Playing Defense (Corrigan Falls Raiders)

by Cate Cameron

  “What are my best interests, Annalise?” I waited a moment, then said, “Really, I want to know. You and I have been friends for years, so you must know me pretty well, right? So you tell me—what are my best interests?”

  “You want to be an engineer,” she said firmly. “So whatever makes that more likely to happen is in your best interest.”

  “Okay, that’s one thing. But what else?”

  She stared at me like she didn’t understand.

  “Am I just an engineering robot? I do my work, then plug myself in to recharge and start work again the next day? Is that my best interest?”

  “Your marks this semester are crucial—” she started, but I cut her off.

  “My marks are excellent. Way higher than required. I really don’t need to worry about my marks.”

  “They’re excellent now. But if you let yourself be distracted, they might not stay that way.”

  “They will. I’m…” I shook my head. “Annalise, I am still me. I still care about school, and I’m still working at it. I’m just doing other stuff, too.”

  I think we both had more to say, but Karen arrived, and then the bell rang for class and Ms. Coyne started handing back poems that we’d turned in on Friday. “I invite any of you to share your writing with the class on Wednesday,” she announced. “We’ll have to keep it short and intense—no more than a couple minutes per student.” That was clearly directed at Annalise, although Ms. Coyne was kind enough to not look in her direction as she said it. “But I’ve written comments on a few poems urging their authors to share. These are poems that I felt were of high quality, but also poems that seemed as if they would speak to other students in the class.”

  She laid my assignment down on my desk then, and made eye contact with me as she tapped the PLEASE share note on the top corner.

  I looked away, and that was when Karen leaned over and saw the note. She grinned, clearly happy for me but also strangely triumphant. Then she mouthed the word “challenge,” and nodded in satisfaction.

  I wanted to refuse. I was shy enough speaking in front of people about math or science, things that were just facts and theories. A poem, though? I’d done what Ms. Coyne had asked and tried to really look inside myself and put part of me on the paper. And my reward for trying so hard was public humiliation?

  I realized that Annalise was staring at my page. She’d seen the note, and I was pretty sure she hadn’t gotten one herself. I mean, no matter how good her writing was, I really didn’t think it would speak to the class, not unless they were secretly a lot more interested in elves than I’d ever noticed.

  And maybe it was petty—well, no, definitely it was petty—but I was still pissed at her for going behind my back and talking to my mom. Annalise was so concerned about my grades and about me not taking school seriously? Then I guess she wouldn’t want me to pass up a chance like this, an opportunity to earn some brownie points with the teacher.

  “Fine,” I whispered to Karen.

  She beamed at me. “And you’ve got to really give it, you know? Like, don’t just read in a monotone. You need to perform that bad boy!”

  Okay, that had not been whispered, and the kids around us were laughing. But it was fine, somehow. They were laughing at what Karen had said, but not in a mean way. And somewhere I found the courage to primly say, “My poem is not a bad boy. It’s just misunderstood.” And then people were laughing at what I’d said, and it felt really, really good.

  I knew Annalise was staring at me, and I could tell she disapproved. She’d think I was being fake. But I wasn’t. I was performing, maybe, but I was also showing off a part of me that people didn’t usually see. Chris thought I was funny; we laughed a lot when were together. And he’d given me the courage to share that part of myself more widely, and people liked it.

  I liked it. I let myself laugh a little. Then I looked down at the poem in front of me and my happiness changed to something quieter. Determination. I was going to read—no, I was going to perform my poem on Wednesday. That was my challenge. My next opportunity to be awesome.

  I wanted to do it. But first I wanted to tell Chris all about it.

  …

  I actually understood what was going on in math class. Not all of it, maybe, but the times when I was confused there was always someone else lost, too, so I didn’t feel too bad. The whole thing was weird, but good. I could actually learn stuff in class instead of just sitting there killing time and thinking up the best way to get cows into the staff room.

