Page 18 of Most Valuable Player
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The bonfire is already roaring in Ravi’s backyard, and there’s upward of four dozen people hovering around it, clinking plastic cups,enjoying nostalgic pop music. Dim golden string lights zigzag over our heads, illuminating the trees lining Ravi’s yard. A white foldout table decorated with alcohol and a cooler hugs the wall beside the glass door.
I stand beside the fire, the heat of the crackling flames washing my face, and sip my drink, watching embers spiral away from the billowing smoke. A few people are talking in pairs or small groups, but I don’t know most of them by name. I should probably consider finding someone I’ve had pleasant conversations with.
Just then, there’s an onslaught of noises—the glass door slamming open, deep voices booming into the night, laughter shaking the ground. The varsity footballers are here. Thundering out of the house are Anup, Darius, Jody, Nate.
And, of course, Cameron Morelli.
He’s wearing a gleaming smile, and my traitorous heart does a higher-than-normal bounce. With his plaid shirt, peeled-back sleeves, and black pants rolled to his ankles, he’d fit in well in a college crowd. The highlighted streaks in his brown hair catch in the firelight, causing them to sparkle gold. The hearth’s glow is flattering against his warm skin.
A lanky arm slides around my neck, and a voice says, “The team darling!”
The unexpected feeling nearly sends me lurching into the fire. It’s Anup, wearing a signature sly smile that indicates he knows a little more than you. I return it, though seeing him makes my stomach twitch. Where he goes, the rest of the team follows, and I’m not sure how thoroughly I want to be perceived tonight.
“How’s my baby?” he asks, squeezing me against him. “I heard you had to hang out with our most unbearable player today.”
I know he’s being polite, seeking me out to talk to me. He probablysaw me lingering by the fire, pathetically alone, and feels like he owes me something since I refill his water during games. I won’t hold him long here.
“I’m fine,” I say with a neutral smile.
“Back off,” comes another voice. Darius, the middle linebacker and team captain, is now taking up his usual excessive amount of space in the semicircle around the fire. He raises a thick, weary brow at Anup. “Nobody wants to be that close to you.”
“Aww! Tell him that’s not true, Gray.”
I can’t say I’m comfortable, yet part of me doesn’t mind the friendly physical contact with another person. Before I can respond, Anup unhooks his arm from around me, then peeks into my cup.
“Got booze?”
“No,” I say.
“You driving?”
“No.”
“Then let’s get some vodka into that cup!” He tries prying it from my fingers, but I hold tight, inching away, my throat suddenly tasting like bile.
“It’s fine,” I say faintly. “I don’t drink anymore, so…”
“Bobbing for apples!” another voice cries, and suddenly, Cameron is jogging circles around us, pumping his fists with excitement. “Ravi’s filling the blow-up pool! I’m going to kick your asses,ha-ha-ha-ha!”
He runs off with a delighted hoot. I don’t think he noticed me, which is fine. I’m nothing but a temporary tutor and the guy who rejected him—a title I’m happy to keep.
“Oh my God, I have to push him in, oh myGod—” Anup laughs maniacally and takes off after Cameron. He was probably glad to have an excuse to leave. Darius isn’t as lucky, and now he’s stuck adjacent to me, swirling a drink, grimacing at the footballers wreaking havoc.
A sudden howl yanks my attention sideways. It’s only been tenseconds, and Cameron is flailing in the pool of apples, roaring curses while Anup and Jody shriek with laughter. The sight of him writhing in a shallow kiddie pool is ridiculous enough to make me laugh, forcing me to throw a hand over my mouth.
He’s kind of funny. Sometimes.
“Seems like they have it out for Cameron today,” I say to Darius, thankful to have a conversation starter. I have to take initiative. All the social skills I should’ve learned as I grew up were robbed from me, and now that it’s senior year, this is my last chance to practice them.
Though, did I have to think this hard earlier, when I was with Cameron? I can’t remember ever straining or searching for conversations. Maybe I’m just not as worried about his opinion or something.
“Better this than confronting him about the game he lost for us,” Darius says, sighing while Cameron hikes himself onto the grass, sopping wet.
“I’m surprised you’re not angrier.”
“Eh. Cam screwed up, but he’s our best player. His skills are off the charts—he came out of nowhere at the end of the last season. He can throw a bullet halfway down the field into a receiver’s handsashe’s being tackled. He’s amazing, so we get over his issues.” Darius shrugs his broad shoulders. “And we have no reason to hate him.”
