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I fall silent, not wanting to ask why she’s bringing up the past, because she’s just going to ask why I never do. I don’t like to think about back then. I always felt bad. I was either enduring Kade or following her, and being myself never got me what I longed for. We just had a very good morning. Why does she want me to remember anything before now?
Maybe she just wants her friend back? Maybe she’s only here, naked on top of me a minute ago, because she misses how we used to be, and that’s all she really wants.
I’m not sure I can remember a time when all I wanted from her was friendship. I’ve always wanted more.
Standing up, I pull out fresh clothes to take into the bathroom with me.
“Constin was parked in front of your house,” I tell her. “Any idea what he wanted?”
“He knocked on the door and asked me to homecoming.”
I dart my gaze to hers. “And what did you say?”
“I said maybe.”
“You said what?”
I scowl, but I don’t mean to. She licks her lips, wide-eyed and looking so sweet as she gives a half-hearted shrug. “Well, nobody else has asked m–”
I descend on her mouth, kissing her hard. Everyone else doesn’t matter. I’m always her date.
I give her bottom lip a little bite before pulling back. “I’ll get rid of Hawke,” I tell her, now that that’s settled. “You go get dressed. I’ll take you to school.”
She nods, smiling, and leaves through my door instead of the window. I almost follow her to see this secret entrance, but as soon as I move, I flinch again, feeling my wet pants.
Shower first.
The school day passes quicker than I expected. From the moment she leaves to get ready for class and I step into the shower, I can’t stop thinking about a playlist and what I would put on it for her. Dylan loves everything. She could dance to polka if her mood suited.
And then I think about all the CDs I burned for her or mixtapes I made her, because the cars her dad loved still had tape decks and CD changers.
I liked making those lists for her, but I made them because I wanted to be important to her. To give her something Kade never would, as if it would make her love me.
I don’t want to sink back into doing things for the wrong reasons.
So, I don’t do anything.
I don’t make her a playlist over the course of the day because it would feel like surrender.
Just like I don’t tell my brother how much I miss him.
And I keep my mouth shut around her at lunch, and how I’m starting to dread that her time here is halfway up. I don’t want to be away from her when she goes home.
I should tell them both all of that, because while being myself never got me what I wanted, I’m not happy being whoever I’ve been trying to be the past year, either.
By eight p.m., I cruise into the Falls, Dylan already at Helm’s Field with Farrow and everyone else. I pull up to where their cars are parked, same place as when we came to set off the fireworks, on the other side of the fence.
We could’ve sat in the Visitor’s section to watch the Pirates and Knights, both teams we hate, battle it out, but that would mean buying tickets, and no one here is giving their money to Shelburne Falls. At least until it’s our turn to play next week. We’ll be coming back here. Unfortunately, our field lacks all the amenities, like sufficient seating, concessions, and groundskeepers.
Farrow, Constin, and Calvin lean on the hood of Farrow’s car smoking and passing around a Thermos of something that’s probably not coffee, while others loiter around, various vehicles and motorcycles littering the area.
Circling the front of the car, I avoid the field, seeing players running in their uniforms out of the corner of my eye, and hearing the tackles, the whistles, and the cheers. The game should be over soon, but I don’t check the scoreboard.
Instead, I watch Dylan.
She walks over to me dressed in a crewneck pullover sweater with thick stripes, half tucked in to tight, ripped jeans. A brown leather belt with notches all the way to the buckle is wrapped tightly around her waist, and all I can think about are the images of everywhere my hands roamed this morning.
I sit on the hood of my car, leaning back against the windshield, and I meet her eyes as she stops next to my car. “Our parents are probably here,” I tell her.
