Eyes on Me

by Rachel Harris

  A few minutes later, the fire truck’s siren ended the party. After doling out beads and uneaten candy to the kids around us, Angéla and I headed for the grocery store parking lot where the floats were gathering.

  Heat from the blacktop seeped through the soles of my shoes. My ears rang from the noise of the parade, and my stomach was still happily digesting my delicious churro. I couldn’t swipe the smile from my face.

  We passed a stand selling deep-fried Oreos, and Angéla’s eyes widened with longing.

  “Girl!” I laughed, pulling her away. “You can’t be serious. You’re like a bottomless pit.”

  “Eh, fat and happy ain’t the worst way to live.”

  I grinned at the truth of her words. “You got a little drool,” I teased, wiping at the corner of my mouth. “Right there.” She stuck out her tongue, and I shook my head. “All I can say is thank God you’re a dancer. If you weren’t, we’d have to roll you down the street.”

  Angéla opened her mouth, presumably prepared with a witty comeback, but her eyes darted beyond my shoulder. A deep voice rumbled near my ear, “Don’t look now, but someone’s enjoying herself.”

  A shiver that defied the weather swept over me, and I turned to find Stone’s arrogant smirk in full force.

  “I can admit I’m having fun.” The confident grin widened, so of course I had to shoot it down. “But I hate to tell you, the festival has nothing to do with high school. It’s simply part of living in Cypress Lake.”

  I held out my arms, indicating the familiar colors, sounds, and smells around us, and felt the truth in my words settle over me. This was a part of living here—or at least it had been until Mom died.

  A wave of homesickness rolled over me, and my hands fell to my sides. Stone’s smile dimmed. His eyebrows knitted together, and I blinked away the memories, shoving them back in the drawer with the others.

  “So, what’s the plan now?” Chase asked, sliding up next to Angéla. Aidan and Robbie came over, too, with Cameron and Ashley hot on their heels. Oh joy. “Hit up rides or stuff our faces?”

  The sweat dampening my hair trickled down my back. More than the heat, I felt claustrophobic standing in the middle of a group consisting of one guy I sort of knew, two I didn’t, one girl I’d kind of befriended, two others who hated me, and Stone. The complicated guy who equally challenged and confused me. My face flushed as my pulse drummed in my ears, my breathing started to spike, and a dreaded tingle danced along my spine.

  Oh God. Please not here.

  I closed my eyes as a familiar emotion tightened my chest…and then, someone took my hand. Glancing down, I saw Stone’s long, tanned fingers wrapped around mine. It wasn’t romantic. He didn’t graze his thumb over my palm, or gaze into my eyes and declare undying love. He simply held my hand, giving me a bit of his strength, whether he’d known I needed it or not.

  My heart rate calmed in my chest, and the rushing wave of panic subsided.

  “I don’t know about you losers,” he said, grinning to show he was teasing, “but Lily and I are gonna explore the festival. We’ll catch up with you later.”

  The looks of surprise from the group almost matched my own.

  Angéla’s eyes widened, and her lips stretched in a smile so wide it was a wonder her cheeks didn’t hurt. Ashley looked like she’d smelled something foul, and Cameron just stared at our hands, her eyes slightly narrowed as if she could make them fly apart simply by wishing it. As for Chase and Robbie, they quickly recovered and started talking about where they were headed next, and Aidan’s forehead wrinkled in concern as he watched Stone tug me away.

  Me? I was still trying to catch up.

  “So, what do you want to do?” Stone asked, releasing my hand to grab a discarded water bottle. I curled my fingers into my tingling palm as he tossed it in the trash and gestured toward the festival. “Hit the rides, or are you more of a gaming girl?”

  “Er…” I motioned behind me. “You sure you don’t want to hang with your friends? I wouldn’t mind.”

  That was technically a lie. I’d mind a whole lot if I was expected to hang out with the group, too, but it was perfectly okay if he wanted to ditch me for the others. In fact, it was preferable.

  “Nah. I can see them anytime.” He waved at a little boy who called his name. “I invited you out here, and we didn’t get to hang on the float.” Stone slid a playful look my way. “I bet you’re the type who plans everything, right? You probably had a schedule mapped out with studying or something today, huh?”

