Page 11 of Collision
“He-he’s your boyfriend?” She points at him with the pen she was using earlier, blinking hard.
“Apparently,” I answer with some hesitation.
“How long have you guys been together?” She asks, her voice much calmer.
“Two years, give or take. Do you know him?”
“No. Sorry, I didn’t mean to get into your business.” She tucks her hair nervously behind her ears, stretches her legs over the gym floor, and lays the diary on top of her thighs.
“It’s okay, you didn’t,” I assure her.
Well, that was weird. Why did she react that way? Does she know him? Maybe.
Leila was at the party on Friday! She might have seen something more than “just a dance”? This is going to drive me crazy.
“So, who is your brother, then?” I ask, trying to dispel some of the strange awkwardness that has arisen between us.
“Number twelve,” she replies dryly, staring at the diary on her knees.
Are you kidding me? “Thomas—your brother is Thomas?” I stammer incredulously.
“Do you know him?” She looks stunned. Apparently now the roles have been reversed.
“No, not really. We have a class together.”
“Ah. Well, I feel sorry for you. My brother can be a real pain in the ass when he wants to be.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that.”
“He’s difficult, but he’s not a bad person. He’s just…”
“An asshole?” It escapes my lips before I can stop myself. She looks at me, and I can tell she’s looking for a cute way to refute me, but then she gives up.
“Yeah, he’s an asshole.”
We laugh together, and as our laughter fades, I let my gaze wander to him. I had no idea that he had been forced to stop playing because of an accident. A bad one, apparently. In spite of myself, I feel a slight twinge of pity.
Five
I follow the workouts as if in a trancelike state, lost in a thousand conjectures. I get the impression that Leila is holding something back about Travis. What else could explain her sudden change in mood when I mentioned him? Then, as much as I hate to admit it, I couldn’t help dwelling on Thomas’s accident. He’s lived in Corvallis for more than a year, we attend the same college, and I know of him, but I didn’t know anything about his past. When the coach sends the players into the locker room, I realize that I have completely missed the practice, lost in my thoughts.
I say goodbye to Leila and wait for Travis in the parking lot.
“Are you okay?” he asks me as I climb into his dark blue pickup truck, which is brand-new and still shiny. I nod with half-closed eyes and curl up against the seat, seeking some comfort in the soft leather. The only thing I want now is to crawl into my own bed.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he insists with a twinge of worry in his voice.
“Yeah, I just have a really bad headache.”
“Did you take anything?”
“No.”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot…” he says, smiling.
“No one has ever died from a little headache, Travis,” I reply, annoyed.
“I’ll turn on the heat. It will make you feel better.”
