Page 82 of Hate You, Maybe
She sighs. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Being overly nice to me,” she says. “Things are going to be complicated enough when we get back to school, with the role change and the SACSS visitation.” Her voice gets quiet. “And the whole FRIG situation.”
“Yeah, see, that’s the thing. I don’t think the FRIG situation has to be complicated.”
“Ha!” Guess it’s her time to be amused. “Well, you’re wrong.”
“We’re both adults, Sayla. We presented our best arguments to Wilford weeks ago. Bob and Hildy didn't exactly weigh in with a definitive answer. So maybe it’s time to let the chips fall where they may. He’s going to pick one of us. That’sa fact. And whoever wins will get to move forward with their plans, and the other one will just have to get over it.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Not if we don’t make it hard.”
Her shoulders hunch. “It’s just that the theater is in way worse condition than the gym.” She releases a long sigh. “Your whole department’s in better shape. Your booster club fundraises more. You have higher ticket sales. And you earn money from the concession stand. So if you also end up with the FRIG, too, I’m not sure I could … justget over it.”
I bob my head, hating the sadness in her voice. The last thing I want is for her to feel resigned to disaster. “I’d understand if you couldn’t forgive me at first. And I’d just hope maybe you would someday.”
“What ifmyside gets the money?” she asks. “Have you thought about that?”
“Of course I have,” I say. “If we can’t renovate the gym or any of our playing fields by next fall, Stony Peak’s teams will definitely suffer. We may lose a coach or two. Players want the best facilities. Coaches want the best players. But we’ll survive. We always do.”
Sayla squirms. “That option doesn’t sound good to me, Dex.”
“Yeah. Me either.”
“It’s not even about winning anymore,” she says. “I don’t wanteitherof us to lose.”
“Same.” My voice is gravel. “But we can’t split the money. That’s part of the conditions of the grant. And the truth is, half the lump sum wouldn’t do justice to either of our projects. We’d just be slapping Band-Aids on gushing wounds that need surgery.”
“Speaking of which.” She digs in her bag for a bandage to wrap around her thumb, and my heart aches at the outward evidence of the anxiety on her insides. I just want to take thestress away from her, but I can’t. When she’s done, she looks over at me again. “So what do we do now?”
I think for a moment. Shrug. There really is no easy answer. “I guess we hold our breath, hope for the best, and agree to accept the outcome no matter what happens. Or …” I let my sentence trail off.
“Or what?”
“Or one of us could defer to the other.”
Sayla’s upper body goes ramrod straight, like she’s wearing a coat hanger under her sweatshirt. “Please tell me that wasn’t your goal all along.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We both came here prepared to do whatever it takes to get this grant.” She pulls her sweater more tightly around her. “Was a part of you hoping I’d fall for you and just … give up?”
My throat constricts so tight the words strangle in there. “You’re asking if I kissed you as some kind of ploy? If I’ve been faking my feelings for you?”
Let alone the terror I felt in those brief moments you were missing …
“I don’t want to think that,” she says on a shaky breath.
“Well, I’m telling you, Sayla. My word means something.”
“Men always say that until they don’t mean the words anymore.”
I grip the wheel, white knuckling through my frustration. “I’m not one of the guys your mom dated,” I grit out. “When I make a promise, I keep it.”
Sayla sucks in a breath and goes perfectly still.