  I scowled, neither confirming nor denying, and his eyes crinkled in amusement.

  “Well, if you could pencil me in for a couple hours, I’d like to check out the festival with my new dance partner.”

  “You mean try to convince her you’re right about the dare,” I countered drily, and he smiled.

  “That, too.” Stone laughed, a light, happy sound that unleashed his dimples with a two-ton punch.

  The guy from Ilusiòn was back. The QB mask was gone, left on the float, and although I did have a schedule planned, just then I couldn’t think of a single thing on it more important than figuring out why he was different with me.

  Was I so unattractive he didn’t feel the need to impress me? Or was it because he’d seen my stupid underwear and horrid dance moves, so he figured I had no room to judge? Maybe it was because I knew squat about sports. Whatever the reason, Stone Torres, invincible football god, chose to relax with me. Just for this afternoon, I’d accept that like the gift he may or may not have intended.

  A bright red balloon slipped from a festival sign, and I lifted my eyes as it floated lazily into the sky. An idea came to me, and I grinned.

  “Hope you didn’t eat recently,” I said, already increasing my pace and leaving him in the dust. “Because I believe the Tilt-a-Whirl has our names written all over it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Stone

  The metal stairs were unsteady beneath my feet as I gingerly exited Lily’s favorite ride. The nickname Iron Stomach had taken on a whole new meaning.

  “You,” I said, pausing to hold a fist over my mouth. I closed my eyes and breathed through a wave of nausea, then slowly dropped my hand. “You were messing with me back there, weren’t you?”

  She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows devilishly. “Maybe.” Dancing down the steps like she hadn’t just done everything in her power to make our steel death trap spin like a damn top, she taunted, “Aw, don’t tell me the big, tough football man can’t handle a little ride. It wasn’t spinning that fast.”

  I shot her a look that called bullshit and swallowed down another wave of bile.

  Lily bumped my shoulder. “My dad used to get sick, too. Mom and I would lean from side to side, trying to make it go faster and faster, and he’d fuss and complain the entire time.” Her slender shoulders shook with a small laugh. “Didn’t stop him from riding it with us, though.”

  At the mention of her dad, I looked away, feigning interest in the crowd. Earlier this week, Ma finally told me about Mrs. Bailey. How she’d loved dancing at the studio, even while battling fatigue from chemo and radiation, and how she’d worn colorful scarves on her head and bright, flowy skirts that contrasted with her pale skin and gaunt features. She said she’d never seen a woman more beautiful or strong.

  Lily’s mom’s cancer explained a lot. It explained why her dad was so protective and why she was so closed-off. I couldn’t imagine losing one of my parents. The fear I’d felt when Angéla had been sick still knotted my stomach, and remembering that, I reached out to take Lily’s hand.

  She looked at me, curious, and I asked, “What else did you like doing?”

  “At the festival?” I nodded, and her forehead wrinkled in thought. “We were total dorks,” she said, lifting her shoulder before a playful smile twisted her lips. “Clearly, Dad and I still are, but back then we rode the typical silly rides you’d expect—the Ferris wheel, the merry-go-round… I always rode the mermaid,” she confided with
a serious expression. “Dad rode the frog because he knew they freaked me out and he loved hearing me squeal. After that, he’d hit up the hot dog eating contest.”

  The imposing image of the man I’d met didn’t compute with a fun-loving guy riding frogs and eating his weight in pork products. But I was glad to hear not all of Lily’s memories revolved around throw-up rides.

  Wanting to keep the playful look on her face, I lifted my shirt to expose my flat stomach. “Can’t do the hot dogs, I’m afraid. I’m in training.” Her eyes fell to my abs and stayed there. Unable to help myself, I slowly dropped my shirt back in place, grinning when her eyes drifted back to mine. “But I’m man enough to handle a frog. Especially if you hold my hand through it.”

  Lily rolled her eyes, waving the hand I still held. “Kinda already doing that, bud.” She scrunched her nose. “Speaking of which, you realize people are gonna get the wrong idea if you keep touching me.”

