“Yeah.” I nod, feeling numb. I have to say it out loud so it becomes real. “Means I’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. I’dgo sooner, but I’ll have to let Barb know and show Olli how to feed the kittens.” I bite my tongue. I’m working up to it too slowly when I really should just pull off the band-aid as quickly as possible. I take a deep breath.
“And…I guess that’s it then?”
Finally, I find the courage to look up and search for Micah’s eyes, one dark, one light. They’re watching me closely, glinting in the low light falling in through the window.
I’m glad Micah didn’t turn on the overhead light when he came upstairs. This feels like a conversation best had in the dark.
“Between us, I mean,” I answer the silent question that’s hovering between us. I’ll be at the farm for at least three weeks. Maybe even four, though that will be cutting it close with preparing for the start of my classes.
“I’m sorry. I…enjoyed…” I trail off. On the one hand, I don’t want to say anything that might disturb the mood, but on the other, I genuinely don’t know what I actually enjoyed more: Exploring all these new things or simply spending time with Micah. Learning about him and finding him listening to me in return. Really listening, even when I was talking about the depressing things that come with growing up on a farm.
It felt close to what I had developed with Colin over chat.God, Colin. I just hope it’ll be enough for him to prove that I’m not going to wake up fucking straight one day.
“But…does it have to be?”
“Huh?”
“I mean”—Micah tilts his head, clears his throat—“if your family needs help—not that I know much about cherries, but I can work. In fact, I could actually use some work! Before I get soft.” He thoughtfully tips his head down as if to consider his stomach.
An unexpected laugh bursts out of me, but I shake my head, trying to get rid of it again. Some of the few friends I made inhigh school said the exact same thing, then bailed when they realized farm work meant getting up while it was still dark to shovel literal, actual shit.
However, I can’t detect any hint of worry or joke in Micah’s eyes when he keeps looking at me. Despite the small joke, his offer is genuine.
“You’re…are you sure? What about your training? I mean, obviously you’d get paid! But…but it’s not enough that I’d ask you to give up your summer,” I assure him, wanting to make extra sure he knows what he’s getting himself into. At the same time, the prospect of having a friend there, of havingMicahthere, makes my heart skip a beat.
“You didn’t ask. I’m offering,” he reminds me, his voice warm.
“O-okay.”
I’m actually excited since it means I’ll get to show him what I told him about my parents’ farm. However, there’s a slight tinge of worry sneaking into my tentative happiness. Micah coming home with me means that, for the first time, my two worlds will clash—my life here in Bonham and the fake one I’ve been telling my family about.
Micah, June 26th
“Mahoney, Davenport. A word.”
I cringe inwardly at Coach’s sharp request as I gather my stuff slowly. All around us, chairs scrape over the hardwood floor as our teammates shoulder their backpacks and duck out of the room. Felix and Evander are last, lingering in the doorway, pity on both their faces. I give them a small nod, and they shuffle out, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
“It’s my fault, Coach,” Seb speaks up before the silence has a chance to settle between us. There’s a note of stubbornness in his voice, hinting that this isn’t his first rodeo.
Ever since Wagner took over as head coach last year, Seb’s had a lot of one-on-ones with him. Seb sure isn’t an easy player, but our former coach let him get away with a lot—whether out of respect for his family’s legacy (Davenport is a big name to swing around in these halls) or genuine understanding of his personal situation. Coach Wagner, however, doesn’t giveanyplayer an inch of leeway, no matter the name. And while I’d usually agree with that, things are, in fact, starting to feel personal between him and my best friend.
“Elaborate.” Coach is closing his laptop, not even glancing at us as he unplugs the cable from the projector. The video we watched over the past two hours vanishes in a split second, leaving an empty wall behind.
“It’s my fault we were late, sir,” Seb clarifies, shifting in his spot next to me. I try to nudge his elbow, but he avoids contact by stepping to the side. “I’m currently carpooling with Mi— uhm…Mahoney, and I didn’t leave the house on time.”
“But we still would’ve made it on time had I been ready,” I interject, my heart rate kicking up at the lie.
Seb's head whips around, his dark eyes narrowing as he subtly shakes his head at me, but I ignore him. I can’t let him face another of these verbal beatings alone. Not when he’s the one doing me a favor by doubling as my personal driver. I really need to get my car sorted out. It’ll be the first thing I do once my scholarship money for the fall semester comes in.
“Something the matter with your driver’s license, Mahoney?”
I hold my breath when Coach Wagner’s eyes meet mine. He’s the youngest D1 head coach in college football to date. He started at B-Tech as an offensive coordinator, then took over the program when our former coach suffered a heart attack right before the start of last year’s season. Sometimes I think he puts on an extra layer of hardassness to make up for his age.
“No, sir. My car broke down, and I haven’t found a chance yet to get it fixed,” I answer, watching with relief as his shoulders sag a little.
“Didn’t find a chance because you’re so hammered with classes over the summer?”
I press my lips into a thin line at his snarky remark, just giving him a tight smile. “I’ll try to get it taken care of soon.”
