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“You’re quite the wingman, aren’t you?”
Yes, because he’d do the same for me. Without hesitation.
With a war of emotions in my stomach, I asked, “Does this mean you’re coming to the meet tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I am. One, because I want to see you race. Two…”
“Because if you go and Connor’s there, it wouldn’t suck.”
“It wouldn’t suck, and I’ll just leave it at that,” she said, but her blush was back as she stood up and shouldered her bag. “Is it bad luck to say ‘good luck’ in track and field?”
“The worst. You just cursed me. Thanks a lot.”
She grinned. “Sorry. Break a leg.”
“Now I’m fucked. Get out of here.”
Autumn laughed and plucked a sprout off my plate. She tucked it in the corner of her mouth like a wheat stalk, and I had a sudden, desperate wish to see her on her farm; this wildflower that dressed in expensive-looking dresses, but who wore scuffed shoes and carried a bag that had probably been new ten years ago.
“Bye, Weston,” she said with a little wave.
“Bye, Autumn.”
I watched her greet Phil, then go in the back and come out with a folded paper. She gave me another little wave and a smile, then stepped out into the dying light of day.
She’s into Connor.
This was no longer debatable. A fact as black and white as ink on paper.
It hurts. Doesn’t it?
I put my pen to the blank sheet in front of me and began to write.
Autumn
“Let me get this straight.” Ruby said. “We’re here to support Wes, in order to hang out with Connor?”
“And to make a sober appearance,” I said. “I need to make up for getting so drunk last weekend.”
“You weren’t that drunk. You weren’t pee-on-a-pile-of-clean-laundry-thinking-it’s-a-toilet-drunk.” Ruby shook her head. “God, remember that poor girl at Marty’s party last year?”
I giggled. “I think she transferred out of state the next day.”
“Smart move.” Ruby adjusted her designer sunglasses as we walked in the brilliant sunshine toward the track at Richard F. Garber field. Instead of her usual slouchy, weekday wear, she wore jeans and a cream-colored V-neck blouse that revealed just the right amount of caramel skin.
By contrast, I felt a little prim in a baby blue sundress that buttoned up to my neck. But I burned easily and was already wearing enough one million SPF sunscreen to over-power my perfume.
“Anyway,” I said. “I was sloppy at Yancy’s. I need to make a better impression.”
“On Wes or Connor?”
I shot her a look, which she shot right back.
“I ran into Weston at the bakery last night,” I said.
“Oh?”
“We hung out a little while.”
