by Britt Morrow
“Nah, we’ve just been hanging out.”
“I’d kill to ‘hang out’ with her too,” he remarks. “I’d probably have to; there’s no way Colt would let it happen.”
“Are they close?”
Cody knows Colt a lot better than I do. They were the only two kids whose parents could afford to buy them dirt bikes when we were growing up - new ones with flashy decals. The rest of us had no hope of keeping up on our pedal bikes from theGoodwill. Cody was always nice enough to let me have a turn on his when he and Colt returned from their latest adventure, though. Maybe that’s why my envy hasn’t crystallized in the form of animosity towards him the way that it has for Colt.
“They used to be. She used to come ride bikes with us a lot. I don’t see her around that often anymore, though. She kind of keeps to herself.”
I didn’t know Charlie could ride. It doesn’t surprise me though, she likes to move fast. I want to keep talking about her, but I know that the guys will give me shit if I seem too interested. Pete and Colt are loudly recreating the best plays of the night (all involving Colt naturally), so I’m content to sit back and allow myself to be entertained by their antics.
A few of the other guys have joined in to exaggeratedly reenact the fumbles of our opponents. As obnoxious as they are, I can’t deny that they’re engaging, so much so that I lose track of time, and I’m startled when someone approaches the booth from behind and ruffles my hair.
Charlie smirks. “You wanna watch these clowns all night, or should we get out of here?”
She ditched her cheap polyester uniform for jeans and a long-sleeved tee. It’s an uncharacteristically conservative outfit for her, especially on such an unseasonably warm night. Even fully clothed though, it’s impossible to ignore how good her body looks.
“I don’t have my truck here; the bus drove us over. I can run and get it, though,” I offer.
“That’s fine, we can just go hang out behind the school or something. I don’t think driving is a good idea tonight anyway.” She tilts her purse so that I can see the contents: a bottle of Fireball. An entirely befitting drink.
I don’t often drink for fear of impacting my athletic performance, but tonight feels celebratory.
She reaches for my hand and pulls me from the booth. I can feel the stares on us: the high school quarterback leaving with a high school dropout will definitely set tongues wagging. Everyone is famous in a small town. There’s no trace of my usual self-consciousness as I follow her out the door, though. I don’t think there’s anyone back in the diner who wouldn’t love to trade positions with me.
She breaks into an easy jog, not bothering to check that I’m following. But I definitely am, past the library and south to the empty lot that separates the school from the dollar store. The lot slopes downward slightly, angling towards a creek and the densely wooded area beyond so that it isn’t visible from the road. The lot once housed used vehicles but has since become an impromptu dumping ground for old appliances and other assorted junk. Charlie slows and sits down on a bench seat that seems to have been ripped from an old car, withdrawing the bottle from her purse. I settle down beside her, gratefully accepting a sip.
“Must’ve been quite the game tonight, Pete was raving about it when he got back.”
I’m disappointed that she didn’t personally witness it, but I’m sure Pete’s retelling did me justice. “Have you ever been to one of the games?”
“I used to go to all of them, but I haven’t been recently.”
I wonder why not. She doesn’t elaborate though, and I get the sense that I shouldn’t ask.
“Do you usually work Friday nights?” I already know that she doesn’t, but I’m searching for a way to change the subject.
“No, I had to pick up a shift for one of the other waitresses. Her baby daddy walked out a couple of days ago, and she didn’t have anyone to watch her kid.”
“How was the shift?”
“The usual. Getting paid a pittance to put up with unsupervised toddlers finger painting the tables with ketchup and then clean up the syringes their moms left in the bathroom.” It was meant as a joke, but I can’t muster a laugh. It hits a little too close to home.
She senses my discomfort and changes the subject. “How was your week?"
“It was good. Really good, actually.” I hadn’t been planning on telling her, or anyone, but I figure I can maybe get her to open up more by taking the lead. “I got invited for an official visit to the Tennessee Tech.”
Her breath hitches slightly. I can’t tell if she’s excited for me, or upset at the prospect of me leaving. Either way, it’s endearing. “Wow, congratulations. When are you going?”
“In a couple of weeks.”
“When did you find out?”
“On Wednesday.” I want to ask where she was that night, but it would imply a possessiveness that I don’t yet feel entitled to. I haven’t even officially asked her to be my girlfriend yet.
“You deserve it, Levi.” The way she says it is heartfelt in a way that I’ve never experienced before. It’s hard to be happy for others in a place where opportunities are so few and far between.
“Would you want to come with me?” I don’t know what prompted me to ask. I can’t imagine her wanting to traipse around the campus and go to a football game.
She doesn’t have to take any time to consider it. “I’d really like that,” she smiles.
Charlie leans in to kiss me, and I meet her halfway. We’ve only drained half the bottle of whiskey, but my movements feel slow and clumsy. Fumbling her shirt over her head and struggling with the button on her jeans. She takes pity on me, standing up to remove her clothes. She makes a show of it, bending over and slowly pulling one leg off and then the other. It’s a cloudy night, and the moon is only a sliver, so I can’t see much. Not nearly as much as I’d like. But it makes her touch that much more intense.
