by Britt Morrow
“I’m devastated.”
“You also missed Colt bragging about his recruitment conversation.”
“Who’d he talk to?” I’m trying to appear nonchalant, but I’m starting to break out in a sweat that has nothing to do with the jogging. The chances of two guys getting recruited from the same high school in a town so small that it doesn’t even show up on most state maps are practically nonexistent.
“University of Tennessee, apparently.”
Asshole. Of course, he would get an offer from a better team while I’ll be lucky to get anything from Tennessee Tech. I’m uncharacteristically unbothered by it, though. I’d rather see him go to a better team than duke it out for a position at the same school. Even better if I never have to see him again.
“You heard from any schools?”
I shrug. I’m not sure if I want to share this particular piece of news yet. It feels much too tenuous, and divulging it will only increase the pressure.
“That’s enough gossiping, ladies!” Coach Hayes shouts, beckoning us towards him.
Coach has us doing bear crawls, burpees, and sprints for most of the next hour and a half. Some of the guys are puking, most are swearing, and everyone’s complaining, but I’m reveling in it. I’ll willingly accept any torture in furtherance of my college dreams.
When we’re finally done, I’m satisfyingly bone-tired and looking forward to slipping into the coma-like sleep that only comes after a good workout. I bask in the warmth of the shower, easing my sore muscles. By the time I’m finished, the locker room is empty. So is the parking lot, except for a lone figure sitting on the hood of my truck. Confused, I speed up. In the waning light, it isn’t until I’m less than a few yards away that I realize that it’s Charlie.
My breath hitches slightly. And here I thought breathtaking was an adjective only used in the library’s cheap romance novels. Not that I’ve read any, obviously. The fading light of the golden hour makes her look especially ravishing, though.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you.”
Who knew that such a simple phrase could be the most flattering thing I’ve ever heard.
“How’d you know I’d be here?”
She rolls her eyes. She’s right; it’s a dumb question. Even practices attract their fair share of groupies, wannabe coaches, and future players as spectators.
“Do you want to go for a drive?” It’s not like there’s anything else to do around here.
She nods, sliding off the hood and moving towards the passenger door.
I drive aimlessly, past the library, the Piggly Wiggly, and Pete’s, until the buildings give way to trees and empty fields. I’m grateful to have somewhere to look and even more grateful to have something to do with my hands. I’m too nervous to look at her for more than a few seconds at the time.
“Where to?”
“The lookout?” she suggests.
It’s a rocky outcropping a couple miles out of town. It used to be the location of choice for post-game bush parties until a high school senior overdosed there a couple of years ago. Now, it remains mostly abandoned aside from the odd drug deal or couple looking for privacy.
When we get to the top of the hill where the lookout is located, she climbs out of the truck, beckoning me. She nimbly clambers over the rocks, heedless of the critters that could be lurking. I follow her, slower and more careful in the waning light. She pauses at the crest to appreciate the view. From here, the town is the picture of pastoral beauty: lush rolling hills, ancient hardwood trees, stately brick buildings. It’s hard to believe that somewhere so picturesque could be inhabited by such indigent, sullen people.
“Do you think you’d be a different person if you grew up somewhere else?” Charlie asks me.
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“How?”
This time I have to think for a minute. “I probably wouldn’t play football if I grew up in New York or somewhere. I might read more.”
“Do you prefer reading?”
“It’s not really about preference, just what’s going to get me furthest.”
She’s quiet for a minute, mulling this over, so I continue. “Do you think you’d be any different?”
“Probably not if I grew up somewhere different, maybe if I had a different family.”
“Would you want that?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
The grass is always greener. The wistfulness in her voice suggests her desire goes deeper, though. Or maybe that’s just me projecting. That’s the one concept I remember from sophomore psych. It made me wonder whether my perception of this place as desperate and constraining was sheerly due to my own circumstances. Maybe others can see the beauty in it from every angle.
She doesn’t attempt to explain the statement, just stares down at the landscape. I take the opportunity to stare at her profile equally intently.
“If you could have anything, what would it be?” she asks.
I wonder if she’s always this philosophical or if it’s a manifestation of the moment: the surreality of being able to step back and survey your entire life from this vantage point.
“You.”
She laughs. “No, seriously.”
I was entirely serious; there’s nothing that I want more at this moment. But I don’t want her to think that I’m stupid, so I say, “To get out of here.”
“Me too,” she sighs. “It’s attainable for you, though.”
“Why isn’t it for you?” It’s kind of a rhetorical question given that she’s not even in school. I just want to make her feel better.
“I can’t even get my GED,” she laughs bitterly.
“Have you tried?”
She shrugs. “School isn’t my thing.”
I have trouble understanding why. She’s much more intelligent than the girls I’m accustomed to interacting with.
“I could help.”
“I’d like that. If nothing else, it’s an excuse to keep seeing you.” She’s smiling again. It’s impish, almost taunting me to react. So I do.
I don’t even have the benefit of alcohol to explain my impulsiveness this time. Nothing about my approach is tentative or sweet. But she doesn’t seem to mind. She rewards my tight grip on her hair with a throaty moan, meeting my mouth with equal eagerness.
