by McLean, Jay
His heavy breath causes static through the speakers. “I kind of told the guys I’d—”
“I know,” I cut in. “And I don’t want you to change your plans. It’s fine, Connor. Honestly.”
“But I want to,” he says. “Shit. I told Oscar I’d give him a ride home.”
“Connor,” I laugh out. “It’s okay. You can’t be dropping your life because my mom randomly wants to see you.”
“Let me just eat, and I’ll ask one of the other guys to take Oscar home. I can be there in half an hour.”
“No, it’s—”
“Ava!” He almost shouts. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to. I want to see your mom, and you, too, I suppose, depending on what you’re wearing.”
“You’re a dick.”
“I know. I’ll see you soon, all right?”
“Okay. And Connor?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Twenty-six minutes later and Connor’s text comes through that he’s walking up the driveway. I open the door, anxious and apprehensive, and so I hide those feelings by sniffing him as he enters. “Mmm. Post-shower jock.”
He unzips his team jacket and hands it to me, smirking. “Add it to your collection, creep.”
I happily take it off his hands and throw it into my bedroom as we pass. It lands on my bed, and I contain my smile as I walk us to the living room. Mom’s sitting on the couch, and Connor flops down next to her, his arm resting behind her. “I heard you wanted to see me, Miss Diaz?” he says quietly.
Trevor watches from the doorway between the living room and kitchen, and I sit on the other couch, my heart racing. People fear what they don’t know, and I have no idea what’s about to happen. Connor though—he looks calm. Almost too calm. Maybe it’s the post-win adrenaline or the fact that she asked him here. Who the hell knows?
“Connor, six-five, but is hoping for a growth spurt,” Mom mumbles, lifting her gaze to him.
Connor’s perfect teeth show when he smiles at her.
I say, “It’s how she remembers things. Like, recollection words…”
Connor nods. “I know.” His eyes soften. “I got this, Ava. Relax.”
Mom stands, starts pacing, and Connor keeps his eyes on her. “Connor, six-five, but is hoping for a growth spurt,” she repeats.
“Did you have something you wanted to say to Connor, Mama Jo?” Trevor encourages.
Mom nods, taps at her temple. “In here,” she says, and she won’t stop pacing. “Connor, six-five, but is hoping for a growth spurt.”
Connor’s gaze flicks to me, and I mouth, “Sorry.”
He shakes his head, mouths back, “Shut up.”
I glare at him, but he’s too busy watching my mother. “Connor, six-five, but is hoping for a growth spurt,” she says again. Suddenly, she stops, her eyes wide. Her gaze snaps to Connor. “Weak jump shot.”
Trevor busts out a cackle, and I gasp, “Mama!”
Connor’s eyes are wide, but his mouth is wider. And then he smiles, the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on him. Shaking his head, his shoulders bouncing, he asks her, “You think I have a weak jump shot?”
Mom nods. “Weak.”
“Mama,” I admonish.
“No, Ava, it’s fine,” Connor assures. “How is it weak?” he asks her, that smile still in place.
Trevor—he’s lost it. His hands are on his stomach, his eyes watering from laughing so hard.
Mom tells him, “Posture.”
Connor gets to his feet, all six-five, but is hoping for a growth spurt of him. “Posture?”
“Yes, posture.”
“Posture?” Connor repeats.
Mom shakes her head, looks up at him. “Are you deaf? I said it twice.”
Connor busts out a laugh, then looks over at me. “Damn, now I know where you get it from.”
“Jump shot weak,” Mom says. “Posture wrong.”
Connor rolls his shoulders back, his spine straightening. “All right, Miss D. Show me what I’m doing wrong.”
Mom nods. “Okay.”
Connor stands in the middle of my living room, adjusting his limbs to mimic what I assume is his jump shot. Legs apart, ass out, arms raised. “What’s wrong with this?” he asks her.
She walks around him, her pointer finger tapping her chin as she assesses him.
“This is gold,” Trevor says, phone raised in front of him as he takes a picture. And then five more.
I’d be embarrassed… if it wasn’t so endearing. I mean, the boy of my dreams, an All-American who just got in to what might possibly be the best basketball college in the nation is standing in my living room allowing my mother to give him tips on his jump shot. Sigh. It’s kind of adorable.
Mom uses her foot to distance the space between Connor’s feet. “Better,” she says and starts walking circles around him again. She stops at his right arm—his shooting arm—and adjusts his elbow, then lifts her amputated limb. “Ugh,” she huffs. “Sometimes I forget it’s gone.”
Connor smiles down at her.
“Ava!” she shouts.
I stand. “Yes, Mama?”
“Hold his arm.” She taps his bicep. “Right here.”
I stand in front of him, grasp his arm where Mom said, and roll my eyes when he flexes his muscles. He smirks down at me, and dammit, I can’t help my body’s reaction to him—to being this close to him. I remember the way he felt when his entire body was covering mine, skin on skin. The way every muscle shifted when he moved down, down, down, until his shoulders rested beneath my thighs, the way his neck—“Ava,” Connor whispers. “You’re blushing.”
