It Looks Like This (9 page)

Sean talks about all these, about which pieces we can use. All told, the article isn’t very long because of all the text boxes and photos and the big headline, all of which is pretty encouraging. I can see a picture of our magazine forming itself in my mind.

We’re sitting close as he talks, arms sometimes brushing against each other. He leans over to point at something on my half of the spread, and I feel the pressure of his finger through the pages, through my jeans, on my thigh.

We look through a bunch more magazines, putting the ones we like in a pile and the rest back in the box. I stay in my spot to the left of Sean on the bed, each magazine spread out between us in turn. When Sean flips the pages, sometimes his arm grazes my chest.

We work for a couple hours before Sean checks the clock on his nightstand, the blue numbers now reading 7:26.

He says, Hey, we should probably stop now.

I look behind me at the open window, where a faint breeze is pushing the curtains inward. It’s dark now, and I realize it probably has been for a while. Dad will want me home for dinner.

I turn back and Sean is looking at me. For the first time I notice little flecks of orange in his eyes, around the inside of the irises. Only a few but they’re there, like the first gold leaves in a brilliant green forest, the first gold leaves of fall. I watch the orange flecks disappear as his pupils dilate, just a little. All at once I realize how close he is.

I think he does too, because he stands up then, putting the magazine we’d been looking at back in the box.

He says, Okay, I’ll walk you down.

His voice sounds different now. Sort of tense. Like when he was talking to his dad. I start feeling a bit nervous and I don’t really know why.

After a second, I stand up too.

At the front door, Sean says, See you later. Maybe we can work on it again next week.

He’s leaning against the edge of the open door from the inside. I’m on the porch, the night behind me. Behind him the house is mostly dark. His parents haven’t come home yet.

He seems back to normal now, and I wonder if I just imagined the weird moment upstairs.

I say, Yeah, that’d be cool.

And I notice that I’m looking forward to it.

Halfway down the block a car honks as it passes me. I look and see Mr. Rossini wave lazily out the driver’s-side window. I turn to watch and he slows, then pulls into the driveway.

Mom says, Did you get a lot done?

We’re sitting at the dinner table. I think Dad’s a little annoyed because I came home like a minute before dinner was ready. He looked like he’d been getting ready to be mad, but then couldn’t because I ended up coming home just barely on time.

I say, Yeah.

Dad says, Are you going to be over at his house a lot working on this?

I say, Yeah.

He takes a bite of pork and chews and swallows.

He says, Just leave us his number so we can get ahold of you.

I don’t have my own phone. Dad said I can buy one with my own money when I’m old enough to get a job, but there’s no need for kids to carry cell phones around like they’re CEOs or something. That’s how he said it.

It’s annoying but it also means he can’t call me whenever I’m out, which would be even more annoying.

I say, Okay.

Mom says, What kind of magazine are you going to do?

I told her about the project yesterday.

I say, A travel magazine.

She says, Oh, that sounds fun.

I nod and pick at my mashed potatoes, and no one else says anything. Toby and Mom and Dad eat their dinner without looking up, and I do the same.

I think about Sean’s open window, feeling the breeze on the back of my neck while I sat next to him.

Victor starts paying attention to me again a couple days later.

I’m in one of the main hallways walking to Biology. There are always tons of kids in this hallway because it connects most parts of the school.

I don’t even see him when he passes by. He’s walking in the opposite direction, probably to his locker. My mind is somewhere else.

I feel a jarring thump on my left shoulder, hard enough to turn me around a bit and make me drop my book.

I look back and I know my eyes are wide; I’m still not really sure what’s just happened, and then Victor turns casually over his shoulder, smirking, and I understand. Tristan and Fuller are with him like always, both grinning.

I stare at him for a second, collecting myself, and then look down at my book lying open, facedown and askew on the ground. I reach down and pick it up, and turn in the direction I was walking without looking back at Victor and his friends.

My shoulder throbs and I’m clenching and unclenching my right fist, but there’s a part of me that almost feels relieved.

Like I’m glad he’s back to normal or something.

It’s Friday and warmer than it should be.

The last couple weeks it’s been getting noticeably cooler. Jacket weather. One day was just plain cold.

But today it’s back in the upper seventies, one of the last few bits of nice weather before winter comes.

I pick Toby up after school, still thinking about Victor and how weird it is to suddenly have him care enough again to shove me in the hallway.

Toby and I are walking along the main road by the school when I hear a car horn, three quick bursts.

I turn around and it’s a pale blue Ford Bronco. Sean’s.

He pulls over and leans across to roll down the passenger-side window. He has to do it by hand because they’re not power windows but the old-fashioned kind of hand-roll ones.

He says, Hey!

Toby looks at him and then at me.

I say, Hey, Sean.

He says, Want a ride?

Toby raises her eyebrows.

She says to me, My feet are killing me.

I look at Sean through the window and say, Sure, thanks.

He motions for us to get in.

The inside of the Bronco smells dusty but it’s comfortable. There’s junk all over the floors, especially in the backseat, where Toby gets in. I sit shotgun.

Sean drives fast but not wildly, his right hand flying smoothly from the steering wheel to the gear shift with each turn and acceleration. It’s a manual shift, which I didn’t even know kids our age knew how to drive.

Mom and Dad both have automatics, and Dad’s already told me he’s going to teach me on the Corolla next year.

Sean’s quiet as he drives. I listen to the sound of the motor, the click of the turn signal, the drum of his fingers on the steering wheel.

Then he says, What are you doing tonight?

I shrug.

I say, Nothing, I guess.

