Page 11 of Off the Trail

He seems like a good guy. Easy to be around. And after that one strange, intrusive thought about kissing him, my brain came back online. He’s just a nice, easy-going, and, yeah, objectively good-looking person. Hopefully, I’m not annoying him with my enthusiasm. But isn’t that his job? To help me stay busy?

I wonder what I’m going to do all day, then remember the spa. I call and book a massage for after lunch, then look up my mom’s number and call to let her know I can’t get texts for a few days. She takes down the phone number of the cabin in case of emergency and tells me to take advantage of this time. I ask if Dad’s there, and she makes an excuse. I sigh and let it go. I’m not the only one struggling with my being cut from my team.

I poke around the cabin and find some puzzles in a trunk underneath a heavy throw blanket. There’s seriously no TV, not even one to hook up to a DVD player. I’m generally a big movie watcher—it used to give me something to do when we were on the road. But I suppose I can catch up on anything I’ve missed when I get home.

I did bring a rain jacket, at least, so I throw it on and jog over to the lodge. I try the side door Marika and I used yesterday and let myself into the ballroom. I close the door quietly so as not to disturb the half-dozen people inside. I register Blaze immediately, throwing beanbags across the room toward a plywood target. He’s playing cornhole. His opponent is a teenage boy with acne on his chin wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt. He scowls when Blaze gets one of his bags through the hole.

Blaze crows and says, “You’re up, Max. Let’s see what you got.”

A man and a woman, who I assume are Max’s parents, sit in front of the oversized fireplace on the opposite wall, talking. Marika is at a nearby dining table of rough-hewn wood, typing into a laptop. Another woman folds linen napkins into neat piles on the other end of the same table.

I watch Max throw some not-bad shots, and then Blaze notices me.

“Shawn, hey, you wanna play winner?”

I laugh and feel slightly uncomfortable when every head in the room swivels to look at me. “Maybe I should play loser with the way you two are going.”

Max clocks me, and his eyes go extra wide. His gaze darts to his parents, who give me a polite nod.

I figure I should just get it over with and walk over to Max. “Hey, I’m Shawn.”

“Cool,” Max says, his eyes still wide. “I’m Max. I’m, like, a really big fan. The Laurels might go all the way this year. Well, not you—I mean. Sorry.” His face flushes red to match his pimples. “I just meant you’re like one of my favorite shortstops.”

“Thanks,” I say with practiced ease. The reminder that my team’s headed to the playoffs without me gives me a feeling akin to heartburn right under my breastbone, but I ignore it and paste on a smile. “Let’s hope they go far, right?”

“Totally. We’re leaving tomorrow because we have tickets to the game on Saturday.”

“Have fun at the game. Wish I was going to be there.” I mean watching the game in person, but I could also mean wishing I was going to be on the field. I cringe at my transparency.

Max just grins. “Thanks. So, you want to play cornhole?”

“Why don’t you join Max’s team?” Blaze suggests.

“Two against one? Is that really fair?” I say, smiling at Blaze.

“You tell me after I whip you,” Blaze says cockily.

I laugh. “You’re on.”

I get caught up on the score. Blaze is up 8 to 5, and they’re playing to 21. Blaze is good—he gets two bags in the hole, but overshoots on the other two. On our turn, I let Max take the first two shots. He gets one on the board, and one in the hole. When it’s my turn, I weigh the bag in my hand carefully. It’s not a baseball. I adjust to the weight and shape accordingly. I aim for the top hole and let it fly. The bag lands heavily short. I laugh. “That was my warmup,” I say, and tweak my throw on the second bag, which sails through the bottom hole clean.

Max whoops. “Yes, we scored!” We high five and Blaze claps.

“Okay, so you’re a contender,” he says good-naturedly.

We fight it out to the bitter end, when Blaze misses his last shot and Max and I eke out a win.

“Yes!” Max yells, joy radiating out of his body.

I clap him on the shoulder. “Good game, kid.”

“Oh my god, I played cornhole with Shawn Camden. This totally makes a week without my phone worth it.”

He fist-bumps me and then goes over to his parents, who look happy that their son is happy.

Blaze heads my way to pick up the bean bags. “That was nice of you.”

“It was fun,” I answer honestly. “And it’s not like I had anything else on my agenda.”