  Still, I wasn’t sorry when the bell rang and I could go find Claudia. She was at her locker, talking to Oliver, and I managed to play it sort-of cool, leaning down and kissing the top of her head instead of tackling her to the ground and rubbing all over her. So I was pretty proud of myself.

  “This Wednesday,” Oliver told me. “From seven to ten o’clock at the downtown community center. Can you come?”

  “I’ve got a ten o’clock curfew all this week. So I could go as long as we can leave early. But I’ve got practice until probably six thirty, and then I need to eat something, and…I don’t know, am I supposed to, like, get dressed up? Gay guys like getting dressed up, right?”

  “Yes, the gay monolith is in favor of formal wear,” Oliver snarked, but it was lost on me because I didn’t know what a monolith was.

  “So I could be ready by seven thirty or so if you want me regular, or maybe a bit later if you want me pretty.”

  “You know we’re not actually dating, right? You don’t have to pretend to be gay.” His face froze. “Oh my God, you weren’t going to pretend to be gay, were you? That would be so uncool. No, no, no…”

  “Relax. I wasn’t going to.” I grinned at him. “How could you ever meet anybody if I was drawing all the cute boys to me? I’d better not dress up, either. Unfair advantage.”

  Oliver squinted at me, then turned to Claudia. “I’m honestly not sure this is a good idea.”

  “I’ve thought it was madness from the start. But you said you didn’t want a babysitter…”

  He gave me another doubtful look. “You better behave.”

  “I will,” I promised.

  When we went into the cafeteria to eat, there was a bit of a tug-of-war between my friends and Claudia’s. She was having some sort of fight with the book girl, though, so there was really only Oliver on her side, which made it easy to drag them both over to eat at the hockey table. Oliver seemed a little uncertain, but I told him if anyone had a problem with my boyfriend they had a problem with me, too, and he calmed down a little.

  Claudia told me about her new challenge and let me read the poem, then we went to the library and worked on chemistry before going to class together. I kept waiting to get sick of her. Well, not sick of her, but…well, yeah, kind of. Sick of her. That’s what would have happened with other girls I’d dated. If I’d spent that much time with one of them, most of it talking, not messing around or anything? I’d have been looking for a break, for sure. But with Claudia I had to force myself to leave her behind and go to practice.

  We talked on the phone for a while that night but didn’t get together. We went through the same routine on Tuesday, and then on Wednesday when she left her locker and started toward English class I walked right along with her. She gave me a weird look. “You lost?”

  “I asked Ms. Coyne if I could sit in. My geography teacher doesn’t care if I’m late. I want to see you be awesome. Is that okay?”

  “I was nervous enough already!”

  “I don’t have to stay. But can I?”

  She frowned. “You have to sit at the back with Tyler. And you can’t say anything, or embarrass me at all. Okay?”

  “So I shouldn’t lead the standing ovation, but is it okay if I join in?”

  “You may be building this up a bit bigger than it actually is.”

  “Nah,” I said, and gave her a quick kiss for luck in the hallway before going inside and finding a seat beside Tyler. There was a little warm-up chat fr
om the teacher, lots of stuff about poetry making words come alive and that sort of thing, and then she said, “Okay, we have some poems to hear. Claudia, probably best if you go first so Mr. Winslow doesn’t miss too much of his own class.”

  That’s right. I was there for Claudia. Announce it to the world, make sure all the guys know she’s off the market. I grinned at her, and she scowled back, but she was just nervous.

  Damn, she was really nervous. She went to the front of the room and stood there staring at the paper in her hands, which was shaking so much I wasn’t sure she was going to be able to read off it. There was a second when I was pretty sure she was going to bolt, which meant it was good I was there so I could go after her, but then she took a deep breath, looked back and locked eyes with me, and said, “Choices.”

  She let the word sit there for a while, and I thought maybe she was having stage fright but then realized it was part of the performance. She was giving us time to think about the word.