She straddles my lap, and I realize with a start that she isn’t wearing any underwear. That the only thing between me and her silky warmth is the thin material of the boxers I’m straining against. And then there’s nothing. She pulls me inside in a smooth movement and it’s sudden rapture. I’m not a virgin, but I feel like I am; I’ve never experienced sex like this. She clearly isn’t either based on the expertise with which she’s moving on top of me. There’s no performance to it, though. No loud moans or moves stolen from poorly produced pornos. She seems to be genuinely enjoying it as much as I am. But not thanks to anything being done on my part. I’m too entranced to do much more than grip her thighs and try to remember to keep breathing.
Then suddenly, she’s quivering around me, and I feel myself release with a groan more animalistic than human. It’s only then that I realize we’ve forgotten protection. She seems unfazed by it, breathing heavily as she relaxes on top of me. I don’t want to ruin the moment by bringing it up. I don’t think I could form a coherent sentence right now anyway.
We remain entwined for a while, our breathing synced: slow and contented. The temperature finally starts to drop to an appropriate level given that it’s now fall. She shivers slightly, reaching for her shirt. “I should get home.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
I watch her dress before donning my own clothes. The darkness prevents me from seeing much more than the outline of her figure, but I want to commit every inch of her to memory. There’s no way I’m ever going to top this night: an amazing game and an even more incredible girl. We walk slowly in the direction of her trailer, my arm enveloping her waist. I want to draw these last few minutes out as much as possible.
When we reach the end of her street, she turns to face me. “Thanks for tonight. For choosing me to celebrate with.”
“There isn’t anyone else I’d rather be with.” It’s a cheesy line, but I mean it honestly. I hope she knows that.
“Me neither. Good night, Levi.”
“Night, Charlie.”
I watch her walk down her drive and wait unti
l I see the front light turn on in the trailer, signaling her safe arrival, before heading back to my own place.
Chapter 7
“What time are we leaving tomorrow?”
It takes me a minute for the question to register. I’m intently focused on the biology problem in front of me, struggling to understand how the given genotype will manifest in observable traits.
“Um. I’ll pick you up at seven? I want to sit in on a mechanical engineering class that starts at nine.”
“Ok, sounds good. It’s curly hair, by the way.”
“What?”
Charlie points to the question I’d been staring at. We’ve been studying together almost daily for a month now, and her progress is evident, especially in biology. Despite her initial aversion to science, she’s grasping the genetics unit easily. Better than me, although I don’t want to admit it.
“Are you excited?”
“Mostly anxious.”
“Do you want to go through the team’s statistics or facts about the university again?” She’s been anticipating the university visit almost as much as I have, helping me pore over the school’s marketing materials. They sent me a heap of brochures about the various faculties, athletic programs, and financial aid opportunities when I accepted the visit.
I’m not a naturally gifted conversationalist any more than I’m a naturally gifted football player. If I’ve learned anything though, it’s that what I lack in innate talent, I can make up for in preparation and ambition. At least I hope that’s true.
“I think I’ve got it.”
“Of course you do. I can’t imagine anyone else being this prepared.”
“Thanks to you. I’m glad you’re coming with me tomorrow.” She’s a calming presence. And I’ll take any opportunity to spend more time with her.
“Me too. It’s probably the only time I’ll set foot on a university campus.”
Her self-deprecation bothers me. It’s not just an attempt to elicit a compliment, but a manifestation of more deep-seated insecurities. I’m all too familiar with self-doubt, but I’m learning how to channel it productively. “That’s not true; you’ll have your GED by the end of next year. Even sooner, if you want it. And you have savings from Pete’s. What’s stopping you from going to school?”
“Like you said, I’m making money at Pete’s. Soon I’ll have enough for a car, and I can go to the city where waitresses get paid better.”
“You could waitress on campus.”
She shrugs. I can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to press the issue. If the roles were reversed, I would be sick of talking about university too. She’s been remarkably supportive despite the repeated pouring of salt in the wound: I have the opportunity to go off and achieve everything I’ve dreamed of, while she’s stuck here.
“We should head out,” she suggests. “I know you probably want a good night’s sleep.”
I nod my agreement, following her out of the library to where my truck is parked. We’re both quiet on the short drive to her trailer. My silence can be attributed to my nerves about tomorrow, but I wonder about the reason for hers.
When we arrive at the end of her street, she gives me a quick peck, a stark contrast to our usual lingering makeouts, before hopping out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I wonder if this is what it’s going to be like from now on: her slowly pulling away as I get closer to leaving. I haven’t given much thought to what will happen to us when I leave. I haven’t wanted to. The idea of losing her almost makes me reconsider my desire to go to school, and I can’t allow myself to do that. I’m not nearly optimistic enough to think that I might be able to have both Charlie and university; that’s asking for way too much.
The trailer is dark when I return home, and my relief is almost tangible. The last thing I want is an altercation with Brandi ruining the anticipation of my visit tomorrow. I feel like a kid on the eve of a Disneyland trip: brimming with enthusiasm and unbridled energy. Or at least that’s what I imagine the pre-Disney feeling would be like; I’ve never been on a ride other than the rusty deathtraps at the annual county fair.