I choke on air and come back to reality. “Shut up.”
Mom angles Connor’s forearm closer to his head. “Like that.”
“Like this?” Connor asks, then mimics taking his shot. “Huh.” He stands to full height again, dropping his arms to his sides. “I’ll have to try it.”
“Yes.” Mom nods. “Try it, and when it works, credit me.”
Connor laughs. “Absolutely, Miss D.”
Mom pats his arm. “Connor, six-five, but is hoping for a growth spurt. I’m going to sleep. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Miss Diaz.”
I ask her, “Do you need me to—”
“No,” Mom interrupts. “You stay. Help him with his weak jump shot.” She goes into her room and closes the door behind her.
Trevor says, “That’s the most entertained I’ve been in years.” Then, following Mom’s lead, he goes to his room and closes the door behind him, leaving just me and Connor and, apparently, his weak jump shot.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice low. “I had no idea that’s why she wanted to see you.”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind. Honestly, it was fun. She seems like she’s doing a lot better.”
“She is. We just worry about how long it’ll last, you know?”
Nodding, he looks around the room. “Well, I’m here now…”
“You are.” I try to hide my nerves. “Do you want to—”
“Yes,” he cuts in.
I laugh. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Whatever it is, yes.”
I switch on the TV and motion to the couch. “Do you want a drink?”
He sits down, his eyes on mine. “Sure.”
“Water?”
“Thanks.”
I head to the kitchen, and when I glance back at him, he hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. I return with his water. “I’ll be back,” I tell him, going to my room to throw on a sweatshirt. I notice his team jacket on my bed, and figure, fuck it. I slip it on. Sniff it. Yum. When I re-enter the living room, he has the glass to his lips, his entire body frozen except for his eyes. His eyes follow me all the way until I’m sitting next to him, my legs bent beneath me. He tilts the glass, downs the entire thing in two gulps. Then he leans back, throws his arm behind me on the couch. “You know that jacket’s got my name on the back.”
> “It does?”
He nods. “Kind of makes you mine now.”
Chapter 14
Ava
I woke up this morning in bed, covers up to my chin, with Connor’s jacket still on. Which wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that the last thing I remember was sitting on the couch with Connor’s arms around me, my head on his chest, while his hand consistently found a new strand of hair to twirl between his fingers. I remember looking up at him to see him already watching me, and just like that silent moment we shared on my porch, a million unspoken words flitted between us, and the one thought that stood out the most was: I am in trouble. Deep, soul-shattering, trouble.
I don’t remember falling asleep, and I sure as hell don’t remember waking up to go to my room. When my alarm went off, I rushed out to the living room, thinking he might be there, but he wasn’t. The TV was off, the blanket was folded up on the couch, and his empty glass of water was washed and put away… and I haven’t heard from him since.
The only thing I know for sure is that going by what happened last night, it seems the doctors have finally found the right balance of medication for my mom that helps her get through the night while being able to maintain decent human functionality during the day. I’m so grateful for that because it means I get a little bit of my mother back.
“We’re off,” I tell her, kissing her on the cheek.
She looks up from the customized crossword puzzle she’s working on. “Have a good day, sweetheart.”
“I can’t wait for you to get your license,” Trevor says, slipping on his shoes by the front door.
“I can’t wait for you to start teaching me,” I retort.
“That’s a hard pass.” He grabs his keys. “I don’t have the patience for your stubborn ass.”
Mom laughs.
“Mama!” I whine. “Don’t take his side.”
“He has a point though,” Mom says through a giggle. “And your brother is the most patient man I know.”
“Thanks, Mama Jo,” Trevor says, standing taller. “See you tonight.” He closes the door after us and then just stands on the porch, his gaze distant. “I don’t think your mom’s ever called me your brother before,” he murmurs.
“Sure, she has.”
He shakes his head. “Not in front of me.”
I stop at the bottom of the porch steps and look up at him. “Is that bad?”
“No,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “It’s cool, I guess. Makes me feel like I’m part of the family.”
“Of course, you are.”
He shrugs. “No, it always felt like you and her, and I was… I don’t know.”
I shrug. “I tell people you’re my brother.”
“Yeah, but that’s different,” he says, making his way down to me.
“How?”
“Because that’s the way it’s always been.” His gaze shifts past me. “Hey, it’s Connor.” He whistles, short and sharp. “Can you give my sister a ride?”
“No!” I whisper-yell, punching his shoulder.
He fakes hurt. “What?”
I keep my voice low. “I’m not…”
“You’re not what?”
“Not…” Ready to deal with my emotions just yet.
“You coming?” Connor shouts.
“Yeah!” Trevor answers for me, then runs to his truck and slams the door shut, locking himself in from the inside.
I internally groan, walk down my driveway, and meet Connor on the sidewalk. “Sorry. I guess his lazy ass didn’t want to go out of his way.”
Connor opens my door for me. “I don’t mind.”
“You sure?” I ask, and because I’m a brat, I add, “The last time I asked for a ride, it didn’t end well.”
He heaves out a sigh. “God, you’re a smartass.”
