The Secrets We Keep

by Kimberly Blackadar

5. Tuesday

  “This,” Ian begins, licking his fingers, “is the best food in the world.” The four of us crowd around a picnic table, eating piles of fried fish. Behind us, the birds rest on the railing, and the boats drift along the river.

  “Best food, ha! Nothing beats my mom’s cooking—and you know it, man,” Ryan counters.

  “Yeah, that’s true, bro,” Ian admits. Then speaking to Courtney and me, he adds, “His mom makes this huge Italian feast for our team at the end of every season. It’s so good: It’s better than Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “That’s cool,” I say. “My parents used to have a barbecue at the end of every season. My dad would grill all afternoon.” I savor the memory for a brief moment—until the sadness creeps in.

  Then Courtney adds, almost bragging, “Well, my mom barely knows how to use the microwave, so when we have people over, it’s always catered.”

  “Tell me about it,” Ian says. “My mom has all the numbers for carry-out memorized.” He gestures at his food. “But this is my all-time favorite place.”

  “No offense, babe.” Courtney touches his arm. “But I’d rather have a salad.”

  “Salad is for rabbits, silly kid,” Ian retorts.

  Ryan leans in across the picnic table, and our conversation splits in two. “So what’s your favorite food, Callie?”

  “Steak.”

  “Really, I’ve never heard a girl say that.”

  “Well, what can I say?”

  “A lot.” He chuckles.

  “Hey…” I drag out the word. “What are you saying?”

  “Not much of anything.” He winks. “Not with you around.”

  I pantomime locking my mouth with a key, and then I toss the “key” in the river. Now mute, I turn my attention toward Courtney and Ian, but they are not talking. Instead they are playing a game of footsies under the table, but in their match, Courtney remains on the offense and Ian enjoys being on the receiving end. I mean, really enjoys being on the receiving end; therefore, I turn back to Ryan and raise my eyebrows to their fullest extent.

  He leans in and whispers, “I wish they weren’t here.”

  I nod in agreement; then Courtney nudges me. “We’re going to, uh, walk around. Text me when you’re done.”

  I offer her a nod-and-shrug combo.

  Then Ryan, leaning forward across the table, adds, “I wish you could talk again.”

  “Hmm, you used two wishes, so now you have one more left.”

  “Maybe I’ll save that.”

  “For what?”

  He winks. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “That,” I begin, pointing at him, “is a total Ryanism.”

  “A Ryanism?”

  “Yeah, it’s one of your little sayings.”

  “Well, what’s one of yours?”

  “I don’t have any.” I smirk. “I’m very original.”

  His smile opens, letting out a soft breath of laughter. I smile back at him and bite down on my lip. We settle into another quiet moment, no words, just soft smiles, and then he winks at me. I roll my eyes and shake my head. And then we find laughter again.

  As I laugh, I consider how Landon is the only person who makes me laugh like this—like over nothing. Back when Landon and I were in elementary school, we spent an entire summer coming up with ways to make it into the Guinness Book of World Records. We started off with how many baskets we could make in a minute or how many consecutive hours we could play basketball. But soon we realized we had to think outside the box—or the court—and come up with something unique. We had several lame ideas, and years later, we continue to recite letters of the alphabet in the “World’s Longest Alphabet Recitation.” Just a few months ago, I was sitting in English class when I got a text with a single letter: M. I had to think for a minute, but then I got it, and nearly fell out of my chair.

  I look across at Ryan. “Do you—?”

  “What’s your—?” He starts simultaneously. “Sorry…go ahead.”

  “No, it’s okay. You go.”

  “All right,” he pauses, swiping his mouth with a napkin. “What’s your favorite basketball movie?”

  “For Love or Basketball.”

  “Yeah? Which one would you choose?”

  “Well, I have always chosen basketball,” I pause, “What about you—which one would you choose”

  “Basketball will only last so long, but love,” he pauses, his voice softening, “always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”

  “That sounds familiar. Is it a poem?”

  “It’s from the 1Corinthians 13. It’s the Bible passage that people read at weddings, but we also have it on a wall in our family room. My mom makes us read it when we are not being kind to one another, so let’s just say, I have the whole passage down by now.”

  “Will you say the rest…please?”

  “I suppose.” He leans in closer, his voice a deep whisper, “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes averting mine. “It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes,” he glances up with a slight smile, “always perseveres.”

  “Well, if love were all that, then yeah, I would choose it over basketball.” I shake my head. “But it’s not those things—not for my family, at least.”

  “It’s probably not that love was never there; it was just being overshadowed by other emotions.”

  I cradle my chin in my hand and stare back at him. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

  “Of course not. No two people are alike.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “It’s not that I’m much different than most guys.” He pauses. “I’m just different around you.”

  “And why is that?”

  He shrugs. “Because you were honest with me….so I’m going to be honest with you.”

  “Like a mirror?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Or Newtown’s third law of motion.”

  “You get straight A’s in school, don’t you?”

  “Is that like a bad thing?”

  “No, but my parents have always cared more about my basketball than my grades.”

  “Well, you are old enough to decide what matters to you. In the end, it’s your life, Callie.”

  “You mind imparting that wisdom on my parents?”

  “Um,” he pauses to smile, “do you want them to like me or not?”

  “Who wouldn’t like you?”

  “Doug.”

  “But who cares what Doug thinks?”

  “Well, I heard from Ian that Doug thinks you’re hot,” Ryan grins. “Should we care about that?”

  “So—” I change the subject. “What’s your favorite basketball movie?”

  “Hoosiers. It’s a classic.”

  I nod, taking a sip of soda and remember watching Hoosiers with my dad and my brothers years ago— just the four of us sitting on the couch, eating popcorn and my dad commenting on every scene of the film.

  Ryan interrupts my memory with another question: “What’s your favorite NBA team?”

  “Magic,” I pause, “because my dad played for them.”

  His eyes light up. “Really? I didn’t know that, Callie.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t for that long. He had a career-ending injury after three years.” I shrug. “He has some great stories about his playing days, though.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  “Anyway,” I say, not wanting to delve into my dad’s life—since it went from awesome to awful over the years. “What’s your favorite team?”

  “Magic.”

  “Good. Otherwise I wouldn’t talk to you anymore.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Well, that might not be a bad thing.”

  “Seriously? Are we back to that again?”


  “Yes, and the conversation comes full circle.”

  “What? Are you still eating?” I glance up and find Courtney, hovering over us with her hands on her hips.

  “Nah.” I look down at my basket, nearly full of fish and fries. “I’m done.”

  Ian eyes my basket of food. “Mind, if I—?”

  “Not at all.” I push it toward him.

  “You need to stop eating, man,” Ryan says as he stands up. “You’re gonna’ get all soft and doughy.”

  “Soft?” Ian gestures at his abs. “Feel this, bro.”

  “How about I feel it with my fist?” Ryan punches Ian in the stomach, and they play fight all the way toward the truck.

  Courtney leans over. “Men.”

  “Men?” I rebuke. “Boys.”

  “Yeah, and boys will be boys.”

  Yes, and girls will be girls, forever rolling their eyes at male bravado and their stupid fart jokes but secretly drawn to the complexities of the opposite sex.

  *****