We kiss until I’m left panting. And then she’s off, scampering back over the rocks. By the time I rejoin her at the truck, she’s already shucked her jeans and sweater. There’s something uncanny about her forwardness. She’s utterly devoid of the female modesty and hesitancy that I’m used to. I’m not quite sure if I would attribute her brazenness to confidence, though. It’s equal parts arousing and disconcerting. Part of me wants to ravage her. An equally significant part wants to cover her up and just hold her, though. I’m not sure which part is stronger.
She drops to her knees, heedless of the rocky ground. She doesn’t look at me while she unbuttons my jeans. Only now do I realize that her demeanor can’t be attributed to confidence, but to resignation - as if this were inevitable.
I put my hands over hers, stopping her. I don’t want her like this. Submissiveness doesn’t suit her. She finally looks at me, blue eyes wide.
“Hold on.”
I retrieve the plaid camping blanket from the back of the truck, laying it down on my tailgate before discarding my jeans and t-shirt. I pull her close to me, her breath warm on my chest and our legs intertwined to the point where I don’t know where my skin ends and hers begins. Her lithe body is softer than I expected, and I can’t help but let my hands wander to the curve of her ass. She has a great ass, among the best I’ve ever seen. I want to feel more of her, but more than that, I want to savor this moment. Neither of us speaks, but I don’t think we need to.
I can feel her breathing slowing, and I’m strangely flattered that she’s comfortable enough to fall asleep in my arms. I don’t know how long we remain entwined like that; I’m reluctant to move for fea
r of waking her. It’s long enough for the twilight to give way to pitch darkness though, and for me to finally drift off despite my best efforts to remain awake, relishing this feeling of belonging.
“Shit!”
I’m startled awake by Charlie’s cussing. It takes a minute for my eyes to focus, but when they do, I can see her pulling on her jeans in the cold pre-dawn light. My mind is slow to process her frantic movements.
“Is everything ok?”
“I need to get home. I wasn’t supposed to stay out so late,” she mumbles hurriedly.
In my drowsy state, I’m having trouble processing her rushed words.
“I didn’t mean to wake you, I can make my own way back.”
My brain finally kicks into gear: it’s at least three miles back to town. “Of course not, I’ll drive you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind walking,” she tosses over her shoulder, already striding away from the truck.
“Charlie, get in the truck.” I didn’t think it came out harsh, but she flinches anyway. “Please.”
She hesitates before making her way back to the passenger side of the vehicle. I quickly throw on my jeans and boots, not bothering with my shirt - I don’t want to give her time to change her mind.
We’re both quiet on the way back. Unlike last night, this silence is charged. Her anxiousness makes me uncomfortable.
“Strict parents?”
She stares distractedly out the window. “Sort of.”
She doesn’t speak again until we reach the first - and only - set of traffic lights in town. “My place is just to the right here. You can drop me off on the corner.”
The street leads to a narrow holler lined with trailers as dilapidated as my own. This is a more upscale area of town, though; the trailers here are double-wides and have more than one rusty vehicle parked out front.
I pull up to the corner as instructed. “Are you sure this is good?”
She waves me off, hopping out of the cab before I even have the truck in park.
I don’t want to let her leave again without knowing when I’m going to see her next. I wrack my brain for an excuse to call her back here. “Hey, Charlie? I usually study for a few hours after practice if you want to join me. I might be able to help with the GED.”
“I thought you were only saying that to get laid.” She says it with a smirk, but I don’t think she’s joking.
I don’t like her perceiving me that way. “I meant it.”
I finally get to see that genuine smile again. “I’ll see you after practice on Monday, Levi.”
She sets off again, hurriedly even though she’s trying to appear nonchalant. I watch her leave, torn between my elation over having spent the night with her and bewilderment over her abrupt departure this morning. I’m pretty sure she would have just left had I not woken up.
I put the truck back in gear. I’m not really trying to follow her, I tell myself; I just need to find a driveway to turn around in. I drive slowly, waiting until she turns down the first drive a hundred or so yards away. Her place is hidden from view by an overgrown oak and grass that stretches nearly knee-high. The foliage isn’t dense enough to conceal a familiar figure out shooting beer cans in the yard though: Colt.
My stomach turns unpleasantly. It might be because I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, but the sensation can more likely be attributed to uneasiness. I convince myself he must be her brother, the alternative - that they could be in some sort of relationship - is too disconcerting. Losing Crystal to him was a mere irritation, a blow to the ego more than anything. Knowing he has a relationship with Charlie ignites a level of enviousness that I’ve never experienced before, not even when he consistently outperforms me on the field. I’ve only known Charlie for slightly over twenty-four hours, but I’m already overcome by a possessiveness that I didn’t think I was capable of. I’ve never come this close to anything worth possessing before.
Colt glares as I drive by, no doubt recognizing my truck. I don’t stop. The last thing I want is to engage in a second confrontation with him in as many days. I have a feeling that the next time we have a showdown, I’ll end up with a lot worse than a bruised temple.
