Jack’s hand shoots out to shake Seth’s. “You’re on!”
Fred leans close to me as Jack and Seth shake hands. “They really share a brain when they’re together, don’t they?” he asks in a low voice.
My lips quirk up.
“Any idea how big a turkey you’ll need to get for a team of high school boys?” Fred asks the others as we walk toward his car. “I’d say pretty big. And those suckers are expensive.”
“We’ll deal with that when we get to it,” Seth says.
We drive to the school and head to the field with our soccer bags over our shoulders. Coach can’t confirm we’ll be able to practice on the field like this forever, since our season is done, but for now, he said we should be fine for Saturday mornings. Training with only the four of us can be challenging. It’s definitely tiring—especially when we stop drilling and do two-on-two matches—but I think it’s helping improve all of our efficiency, navigating from defense to offense and having so much contact with the ball. If we can keep this up, even just once a week, by the time next season starts we’ll be in another league of preparedness.
Of course, we end up doubled over laughing some of the time, when Jack trips (which happens a fair amount) or someone slips on the grass (again, mostly Jack), or Seth makes a snarky comment (most of the reason we stop to laugh).
We stop after about an hour and a half and sit on the field in a loose square.
“That’s one turkey you owe us,” Jack pants, flopping down on the still-damp grass.
“Maybe we can all pitch in?” Seth asks.
“Only if you bake an extra something in my place,” Jack says.
Fred’s water bottle squelches as he takes a long drink from it and sets it down. “If we can find a turkey, it makes the most sense to split the cost. Do we even want a turkey? If we do it next weekend, we might be in turkey comas from our own houses. We could have t—”
“Don’t suggest anything like tacos, Frederick,” Seth growls. “That’s blasphemy!”
“Isn’t the goal just to have a meal together?” I ask. “Fred does have a point that we don’t need to have turkey.”
“We’ll open it to the team,” Seth concedes. “But I want poultry in some form. At least chicken tenders.”
“That can be your contribution if we don’t get a turkey,” Fred says.
“The other big decision,” Jack says. “Where do we want to do this?”
“Maybe Gavin will let us use his place again,” Fred says.
“Put a message out to the group,” Seth says. “Clearly there isn’t a lot we can plan just the four of us.”
Fred fishes around in his bag and pulls out his phone. “All right, now we wait,” he says a minute later.
“Nowyouwait. I need to go shower before I go to the library,” Jack says, looking at the message Fred sent. His eyebrows are higher than usual, and I almost snicker. He must have just realized the time. He hops to his feet and slips his phone into his pocket. “Eli, you walking home with me?”
I stand and stretch. “May as well.”
Seth groans and lurches to his feet. “Your innocence is annoying sometimes. Just ask for a ride.”
Fred nods. “I can drop you at your house.”
Jack’s smile has a nervous waver to it. “Didn’t want to assume . . .”
“Just because you two are obsessed with walking everywhere doesn’t mean we are,” Fred says.
“Neither of us can drive,” Jack says, “and you give us rides often enough, I didn’t want to ask for another today.” His eyebrows press together. “I guess technically Eli can drive, now, if he gets his permit. That doesn’t change today, though.”
“I like walking,” I tell them. Nature has always been my escape; my solace. I may not need it as desperately anymore, but it’s still part of me. I doubt I’ll feel differently even as a senior,though I’ll probably drive by then. Something about walking outside feels magical. Getting to walk most places with Jack by my side, it’s even more precious. He’ll make it more bearable when it’s freezing and dark most of the day, as fall blows away and winter takes its place.
Something shifts in Jack’s smile. Something I think is meant for me, to say he likes walking with me, too. “It’s not horribly far to walk everywhere.”
“Several miles a day, at least,” Fred reasons.