My anticipation prevents me from getting much sleep, so I’m awake well before my alarm goes off in the morning. I take my time carefully selecting my least frayed flannel, and attempting to comb my hair into submission. I stand in front of the mirror for almost twenty minutes, probably longer than I’ve stood there in the last month combined, critiquing my ragamuffin appearance. Hopefully, my ragged attire will be interpreted as the wardrobe of someone hard-working and deserving of the opportunity presented to me, rather than just disheveled. I got my hair cut at least, and I’m clean-shaven, which is a significant improvement from my usual appearance.
“Morning. You look handsome,” Charlie remarks. She’s already waiting when I pull up to the end of her street at seven, as promised. I’m not sure if she’s just saying that just to reassure me, but it does.
“You look great too.” I’m not saying it just to flatter her. She’s stunning in a white sundress under a denim jacket. The white of the dress is particularly striking against her tawny skin, still holding onto its summer glow.
She blushes. “I figured I should dress up. It’s a big occasion, I’ve never been outside the county before.”
“Me neither. I’m counting on you to navigate.” I hand her the map I picked up at the gas station on my way over.
“You’re putting more faith in me than you should”
Probably. But not in her navigation. “I highlighted the route. You just need to read the street signs.”
“I can handle that.” She orients herself while I pull on to the two-lane highway leading out of town. After a few minutes, the trailers and dilapidated bungalows give way to lush rolling hills and farmland. It’s ironic that such scenic, fertile surroundings could give rise to such scarcity.
“Have you ever thought about just driving and never coming back?” Charlie asks, clearly as engrossed in the surroundings as I am.
“All the time. I just don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Do you need somewhere? What if you didn’t have a plan for once, if you just took some cash and left?”
“I don’t have any cash,” I reply, not playing along with her. I’ve always been a planner, a goal-setter; I need to know where I’m going before setting foot out the door.
“Maybe you don’t need it. You have enough ambition to get wherever you want to go.”
I do have ambition, but I’m not capable of that level of spontaneity. Impulsiveness is a luxury only afforded to those with a bank account or an obscene amount of optimism to fall back on. I’ve only ever been one misstep away from being homeless. I don’t tell her that, though; it sounds too pitiful. “Ok. How about if I don’t get into university, we run away?”
I’m joking, but she frowns as if considering it. “Don’t say that. You have to get in.”
I do. Now more than ever. We’re getting close to the campus, the winding tree-lined highway giving way to car dealerships and Walmarts. The closer we get, the more certain I am that this is where I want to be. The further we drive into the city, the less forlorn the scenery: the cars here are newer and shinier, the houses neater, and the lawns actually landscaped.
I recognize the university immediately, even though I’ve only ever seen it in grainy brochure and website photos. It’s even more picturesque than I’d hoped: red brick buildings, a lush green quad, as many polo shirts as the marketing materials promised.
I distinctly remember when my desire to attend college manifested itself. I must have been nine or ten. Old enough to understand that, unlike the moms I watched on tv, the doting caregivers awaiting their children’s return from school with a smile and freshly baked cookies, Brandi would be awaiting me only with whiskey-breath and slurred insults. But not yet old enough to understand why she hated me so much.
I’d been haranguing her about going to summer camp; I’ve always been on the lookout for a
n opportunity to escape. Brandi explained to me in no uncertain terms that not only would I not be going to camp that summer, but that I wouldn’t be attending any other summer either. That I’d deprived myself of that opportunity by draining our financial resources and impeding Brandi from pursuing her career as a “dancer.” The only dancing she’s ever done was as a cheerleader for the football team, so she certainly wasn’t destined for Broadway. And she doesn’t have the tits to make anything more than minimum wage as a stripper. I was too young to point out either of these things at the time, though.
Instead of going to camp, I spent my summer pissed off and needlessly rebelling against her virtually nonexistent parenting by staying up all night watching movies. I don’t remember the title, or much of the plot, of the poorly-produced, vaguely inappropriate movie that introduced me to college life. However, I do recall thinking that it was basically summer camp for adults and resolving that I would figure out how to attend.
It turns out nine-year-old me was pretty accurate - it is like summer camp. Today is another unseasonably warm, sunny day and the quad is overrun by students milling around, chatting, and playing a myriad of sports. The only thing missing is a lake, which is a shame considering how hot it is. I’m not sure how Charlie’s surviving in her jean jacket; I’m already starting to sweat through my flannel. It could be just the nerves, though.
“I think the administration building is this way.” Charlie gestures to a building I recognize from one of the brochures.
A student is waiting out front when we approach. “Are you Levi?” he asks, holding out a hand for me to shake. It’s the firm shake of someone who spends a lot of time working out.
“Yeah. And this is Charlie.” He eyes her appreciatively, but not in a way that makes me uncomfortable. It’s impossible not to notice how pretty she is. Especially dressed up like that.
“Nice to meet you, Levi and Charlie. I’m Beau, your tour guide for the day. And hopefully, a future teammate.” I’m sure it’s a line the players use on all new recruits, but the thought of it thrills me nonetheless.
