a different city where I can wallow in peace. I leave for L.A. at 2 P.M., which means I have a few hours before I need to be at the airport. Pulling out my phone, I text Sawyer.
Me:I don’t leave for a few hours.
Want to get a coffee before I go?
I put my phone down and begin to pack my bag, my stomach in my throat, as I try not to glance at my phone every thirty seconds. I throw some t-shirts and shorts into the bag, some underwear and toiletries, and call it good. I shuffle around my apartment, tidying up before I leave so that the place is clean when I come back. I’m just finishing the dishes when my phone dings. I drop the sponge and rush over to my phone. The way I drop what I’m doing in the hope that Sawyer is messaging me feels like a boy with a schoolyard crush. Which isn’t entirely inaccurate, but the realization that's how I’m behaving is slightly sobering.
I unlock my phone and tap on the message.
Sawyer:Sure.
Meet in half an hour?