He nods and hangs his left arm out the window. The air rushes up his sleeve.

He says, Wanna play basketball at the park?

Now I nod.

I say, Sure.

From the backseat, I hear Toby giggle a bit.

I turn around to look at her. She catches my eye, then looks away innocently, grinning.

Dad’s watching me, not saying anything. I can feel his stare.

The TV’s on and he’s sitting on the couch, but he watches me as I leave the living room and come back wearing shorts and a T-shirt. I sit down on the carpet to put on my shoes, and he finally speaks.

He says, Where are you going?

Toby says, He’s playing
basketball.

She says the last word like it’s something gross. I give her a look.

Dad looks at Toby, then back at me.

Still glaring at Toby, I say, In the park. Gonna play basketball with Sean.

Toby says, It’s his favorite sport now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Dad raise his eyebrows.

He says, The one you’re doing the French magazine with?

I say, Yeah.

He looks at me a little longer and I can tell he’s sort of surprised.

He says, What about your homework?

I stop tying my shoes. I say, I can do it tomorrow. It’s just Algebra and Bio.

Dad doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds. I can tell he’s torn between wanting me to do homework now and wanting me to play sports.

Finally he says, Well, all right. Have fun. Don’t be out too late.

I say, I won’t.

And I walk out.

It’s warm, still light out, but about to turn to dusk.

Dad says there are big Jewish neighborhoods in New York City that have loud outdoor alarms that go off Friday evenings to mark sunset. They sound like air-raid sirens. It’s to let the Jewish people know that the Sabbath is starting, and they better get home because they’re not allowed to work anymore. I try to picture those neighborhoods now, with the sirens going off and people running home to make it in time.

I have my sneakers and baggy shorts and an old T-shirt and Charlie on a leash. I brought him because he loves going out and he’s fun to have around.

He wags his tail this time when he sees Sean instead of howling at him.

Sean squats down to pet him like he did last time.

He says, Guy’s got a good memory.

Charlie wags his tail harder, ears flopping from side to side while Sean pets him. He lifts one paw onto Sean’s knee and licks his hand, which makes Sean laugh.

Sean looks up.

There are already a couple strong lights shining on the court to keep drug dealers away, so even when it gets dark later, it’ll still be pretty well lit. Sean’s grinning up at me while Charlie wags and licks and whines in excitement. He’s wearing white basketball shorts and a blue Wizards jersey.

He stands up, bringing the ball with him, and now he’s eye level.

We’re a foot or two apart, Charlie between us. Sean spins the ball in front of his chest with both hands.

He says, Let’s play.

We get in place to run the play for the fifth time.

I’m standing at the free-throw line. The basket is behind me.

In front of me, at half-court, Sean dribbles the ball once, twice.

Then he starts toward me.

He drifts to the left, and I follow, keeping him in front. He gets closer and closer, and now I raise my arms in a block like he showed me.

When he’s a couple feet away, he turns suddenly to the right. I’m expecting this. He’s done it before. I move with him, keeping on him like I’m supposed to, and now he turns around so his back is to me and he’s edging backward toward the basket.

My arms are outstretched, keeping him from moving around me.

Sean is inches away. The bit of hair on the back of his head is damp with his sweat, dripping down to his shirt. I can smell it; I can smell him.

He moves the basketball in his own outstretched arm from one side to the other like a crane, looking over his shoulder, looking for a way out.

He finds it like I knew he would, banking hard to the left. Suddenly his hair and his sweat and his arms are gone, and I’m chasing him as he runs toward the basket, dribbling in a steady rhythm without watching the ball.

Sean shoots the ball when he’s only feet away, and I have no chance.

He turns, grinning, while the ball bounces hard on the pavement and then lands in the grass. There’s a V shape of sweat on the front of his shirt.

My own stain is bigger. I’m doubled over, hands resting on knees. My breathing comes in loud messy gasps while I wait for my heart to stop pounding. Sean doesn’t even look winded.

He says, Your left side’s always unguarded.

But in a patient way, like a teacher. Kind of like Miss Rayner, actually.

Charlie watches with ears perked, one paw frozen in the air.

I think about how much I like Miss Rayner.

I say, Yeah. For some reason I always think you’re gonna go right.

He nods.

He says, Guy with the ball is always gonna go whichever side is easier. You have more control than I do over which way I go, if you guard one side less than the other. Comes in handy if you wanna trap the guy, like lead him to a spot where another teammate can sneak up on him.

Sean looks at Charlie and grins again.

He says, Like a herding dog with sheep.

I don’t think beagles are herders, but I get what he’s saying.

He walks over to where Charlie is tied to one of the legs of the picnic table. Charlie watches him the whole way, tail wagging faster as Sean approaches.

Sean bends down to give him a quick pat, and Charlie licks his hand. Then he takes his jersey off.

In the mix of pink twilight and yellow court lights, I can see the muscles on his back moving as he pulls first one arm and then the other over his head to get the shirt off.

Drops of sweat fly off his head. He tosses the jersey on the picnic table. Charlie watches it land on the tabletop. Then he blinks and turns back to Sean, who is now walking back toward me.

I’ve never seen him with his shirt off. He’s lean and defined and looks somehow taller. I glance at his abs and then look away quickly, at Charlie. My heart is pounding.

He says, Wanna go again?

I look at Charlie some more, breathing hard through my nose. I can feel my nostrils flaring. It’s weird and uncomfortable to feel this nervous suddenly, but a part of me likes it.

I nod.

This time I’m better.

A little.

Sean comes at me the same way and I wonder if this is what he does in his games, like if it’s his signature move or something.