The Girl Who Fell(21)
“I think so.” I feel the rush of red color my face.
Lizzie leans in, fans her hand for details.
“He asked me to go out with him.”
“Old school. I like it. And I assume by that kiss you said yes.”
A nod. A lip bite.
Lizzie rolls down her window and I hear the wafer rustle of dried leaves skittering across the asphalt. The wind is cool, promising winter. She sticks out her hand and surfs the still air. “I’m happy for you, Zee. It’s just unfortunate Slice has to get hurt.”
“I feel bad about Gregg but he admitted he never should have kissed me. Besides, you’re the one who told me to embrace different.”
“I did, but this is still so very un-Zephyr. You jumping in, following your gut, or your loins.”
A guilty smile blooms across my face.
Lizzie laughs. “You look like you’re in love.”
“I’m in something, Lizzie. I didn’t know I could feel like this.”
“Already?”
I nod.
“For reals?”
Another nod.
She slumps back in her seat. “Whoa. This is huge. Front page news in the Zephyr Chronicles.”
“Funny.
“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m just . . . well. Surprised.”
“How do you think I feel?”
“By the looks of that smile, I’d say pretty dern good.”
“Maybe it won’t go anywhere. I don’t know. How can anyone know, right? I just… damn, Lizzie. I just really liked kissing him.”
“Obvs.” She winks. “Let us go to Fernalds. Frappes are on me. To celebrate the millennial shift that is your interest in pursuing actual coupledom.”
On the drive across town, my thoughts curl around Alec. I worry this has already become too complicated.
Because I can’t unsee the hurt look on Gregg’s face.
Chapter 8
On Monday, a pink carnation pokes its head out of the grill of my locker. At the base of the bud is a small note tied with twine. “Good luck on the field!” I pluck the stem and scan the row of lockers, searching for flowers in my teammates’ lockers. But the other lockers stand sickly pale. I bring the flower close to my nose and it smells of something so outside high school that I’m immediately back at the park. I blush and tuck the bloom into my chem textbook. I wish the flower could just be a flower, but instead it makes me wonder what Alec sees in me, and if this is what I need right now.
I hate that trust seems harder to hold on to lately. I try to push my doubt down, try not to question this. At least, not for today.
Alec’s already in his seat when I get to French class, looking more beautiful than any boy really has a right. Gregg’s in the front row, chatting up Suzanne Sharper. He doesn’t even bother to toss me a wave.
When I slide into my seat, Alec moves the toe of his sneaker to touch my shoe. Our simple, electric connection. This time I don’t pull away.
“So Gregg’s still sitting in the front row.” I pull out my books.
“Secret crush on Mrs. Sarter.”
“That must be it.”
“Whatever his reasons, I like that it’s just the two of us.”
A definite perk.
Alec taps his pencil against my textbook. “Favorite country?” he asks, picking up where we left off on our phone call last night.
“Australia. It’s a country and a continent. Plus, there’s kangaroos and deadly box jellyfish.”
“Favorite tree?” Alec prompts.
“Birch. The bark looks like peeling paint.”
“Favorite food?” he asks.
“Chocolate chip cookies. No explanation needed. Least favorite food?”
“Cranberry sauce.” His face contorts. “Gross texture.”
Mrs. Sarter clears her throat, turning us to the front of the classroom. Alec pushes his toe harder against the tip of my Uggs, his foot nuzzling into mine. It is an effort to focus on verb conjugation.
• • •
I don’t wear my cleats onto the bus headed for southern New Hampshire. I’ve never competed in a state championship playoff game, but it turns out my superstitions don’t just claw at me during regular season. I heed their warnings. Listen to their whispers. Try to do everything the same as the last game.
But there is no Gregg to gallantly carry my cleats, escort me to the sidelines. There will be no Lizzie in the stands. Alec never hovered around the edges of almost every thought the way he does now.
In fact, everything seems different today. Even the sanctioned skipping of last period so our bus can make the hour drive and be on time for an afternoon game. I think Coach feels this energized difference because she begins the ride with an impassioned speech that makes her voice raspy. I’m not sure if it’s one of these things or a combination, but the afternoon passes in a blur. The opposing Warriors play too fierce, too strong. I lap the midfield a hundred times or more, trying to track the ball but can’t reach it. All I can do is block and cover. And it’s enough. We win 6 –5, the tension leaving us only after the final whistle blows and we move one game closer to the state title.