  I looked around, wondering who was watching me now, and didn’t see anyone. “We’re just hanging out.” Though, now that she mentioned it, I did grab her hand or touch her arm a lot. I’d done it back at the float, too. I wasn’t hitting on her. Lily was a pretty girl, but I was officially on a break. My family had always been touchy-feely, and now that we’d danced together a couple times, it was probably normal for me to be this comfortable around her. I shoved the thought away. “Besides, no one’s paying attention.”

  Lily made a face, as if she didn’t quite believe that, but then her attention shifted to the side, and her big blue eyes lit up behind her lenses. I turned to see what was so fascinating, and when I spotted the Quarterback Toss, my own smile broke free.

  “Oh, hell yeah,” I said, tugging her toward the stand. “You’re on.”

  She pulled back on my hand, dragging her feet. “Who said I wanted to play?”

  “Your Katy Perry eyes sold you out,” I told her, weaving around a mom with five kids. They each had their faces painted like demons and held a bag of cotton candy. The woman was either insane or a saint. “Don’t try to act like you’re not chomping at the bit to kick my ass at something, either. You’re as competitive as I am.”

  Lily craned an eyebrow, not denying it, and let me lead her to the game.

  A folk band was on the main stage, and as the twang of dueling banjos washed over the crowd, I couldn’t help feeling smug. So far, everything was going to plan. Lily had agreed to stay in lessons for a month, and I’d caught her having fun several times already. This was only day one. Who knew what I could accomplish in the next thirty.

  “Next player,” called the carnie, and we stepped forward in line. The guy appraised us from under a Gone Fishin’ trucker hat pulled low over wispy, graying hair. He sucked his teeth over the pinch of chew in his rounded cheek, turned to me, and said, “Three tickets.”

  “Uh, excuse me,” Lily huffed. “Why did you assume he was the one playing? We’re having a friendly competition here, and I’m about to settle it. My dad used to love this game.” She bumped me out of the way with her hip and handed over her tickets. “Ladies first, right?”

  I waved her on, biting back a smile. “Be my guest. Though, I feel I should remind you this is the Quarterback Toss.” At her blank stare of and your point is, I added, “I don’t exactly suck at that.”

  “Or maybe you simply have really good catchers,” she replied saucily, and the guy behind me coughed to cover his laugh.

  “Receivers,” I corrected with an amused grin. Folding my arms, I leaned back and looked at her, trying to figure out if she was messing with me. “Last year I had three hundred and twenty completions and threw for over forty-six hundred yards.”

  The carnie whistled, and I lifted my chin in recognition.

  Lily looked between us. “Is that good?”

  I laughed out loud and handed over a football. Well, we’d proven one thing: Lily couldn’t care less about my stats and didn’t know jack about the game. It was actually refreshing. Also, annoying.

  Lily squeezed the ball between her hands and eyed up the target. The cartoonish image on the background showed a receiver in the red zone with his arms extended and a defensive back closing in. A net cut into the fabric above his hands waited for the ball.

  Gripping the football in her right hand, she slid her index finger on the nose. I winced. “You should really—”

  She silenced me with a look, and I sighed, taking a step back with my hands lifted.

  Walking right up to the line, Lily palmed the ball and raised it to her ear. Elbow down, eyes narrowed, she planted her feet and twisted her hips. It physically hurt to watch. Exhaling her breath with what could only be described as a kiai!, she slung the ball forward, mouth open and face snarling, releasing it way too late and dropping her arm with absolutely no follow-through.

  The wounded duck jackhammered into the ground. Lily jumped back, slamming into my ribs with her pointy elbow while her hands slapped against her mouth in surprise.

  “Oops,” she muttered between splayed fingers.

  I buried my face in her hair to stop from laughing.

  Damn, what was it about this girl? Every time I saw her, she cracked me up. Seriously, I hadn’t laughed this much in years, and that was saying something, since my best friend was a buffoon. I guessed I’d grown immune to Chase’s antics over the years, but Lily…she surprised me.

  “It’s harder than it looks,” I assured her, or at least, I tried to assure her. The chuckle I couldn’t keep from escaping probably didn’t help. I cleared my throat. “You sure you don’t want any pointers?”