  Then she started up again and it didn’t sound like she was reciting a poem. It was more like she was just talking, but with all the right words coming, and saying something she really meant.

  “Robert Frost had two paths and choosing the right one made all the difference. All the difference. But I don’t see two paths, I see two million. Is one of them right? Just one? Which is less traveled? Will the less-traveled one be right for me? Was it even right for Robert Frost? How could he know?” Her voice had been building in intensity, like she was getting more worked up as she went, then she stopped and the whole room was silent. Her voice was quiet again when she said, “I also have promises to keep, and miles to go. Miles of winding, tangled paths. Two million. Too many.”

  More silence, and then she took about two steps to her desk and slumped into it. I knew she was happy to be at the front of the room so everyone could only see her back, not her face.

  “Damn,” Tyler said, loud enough for the whole class to hear. “That was intense, Dia.”

  And that was enough to let other people start talking. “I don’t want to go next after that,” someone said, and someone else said, “There are way too many choices,” and then there was a blur of sound, everybody talking about Claudia’s performance. But she just sat there, staring at her desk.

  Karen had her hand on Claudia’s arm when I got to the front. I crouched down beside her and kissed her temple. Then I whispered, “That was awesome.”

  She looked at me, finally. Tentative, shy, but with an intense energy radiating out from every part of her. “I was so scared,” she whispered.

  “But you did it. That’s what made it awesome.”

  “What, not the poem? The poem wasn’t awesome?” she said, clearly trying to reclaim her sass.

  “The poem, too. But mostly you.”

  She smiled at me, and I gave her another quick kiss before Ms. Coyne called everyone back to attention and gave me a look that made it clear it was time to go.

  So I headed to geography, but as I walked I couldn’t stop thinking about Claudia, and her poem, and her choices. Things would have been different if she hadn’t chosen to tutor me, that was for sure. And it was kind of scary to think of all those other choices she could still make, and how many millions of them wouldn’t have any room for someone like me.

  Chapter Ten

  Everything felt out of control. In a good way, mostly. Everything with Chris was wonderful, and I loved the Sisterhood, and performing my poem had been terrifying but exhilarating. I had new friends, a new attitude—it was practically a whole new life. It was good. But sometimes it felt like things were changing too fast. I felt like I was living someone else’s life, and like sooner or later I was going to get caught and sent back to my real world.

  Chris went to the gay youth group with Oliver and apparently got right into it, giving his opinions on different guys Oliver had spoken to and his eventual approval to Scott, with whom Oliver made plans for that Friday night. Chris was disappointed that he’d be out of town that night; otherwise I think he’d have suggested a double date.

  The team left Thursday at lunchtime for a road trip way up north, with games scheduled for Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. They’d spend most of Sunday driving home, so in effect Chris was gone for the whole weekend.

  And weird as it sounds, I was glad of it. I mean, I missed him. From pretty much the second he bounded up the stairs of the incredibly ugly black-and-yellow Raiders bus, I felt the hole in my life. But I wanted to feel that. I wanted to remind myself that I could exist without him, and strangely, I wanted to feel the ache of his absence. It made things feel a bit more real.

  Dawn and I went over to Karen’s on Saturday afternoon and just hung out a while, and that was cool, too. Female friends—female friends who talked about boys and hopes and ideas and then boys again—were almost as significant an addition to my life as a boyfriend had been. Sitting in the same room as Annalise as we both read or did schoolwork really wasn’t the same as actually being friends with somebody. Weird to think how long it took me to realize that.

  When my phone rang as I was cleaning up after Sunday dinner, I grabbed it, even knowing that my mom was right there, watching and judging. “Hi,” I said, holding the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I hastily shoved the last container of leftovers into the fridge.

  Chris’s voice was a little husky, and it sent chills down my spine. “I’m back. Can I come pick you up?”

  “Yes,” I said. I’d never had a curfew, never had rules about when I was or wasn’t allowed to go out; nothing like that had ever been necessary. But even if there had been rules against seeing Chris right then, I’m pretty sure I would have broken them.

