Page 89 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

“It didn’t take you seven months to figure that out, did it?” I laugh. “Because I’m pretty sure I told you you were an idiot about ten million times.”

Graham shrugs. “The hard part was figuring out how to not be one in the future.”

“I think you can handle it. However, this does mean if you go down that road again, I won’t hesitate to punch you in your ridiculous face.”

He holds a hand over his heart. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Forty-Four

CHLOE

Ishake both the bicycle snow globes, one in each hand, before placing them side-by-side on the shelf in Rhoads’s workshop. “I never asked. Why don’t the bikes move in this one?”

Rhoads shrugs. “I’m done trying to change the past. I need to remember things how they actually happened.”

There is beauty in that, and bravery. In choosing to acknowledge the truth, whether or not you like what you see.

I’ve spent too much time either avoiding my memories or playing them on repeat. Like Rhoads, I hoped they’d somehow change, that things would turn out differently. But while the past doesn’t change, people sometimes do.

I certainly have.

Choosing to forgive Graham wasn’t easy, but ever since I did it, I’ve felt lighter. We’re not friends again but hating him took too much of my precious energy. Now, I just pretend he doesn’t exist.

A few college scouts have emailed my coach to say they were impressed with my play this season. Not enough for them to make me an early scholarship offer, but who knows?

It takes two rounds of hash browns and three Chloe Specials (not in the same day) to help me finally come to terms with the fact that the soccer season is over. I think I more than proved myself to Coach Dixon. Better yet, I proved to myself that, as Janae says, I can date and be a baller boss.

Rhoads slides into a chair next to me and spreads out some supplies on the table. “So, what’s it going to be?”

I pick up the empty glass orb, feeling the weight of unrealized possibility in my palm, and breathe in citrus and cedar. I close my eyes, thinking about what’s important to me. There is so much to choose from, so many Big Moments I can memorialize. So many times the wind has whispered my name, preparing me for change. I imagine my growing collection of snow globes at home in my bedroom, each one an abstract glimmer of a moment Rhoads found extraordinary.

Seeing them before bed each night reminds me to look for the details I often miss in everyday life. They tell me to slow down, ever so slightly. I used to think if I didn’t pay enough attention to the Big things I want out of life, they’ll pass me by completely. I still have lofty goals, and I’ll continue to chase them. The difference is, now I understand those things are only part of the life I want to live.

I recently learned it isn’t all hype and excitement and pressure that makes something a Big Moment. It’s a matter of perspective; of how much weight I grant it. Of what, in that moment, truly matters.

It’s ordering pizza with friends and talking to a cute boy. It’s a cup of coffee or a perfectly executed step-over move. It’s Stuff ‘n’ Things at seven a.m. on a Sunday. It’s lemon soap and watermelon hard candies. Blueberry pancakes and holding hands.

It’s sitting in a plastic hospital chair doing a crossword puzzle, hoping to return something to a friend. Vending machine snacks and ‘90’s sitcom reruns. Making new friends and forgiving old ones. It’s holding tight and letting go and knowing it’s possible to do both at the same time. It’s hearing my boyfriend’s best friend say my name out loud for the first time on a random Tuesday in December.

The small moments, the ones that feel insignificant at the time, sometimes matter most.

“I think I know,” I say, picking up the glue and the flat Barbie shoes I found at the thrift store. “Hand me the red glitter.”

Epilogue

KYLE

When coach told us he expected us all to show up at Winter Formal, I nearly started a riot. He dropped that bomb on us at the last team meeting, after our devastating loss to Kensington. And even though he can’t technically force us to, it’s better for the team if we just follow along and do what he expects.

So, I smooth my tie again for the nine thousandth time in the last three minutes as I prepare myself to go into the school. I never feel comfortable or like myself in formal wear. Really, in anything other than athletic gear or my soccer uniform.

I always feel like an impostor, like some other person or alien stole my body and squeezed it into a tailored suit and dress shirt. I wiggle my toes in my shiny square-toed shoes, wondering when the last time I wore them was. Probably Spring Formal with Shelby, my girlfriend.

Well, ex-girlfriend now. As of two weeks ago.

Shelby decided we would be better as friends. That we’ve been growing apart for a while. We were off-again/on-again for the last year, always breaking up over something dumb and getting back together the next week.

But this time is for good. No more getting back together.