  Lily craned her neck to look at me. Cheeks flushed, she slid her hands down to her chin, revealing a self-deprecating grin. “I think I found something I’m worse at than dancing.”

  “Nah.” I smiled and squeezed her shoulders. “Your dancing is coming along, and like I said, throwing a football is harder than it looks. It’s not as simple as lobbing it across a field. It’s all in how you hold it, how you position your feet, where you point your elbow, and when and how you release it. If anyone could do it, the NFL wouldn’t be a multibillion-dollar organization. And it wouldn’t be my potential ticket to college.”

  “Touché,” she said with a begrudging smile. Sighing, she glanced at the line forming and wrinkled her nose. “But I, uh, think you can save the throwing lesson for another day. The natives are getting restless. Besides, I’m willing to concede defeat on this one.” She bent and picked up a second football, then tossed it at me. “It’s our dare I’m focused on winning.”

  “Dream on, sweet cheeks,” I replied, positioning my fingers in between the laces. “You’re going down on both counts.”

  Falling back a few steps, I dropped into position, keeping my grip firm and in my fingertips. The noise of the crowd, the tantalizing smell of funnel cake, and the solid earth beneath my feet disappeared as I zeroed in on the target. This was my home. It was what I was good at.

  Two throws and two perfectly placed spirals later, I handed Lily a pair of purple fuzzy dice amid enthusiastic applause. “For being a good sport,” I said, walking away from the stand and nodding at the people gathered. In hindsight, it probably looked douchey throwing a football at a kid’s game, especially while wearing my jersey. Oh well. “And because Chase would give me shit if I rolled up with those things hanging from my rearview mirror.”

  She laughed. “Well, we can’t let that happen now, can we?” She swung the dice like a lasso and grinned. “Thank you, kind sir, I accept your generous gift. It so happens purple is my favorite color, and these will look awesome in Debbie.”

  I shot her a look. “Debbie?”

  “My car,” she explained. Right. Because everyone named their car. “Actually, Debbie is my mom’s car that I inherited. It’s a vintage-red Camry she used to say was classic, bubbly, and spunky, just like her favorite actress, Debbie Reynolds.” Lily smiled at the ground. “God, my mom loved musicals. She used to dance in the kitchen, pretending to be Ginger Rogers, and we
always jammed out to ‘I Ain’t Down Yet’ while driving around.”

  “I’m guessing that’s a song title?” I asked, and she nodded distractedly.

  She kicked at a tuft of grass, and her eyebrows drew together. “She’s been acting up lately. The car, I mean. More than usual. The ALT warning light came up on the dashboard this morning, and it’s been getting iffy about starting. I’ll have to take it in to get looked at, but I couldn’t say anything to my dad before he left. He’s wanted to trade in Debbie for a while, and this would only tip him over the edge.” Glassy eyes met mine, and she bit her lip. “I can’t lose another part of my mom.”

  Heaviness tightened my chest. I couldn’t imagine going through something like that, and seeing her so upset made me feel helpless. I wasn’t great with words, and I couldn’t bring her mom back. What I could do was let her know she wasn’t alone. Reaching out, I offered what little I could and took her hand again, sliding my thumb across her satiny skin. Her long, thin fingers clamped around mine, and I pulsed a squeeze.

  We walked in silence after that, people-watching and checking out the various tents filled with jewelry, lawn signs, and homemade jam. Lily nodded politely as the craftsmen tried to entice her with random trinkets, but a touch of sadness clung to her, stooping her shoulders and dimming her smile. I didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t the mood I’d wanted for today.

  “Tell me something real,” she said softly a little while later. We’d looped back around to the rides and were in line for the Ferris wheel. I was still searching for a way to lift the mood.

  “What do you mean?”

  She leaned her back against the temporary gate. “I don’t know. It’s just…do you ever feel like the world can be all flash and no substance?” She pursed her lips and glanced back toward the tents. “Ever since Mom died, I’ve noticed how rare it is for people to be honest anymore. To be real. So many people act like those vendors out there, pasting on sunny smiles and only showing the best parts of themselves, except instead of trinkets and snacks, they sell filtered images and edited statuses.”