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“Obviously. Coach would murder me if I didn’t.”
“Right,” she said with a sigh. “Maybe you can still talk to that coach from Illinois Methodist.”
“No. Ronnie got the scholarship, remember?”
“Maybe you could get one, too.” Her voice was too chipper for my liking, so I ignored her rosy optimism. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts. I wanted to listen to sad music and organize all my photos of Wyatt. I wanted to place them in a sealed envelope and never look at them again.
But I knew that would never happen.
“Mom, can you just…leave me alone? Please?”
“Fine. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
I didn’t. But I wasn’t about to tell her that. I just wanted peace and quiet so that I could wallow in my misery. Why couldn’t she just let me do that?
“Look who’s here again,” Ronnie said, nodding toward the sidelines.
“Yeah, so?”
“So, what’s going on with you two?”
I looked at Oden, who then smiled and nodded when my eyes met his. A satisfied smile crossed my lips as I turned to dribble the ball back to the goal. Swiftly, I kicked it past the goalie who dove to the other side of the net almost as quickly as the ball went flying into it.
“Nice one, Hamilton,” Coach Bart called from the sidelines.
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Why won’t you answer my question?” Ronnie asked again, jogging behind me as I got back in line for drills.
“Because I’m not sure.” I shrugged. “But, I mean, come on. Just look at him.”
It was easy to get caught up in the whirlwind that was Oden Marcelo: captain of the football team, dimples the size of the Grand Canyon, and a killer salesman’s personality. So, when he started hanging around the soccer field with his helmet pressed against his sweaty hip, watching my every move on the field, I took notice. Senior year had begun, and Wyatt had been gone for weeks. He’d written me a letter from his new house in Norway. And although I carried it in my backpack, I refused to open it. It was just too hard. Oden was the perfect distraction from Wyatt leaving the country and clobbering my heart.
He was nothing like Wyatt.
And that was comforting in the strangest way.
“Just be careful with that one. I heard he cheated on Violet for, like, two weeks before she found out. That’s why they broke up.”
“No,” I snapped. “I heard she dumped him for some college guy at Northwestern.”
Ronnie wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Just be careful, okay?”
“We’re just hanging out. It’s no big deal.”
But that was a lie.
Being with Oden was like a comforting salve on a burn. I craved his attention and constant flirtatious comments. In those moments, when Oden was complimenting my ass or my eyes or my hair or whatever, it took the pain away and pushed Wyatt from my head. When Oden wasn’t around, the pain stirred in my belly, and I took the letter out of my backpack, holding it in my hands, but never opening it.
I couldn’t do that. Because if I opened that letter, I knew he’d control my heart again. I’d get swept up in his sweetness, in his apologies, in everything that made him so special. I couldn’t be vulnerable again. I couldn’t give him that control.
Besides, what if that letter was just another break-up? What if it was Wyatt’s final goodbye? I couldn’t handle that, either.
“I can’t believe you ever dated that wuss,” Oden said with his muscular arms wrapped around me as we lounged in my bed. My muscles tensed and my heart ached as we watched Ronnie’s project for the Audio-Video Club. She had chronicled 1993 in a photo compilation set to her favorite song, “Ordinary World,” by Duran Duran. Photos of Ronnie and I danced across the screen, which made me smile. But she’d included one picture with Wyatt in the video. The three of us were sitting in Ronnie’s basement, and Wyatt’s arm was wrapped around my waist, his chin on my shoulder.
“Crap, I’m sorry, Tilly,” Ronnie said, sitting cross-legged on my mauve carpet. “I just really liked that pic. I didn’t think—”
“It’s fine, he was your friend, too,” I said, waving her away casually and turning to face Oden. “And why can’t you believe I dated Wyatt? Because he was younger than me?”