  “Five minutes,” he said, and then he ended the call.

  “I’m going out for a bit,” I told my mom.

  “It’s a school night,” she replied.

  “I know.” But I didn’t care. Not right then. I washed the food smells off my hands, thought about going upstairs and getting changed, but realized I wouldn’t be able to think coherently enough to put clothes together in any sort of normal way. So I went out on the front porch as I was, in my prissy-princess gray dress and tights and ballerina flats, and I waited.

  Three sets of headlights passed before the fourth turned into the driveway. I was down the stairs before the truck even stopped moving. I’d been heading for the passenger door but then Chris opened his side and I swerved toward him, picking up speed as he stepped around the door, and launched myself at him from somewhere near the front tire.

  He caught me easily, my wild need slamming into his solid strength. I let him hold me, lift me, and I wrapped my legs around his hips and my arms around his neck. There was a whole new kind of kiss for me to catalog if my brain ever returned to active duty, this one desperate and hungry, as if we’d been apart for a lifetime instead of a few days.

  I don’t know how long it went on for, and I don’t know when it would have stopped if a door hadn’t slammed, somewhere, the sound jerking me back into awareness. “Was that—?” I started, staring at my house. Had it been my mother? Had she seen?

  “No. It came from the street,” Chris said. His voice sounded strained, and I felt his chest shake a little when he inhaled.

  I reluctantly unwrapped my legs from around him and he stopped supporting my butt, which I honestly hadn’t even realized he was doing.

  “Whoa,” I said. My blood was still rushing, my body on full alert, trying to pull me back toward him, but my brain was in charge again, at least temporarily.

  He let out a shaky breath. “You’re killing me, Dia.” His laugh was low and husky. “What the hell are you wearing? It’s, like, one step away from a schoolgirl outfit.”

  “What? You mean in a good way?”

  “Jesus,” he groaned. “You have no idea.”

  I was still close to him, tight up against his body, and, okay, there was evidence to suggest that he’d found our reunion just as exciting as I had. But I guess I�
��d been taking all his talk at the clearing as fact. Like, sex wasn’t really a big deal for him, he was fine with taking things slow… “I really missed you,” I said.

  He nodded. “I got that. I missed you, too.”

  “If you died, I’d be sorry we hadn’t had sex.”

  He frowned at me. “Wow. That’s… I can’t decide if I should tell you to stop thinking about me dying, or just keep my mouth shut and let you talk yourself into having sex with me.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to talk myself into it.” I stretched up and kissed him, and I let go of all my rules and ideas and just let myself feel. His lips were soft, his tongue sinuous, his body hard where it pressed against mine. His arms were strong around me, and his hands. His huge damn hands, one low on my back, holding me against him, holding me up, and the other wrapped around my side, fingers on my rib cage, palm on my stomach, thumb stretching up and ghosting along the bottom of my breast.

  “Can we go somewhere?” I whispered. “Not to…you know, not too much. But away from my driveway would be good.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice even raspier, even rougher than it had been before. “Okay.”

  I wandered around the front of the truck like I was in a dream, somehow climbed up into my seat, and wrapped both hands around the shoulder strap of my seat belt to keep them from reaching out and grabbing hold of him while he was driving.

  “We can’t go to my place,” he said. “There are Bradfords everywhere.”

  I wasn’t sure I was ready to be alone in his bedroom, anyway. Well, my body definitely was, but maybe not my brain.

  “Can we just…I don’t know, park somewhere?”

  “Inspiration Point?”

  I was mostly sure he was joking, but I hadn’t known about the clearing, after all, so maybe there were more parts of town I hadn’t experienced. “You’re the expert.”

  He blew out a huff of air, almost a laugh. “You make me feel like a total rookie.”

  I kind of liked the sound of that, and reached out to hold his hand as we drove through town. He took us out to the country, down a rough dirt road, and then pulled off into a little clearing.