I have nowhere to go, so I figure that I may as well go home. Brandi’s temper flares quickly, but tends to fizzle with equal rapidity. It takes too much energy to sustain that kind of anger for long. Most of the time, she’s content to sulk and drink in her room.
The trailer is quiet when I enter, careful not to let the screen slam behind me. She’s likely passed out to where she’s practically comatose, but I don’t want to test my luck. A greasy half-eaten rotisserie chicken sits out on the counter, probably leftover from the hick she was with on Friday night. The flies have already started to gather, but I’m unfazed - food is food. I tuck into the chicken without bothering with a plate. There aren’t many that have survived Brandi’s tirades, and the ones that remain have found a permanent place in the sink, practically welded in place by bits of congealed food.
Once satiated, I make my way to my bedroom, a glorified closet really, at the back of the trailer. I’m exhausted. The last few days have been emotionally depleting. The highs of being the subject of recruiter interest and spending time with Charlie stand in stark contrast to the bleakness of my everyday life. No sooner have I laid down on the sagging mattress, than I’m already falling asleep.
Chapter 4
Charlie’s waiting for me after practice as promised. I breathe an audible sigh of relief. I’d half expected her not to show up after the hasty end to our date yesterday morning. If it even was a date. I’ve been mulling it over for at least the last twenty-four hours and still haven’t concluded one way or another. I can’t quite figure Charlie out. She’s definitely interested, but I can’t tell if the interest is in me specifically, or just in pushing boundaries with the high school quarterback, seeing if it lives up to the hype. I also can’t figure out whether it matters. I’ll take what I can get.
“How was practice?” She’s perched on the hood of my truck, and I try not to notice how high her cut-offs are riding up.
It was really good. I’ve developed a new sense of confidence ever since Coach Hayes told me about the Tennessee Tech recruiter. I don’t want to come off cocky though, so I just say, “Fine.”
She rolls her eyes. “So garrulous.” She waves a thick textbook with the title ‘GED Prep’. “How’s that for a GED word?”
“You clearly don’t need my help. You’ll be tutoring me soon.”
“I don’t need you for help, just the prospect of seeing you every day as motivation,” she responds coyly.
I move over to the driver’s side of the truck, hoping she doesn’t catch the heat rising in my cheeks. I’m unaccustomed to compliments, praise being a foreign concept to Brandi, and don’t know how to respond.
She joins me in the cab and fiddles with the radio, eventually settling on a Dolly Parton song. She sings along - well. Dolly’s the patron saint of these hills, but Charlie does her justice. I wish the drive to the library was further just so I could hear more.
As per usual, the library is empty, aside from the elderly librarian. She waves as I settle into my usual spot near the window, pulling up an extra chair for Charlie. I withdraw a couple textbooks out of my backpack while she leafs through her tattered GED textbook.
“Where do I even start?”
“Where did you leave off?”
“After freshman year. I didn’t go back as a sophomore; I should be a junior by now.” She’s practically whispering, as if afraid the librarian will overhear this revelation.
“Ok, so let’s start with sophomore stuff. What’s your favorite subject?”
“English, history. I like to read.”
I hand over my history textbook, flipping back a dozen or so chapters to the material we studied in sophomore year. “Read through this chapter, and then I’ll quiz you.” I rip out a few pages from my spiral notebook and hand her a pencil.
“Are you ready for some questions?”
She’s not flustered over being caught staring. “Don’t rush, I like watching you.”
This is the second time today that she’s made me blush. “It’s fine, I still have a few days to study for my trig quiz.” I gesture for the history book, and she hands it back to me. “Ok. When did the Battle of the Alamo start?”
“1863.”
“Yup. What day?”
She glances down at her notes. “February twenty-third.”
We go on like this for a while. It turns out my intuition was right about her being smart: she’s getting nearly all of the questions correct.
My stomach suddenly growls loudly, and she steals a glance at the clock hanging above the librarian’s desk. It’s nearly seven: closing time. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you from dinner. You must be starved after practice.”
“It’s alright, I usually don’t eat until late anyway.”
I don’t add - if I eat at all. I start to pack up my books and she comes over to me, bending to envelop me in a hug. It’s an unexpectedly intimate gesture. Not like the half-hearted post-game hugs from my teammates when I throw a particularly good pass, but a tight hug that lasts a few seconds too long to just be friendly.
“Thanks, Levi. This was really nice.” And that’s it. She’s off again, not waiting for me to gather my things.
“You don’t want a ride?” I call after her.
She just smiles and waves, “I’ll see you after practice tomorrow.”
It’s not a question; she already knows that I’m enthralled by her and will do whatever it takes to see her. I don’t argue with her this time; her trailer is only a couple of blocks away, and it’s clear that she doesn’t want me showing up there again. I’m not sure if her reluctance can be attributed to embarrassment over her living situation - she doesn’t yet know that I live in a trailer even smaller and more ramshackle than her own - or if she doesn’t want her family to see her being dropped off by me. I’d meant to ask her about Colt, but I couldn’t think of a way to bring it up casually. Besides, that hug told me everything that I needed to know.