After helping me get in his truck, I tell him, “You were kind of mean to me that day.”
He shuts the door and makes his way to his side. Then he reaches into the back seat, reveals a can of deodorant, and sprays me with it. “Get over it.”
“Connor!” I wind down his window.
He sprays me again.
“Stop!” I laugh out.
“Are you done sulking?”
“I didn’t sulk. You did! Boo hoo. I can’t be friends with you because—”
“Because being around you drove me crazy in all the best possible ways, and it still does, but the difference between you and me? I quit sulking about it. Are you done?”
I growl at him.
He rolls his eyes, sprays me one more time, then throws the deodorant somewhere behind him. He offers me his pinky. “Truce?”
I link my finger with his. “Truce.”
Once we get to school, we walk together to Miss Turner’s office before he goes off to practice. “I’ll see you in multimedia?” he asks.
Grinning, I nod before entering her office. “Ava,” Miss Turner greets, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting. I have some news…”
Connor
Multimedia class has us working in different groups, and so I don’t get to speak to Ava as much as I want to. Or need to, really.
I’m a goner.
For real.
And I’m not even mad about it.
As soon as the end-of-period bell sounds, I rush to her side and wait until we’re out of the room to ask, “Did you want to have lunch together today?”
She leans against the wall just outside the door, her eyes lifting to mine. “I can’t.” I try to hide my disappointment, but she sees it anyway. Her hand goes to my chest and then drops quickly… as if habit put it there and self-doubt forced it away. She adds, looking down at the floor, “I have a makeup test that I need to take, and I don’t know how long it will go for. I don’t want you waiting on me.”
I shrug. “I’d wait.”
“Hey, Connor,” says a girl walking past.
“What’s up?” I respond without taking my eyes off Ava.
Ava’s lips tick at the corners. “Fan of yours?”
I shake my head, offer another shrug. “I have no idea who that was.”
“Right.” She tugs on my sleeve. “If you’re free after school, I could use a ride home.”
“Can’t. I have back-to-back practice.”
“Sucks.”
“But after that, I can come to your house if you want.”
“We’ll see.”
My brows knit. “What does that mean?”
It’s her turn to shrug. Kicking off the wall, she moves an inch closer. “What happened last night?”
I bite back a smile. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know… one minute I was sitting on the couch with you, and the next I was tucked into bed all cozy and warm.”
“And?”
“Did you carry me to my bed?”
I nod.
“That’s a little embarrassing.”
“Nah,” I assure. “You were kind of adorable. Though you did drool all over my weenus again.”
A gasp sounds from the open door of the classroom, and Miss Salas is there, her eyes wide. “I would watch what you talk about at school, young man!”
Ava’s giggle dies in her throat.
“I think you may have misheard me, Miss Salas,” I say.
The teacher’s brow drops in fury. “Shouldn’t you two be in class?”
“Oh shit,” Ava laughs, looking around us.
I do the same.
The corridors are empty.
Ava taps my shoulder. “See you later, stud.”
I watch Ava walk away for longer than I should, then glance over at Miss Salas still standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. I give her that panty-melting smile Ava used to talk about. “Any chance of getting a late pass?”
* * *
I pick at the food on my lunch tray, wondering how shitty of a person I would be if I offered to pay Ava to start bringing my lunches to school. It sounds like a fool
proof plan, but it wouldn’t work for two reasons. One: I’d almost be forcing her to talk to me, and two: I have no money.
“There’s, like, almost 4 billion women in the world, and let’s assume 3 billion of those are over eighteen,” Mitch says, and I don’t know where he’s going with this, but I already want out of the conversation. “That’s like, 6 billion legal boobs.”
“Jesus,” I mumble, dropping my fork and pushing away my tray.
Next to me, Karen murmurs, more to herself than anyone else, “Why do I sit here?”
“Because you can’t resist me,” Mitch says, blowing her a kiss.
Karen rolls her eyes at the same time her phone vibrates on the table. “Thank God,” she whispers, answering the call. “Hey, Ava.”
“What? It’s Ava?” That was me, not being subtle. I try to listen in on the phone call, but Karen shoves my face away, then holds the phone to her other ear. “Yeah, of course.”
My eyebrows kick up.
“I’ll be there soon.”
She stands, her chair scraping behind her. “Later, fuckwads.”
“Wait!” I stand, too. “Is Ava okay?”
“Girlgency. Mind your own business!”
Ava
“Hey, girl!” Karen calls out, climbing the bleacher steps, just like Connor used to do. I sit taller when I hear her and put my phone away, ignoring Connor’s message asking if I’m okay.
I’m not okay.
And he can’t be the person to help me through it.
I say, “Sorry to call you. I hope you weren’t busy.”
Rolling her eyes, she sits down next to me. “I was just about to punch Mitch in the face for the third time today, so no, not busy at all, and never too busy for you. What’s going on?”
“It’s stupid,” I admit, regret filling me. I had a moment of panic and thought it would be a good idea to reach out to someone who might actually be able to help me. But now that she’s here, I can’t form the words.
“Ava,” she deadpans. “Spill it.”
