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But that's not what I say. I look back through the window. Sara and Renata are talking with Morgan. Lindsay's not listening though. She's pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
I begin to type. Fast, before I second-guess myself.
Want to meet
after practice? Done at 4.
I hit Send and watch.
She picks up her phone. Reads my message. She looks off across the playing field.
She's thinking. This is good.
Then she starts to gather up her things, stuffing them into her bag. I can see her telling the others that she's heading out.
Worried that she might see me at the window, I turn and head downstairs. I'll go to my locker and grab my books for the afternoon. Turn things over in my mind.
I'm spinning the combination on my lock when my phone buzzes. I drop the lock and grab my phone. My stomach sinks.
Sorry. Going out with Stefano after
school.
No
How about tomorrow?
or
Call
me later
. Just this.
Well, what did I expect? It's been months since we even so much as texted each other. And here I am hoping she's ready to be friends again. As if.
And who the hell is this Stefano guy? The only Stefano I know of is in grade twelve, and he's a dick. Is she going toâ¦add him to the contest too?
I shake my head. Why did I even bother sending her a message? I jerk my locker open and grab my history binder. Whatever. Lindsay can have her fun with this guy. She can play her stupid games with her stupid friends. I'm done. Putting her out of my mind.
Moving on.
I'm about to throw my equipment bag over my shoulder when my phone vibrates. It's probably Mom, telling me to pick something up for dinner on my way home.
I reach for my phone.
It's Lindsay. My breath catches in my throat. Wow.
Hey. WRU?
Last week's decision to put her out of my mind disappears.
Leaving the field
, I type.
We kicked
ass
.
I grin as I replay the winning goal in my mind's eye. A tiebreaker delivered by Jamal, and assisted by me.
Good boi. U r a star. Lacrosse again
next yr?
I flush, my face growing hot. My eyes linger on
boi
and
star
. I like those words. Especially from her. And I like how she's asking about my plans for next year.
Yeah, of course I'll play again next year. I love this game.
Yep
.
I decide to ask her what I've been wondering about
.
You going to
the party next Fri?
She'll probably be there. After all, it's at Erin's house. But I want to know for sure. We don't ever communicate at schoolâexcept for those don't-catch-me-looking-at-you looks. But maybe it would be different at a party. Maybe it would be easier to hang out and talk with loud music playing and people shouting all around us.
Duh, silly. Erin's my BFFâcourse I'll
go. You?
I smile at her calling me silly. She might be all slick-chick hot on the outside, but she's still pure Linds on the inside. I reply.
After work.
Before she can respond, I start typing again.
U busy l8r? Want to watch
a show?
I'd way rather spend Monday night watching a movie with Lindsay than finish that lame socials essay. I cross my fingers that she'll ditch her pedicure or whatever in favor of lying around eating popcorn instead. It would be just like old times.
Buzz
.
Na. At Rob's. Hot tub. So good.
I swallow. Who's Rob? I stare at the words on the screen for what feels like an eternity.
Hot tub.
My chest tightens. Why is she texting me with this crap? Does she really think I want to know what she's doing with other guys?
So good.
I want to scream and throw the phone across the field.
Instead, I type:
Sounds fun. Enjoy
that.
I punch Send and stuff my phone back into my pocket. Screw you, Lindsay, I think. I'm done with you and your stupid little mind games.
I'm left standing alone on the edge of the field. My earlier excitement at having won the game is gone. I'm suddenly tired. Tired of thinking about Lindsay. Tired of worrying about her only to turn around and get kicked in the stomach again.
Tired of everything.
I feel a pinch on my elbow and turn my arm to find a mosquito bleeding me dry. Figures. I squeeze my skin for a few seconds, trapping his little sucker so he can't get away. Then I slap him. He explodes in a splatter of blood across my arm.
Nice.
Sighing, I heave my heavy bag over my shoulder and trudge off across the grass toward home.
I stuff a sheaf of flyers into the last newspaper and throw it onto the pile. That's a wrap. I've done about a thousand today. My hands are black and inky. Gross.
I say goodnight to Ken and hop in the truck. I'll clean up at home.
Mom greets me as I drop my keys on the front table. “Hi, baby. How was your day?” She's already eaten supper and is settling in to her evening routine. She's curled up on the sofa with a couple of magazines. Babs is snuggled into her leg, purring like a chainsaw that's running out of gas.
“All right,” I say. “Got a seventy-six on my bio midterm. And seventy-eight in English.”
“Nice work.” She smiles. “You have plans for tonight?” She strokes Babs behind the ears.
“Yeah, there's a party at this girl's place. Erin,” I say.
A frown creases her forehead. “Where does she live? Are you driving?”
I shake my head. “I can walk. It's only twenty minutes.”
Her face relaxes. “That's good. But you should eat before you go, honey.” She's right. I should. Beer on an empty stomach is a recipe for stupid stuff. “And take your phone with you.”
“Kay.” I peel off my socks and throw them at the laundry basket.
“Who all's going to be there? Any parents?”
I shrug.
Mom sighs. “I figured as much,” she says. “Any friends I know?”
“Morgan. Aaron.” I pause. “Lindsay.”
“Mmm,” she says. “I love that Morgan boy. He is such a character. You should have him over sometime.” She looks at me over the top of her glasses. “I haven't seen much of Lindsay lately. How is she these days?”
