Page 34 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

Graham aims the hose at the spot of hood I vacate and looks at the sky.

Rhoads scrubs the wheels, focusing hard.

I don’t say anything. What can I say? I figured we’d meet face to face at some point. I just didn’t expect it to be like this.

We finish washing the car in the heaviest silence, and Graham hands over a ten-dollar bill.

“Change?” I ask, my voice like gravel. I dry my hands on a towel and take the money, making sure not to touch his hand.

“Nah,” Graham shakes his head. “It’s for a good cause. Plus, I feel like I owe extra for showing up at closing time.”

“Thanks.” I fight the urge to mention that this changes nothing between us. That a ten-dollar bill can’t buy my forgiveness. But he’s being civil, so I bite my tongue.

“See you around,” he says.

“Bye.”

Graham gets in his Jeep and drives away, bass thumping. A red pine tree hangs from his rear-view mirror.

Apparently, some things do change.

Rhoads tosses the last of the sponges into the clean bucket.

“Thanks for your help today,” I tell him. “Without you, this would have been a total failure.”

“Happy to help. So, I’ll see you in econ on Monday?” I can’t read his expression, though his body is more tense than before.

“Yep. Sounds good.”

Rhoads leaves, and I pack away all the supplies in the storage room, thinking. Maybe Graham showing up was the reminder that I needed. I’m not supposed to be flirting with boys. I’m supposed to be focusing on school and soccer.

Breaking up with Graham sucked, but afterward, I trained my hardest. That effort landed me a starting spot on a varsity team that might go all the way to state. Hard to argue with those results. Rhoads is cool, funny, and honestly, smoking hot, but I can’t afford to let my guard down.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself, it’s that smooth talkers are a weakness of mine. And this year, I need to be all strength.

Fourteen

RHOADS

“Everything was going great until The Jeep showed up.” I strike the ball as hard as I can toward the goal. It soars up and over the silver aluminum bar, smacks a thick tree trunk, and ricochets back toward the goal post.

I tried to keep my cool, but I’m not going to lie, seeing Graham rattled me. For more than one reason.

Dillon passes me another ball. He and Kyle both answered the SOS text to meet at our not-so-secret secret field, creatively nicknamed The Field. Surrounded by trees, at the back of a neighborhood park, the short-sided pitch is our favorite place to blow off steam. The nets are somehow still pristine—probably because no one else ever comes here. At least, not that I’ve seen.

It’s the perfect spot to vent. And right now, I’m positively crushing this bag of lifeless soccer balls.

“Ouch.” Kyle collects my latest shanked shot and dribbles back over, weaving around the bench we found at a garage sale last summer and planted on the sidelines so we would have somewhere to sit. “That guy has always intimidated you.”

I place another ball at the corner of the box. “Which is stupid, because we used to be friends.” My foot connects with the ball, and it flies toward the back post. Dillon rushes into the pass and heads it into the back of the net. “Nice finish.”

Graham and I went our separate ways after he asked out Chloe, though I’m sure he thinks it’s because we play different sports.

I kind of did you a favor, right? If she liked you, she wouldn’t have said yes.

I could have squeezed the tension from the air like soap out of those brand-new sponges. I don’t know exactly what went down between them, but I know enough.

What everyone knows.