I shrug again. “Okay, I guess.” I don't want to get into it right now. I'm starving, I'm dirty, I smell like an ink factory, and it's already almost 8:00 pm. I head for the bathroom. “I'm showering,” I call over my shoulder.
Forty-five minutes later I'm on Erin's doorstep. Jamal and Neil arrive at the same time, which makes for an easy entrance. The music shakes the whole house. I don't bother to ring the bell. No one'll hear it. We step inside.
“Smoking outside
ONLY
!” shrieks a familiar voice. I watch as Renata shoos two girls out onto the side deck. She takes a sip from the glass in her hand and surveys the room. Such a boss.
She sees me. A big smile breaks across her face. “Well, if it isn't Mister Lacrosse Star himself!” She sidles over.
Stares up at me from under long black lashes. I roll my eyes. What a faker. “Where have you
been
? Mike Mullens, you have been a
stranger
lately.” Even though I know she's playing me, I let her. I need some girl attention.
Renata grabs my arm. She pulls me into the kitchen and opens the fridge. Thrusts a beer into my hand. “There.
Now
the night can start.” As soon as she says the words, she's gone. Off to douse some other fire, no doubt.
I look around me. It's less crowded in the kitchen than in the living room. People are standing around, talking and laughing. A few girls sit on the countertops, drinking.
One of them is Lindsay.
My stomach gives a little lurch when I see her. When she looks my way, I raise my bottle slightly. She smiles back before remembering that she's supposed to be cold. Her smile turns into a sort of half sneer. She turns her head and goes back to talking to Erin.
A hand slips into my back pocket and I turn. Morgan squeezes my butt and coos, “Oh, Mike Mullens. Where have you
been
? You
stranger
!” I laugh. Morgan grabs another beer and goes back to the living room, singing “Sesame Street.”
I glance back at Lindsay. She looks incredible. She's got on a tiny denim skirt and a pink T-shirt. Toes painted to match. Killer.
She's laughing now at something Erin is saying. Watching her makes me ache. How did I screw it up so badly last spring? Why am I standing here, staring at her, miles away from being able to start a conversation? Why isn't she laughing at something
I'm
saying?
She's holding a tall bottle in her hand. When she raises it to her lips, I see what it is. Raspberry schnapps. Holy crap. That's deadly stuff. She never used to drink like this. And she's taking it straight. Crazy girl. She's going to be falling-down drunk in no time.
Erin hops down to get another beer. Lindsay sees me watching her. This time she doesn't look away. Instead, she takes another pull on the bottle. Slow. Graphic. In-your-face sexy. Eyes on me the whole time. She lifts her chin, and I catch a challenge in her eyes.
I'm trying to figure this out when she throws me for another loop by flashing a wicked smile.
Then her eyes shift to look over my shoulder, through the doorway to the living room. I roll my tongue up and tuck it back inside my head before turning. A couple of seniors have just arrived. A case of beer clinks as it's set down on the floor.
Great.
“Josh is here!” Lindsay exclaims. She turns to Erin, who's taken her spot on the countertop again. “He came!” She's slurring her words a little.
Erin squeals in solidarity, although she could care less.
If this is the Josh I'm thinking of, he's the head of the Student Theater Society. Real big man around school. Everybody knows him from assemblies and school performances. He's the loudest, and the funniest. But he's also the biggest prick of them all.
Lindsay sets down her bottle and hops off the counter. “I'm gonna go say hi,” she says as she straightens her skirt. It's so short I can practically see her underwear. She takes a step toward the doorway. Her knees buckle, and she grabs for the counter. Holy. She's plastered, and it's not even nine thirty yet.
“Whoa. Linds.” Instinctively I put my arm out to steady her. This close, she smells of raspberries. And vanilla.
“I'm fine,” she says, louder than she needs to. But her hand is on my arm. She looks up at me. A long, searching look.
She holds my gaze for what feels like forever. It hits me that this is a good time to try to talk to her. Right here, in the middle of this busy, noisy kitchen, with five other people around us and a constant stream of fridge traffic.
I've been looking for the right moment. And I'm tired of waiting for it to show up.
I take a deep breath. “Linds. There's something I need toâ”
Josh's big laugh rings out. It drowns out my words.
And kills the moment.
Lindsay blinks and the veil drops back into place. She lets go of my arm and straightens her shirt. Raises her chin and looks at me with flashing eyes.
“Do you mind, Mike?” she hisses. “You're standing in the doorway.”
I step back like I've been scorched. She brushes past me, her breasts skimming my chest on her way through the door.
What was that all about?
Josh laughs again. The noise grates on me. I can hear him booming some joke about girls with fat asses. Boy, Lindsay sure knows how to pick them.
I think about the bottle again. About Lindsay's mouth. On the bottle. The image of her and Josh explodes into my mind. I grit my teeth. Jerk. She's way too good for him.
Suddenly this all seems like something off the back of one of those dumb romance novels my mom reads. I laugh at myself. What an idiot. I fell right into Lindsay's mean little trap. That whole show with the bottle just now? That wasn't a come-on. She just wants to stab me to death for embarrassing her last spring.
She is going to make me pay. Over. And over. And over.
I look into the living room. Lindsay's scooched up next to Josh on the sofa. I watch as her hand snakes out and rests on Josh's thigh. She's smiling up at him, listening intently to whatever bullshit he's spewing out of those thick laughing lips.
I sigh. Maybe I'll snag a chance later. I take the last slug of beer.
“Why so mopey?”
I turn. Sara's watching me.
“Didn't know I was moping.” I say.
