by Paula Stokes
“Who is this?” I ask, momentarily setting aside my doubt.
“It’s Hannah in Handcuffs. I saw them in concert not too long ago. The song is called ‘Terrible Beauty.’ You like it?”
“It sounds like a bunch of cats being crushed by a steamroller,” I say, even though I don’t totally hate it.
Micah smiles. He’s not fooled.
The train slows to a stop and the stadium rises up in front of us, all red brick and black metal. I take a deep breath. Too late to turn back now. We exit with everyone else decked out in Cardinals gear, funneling out the MetroLink doors and across the platform in a stream of red. The gray pavement reflects the sun back at us. It’s shaping up to be a scorcher.
We pass the statue of Stan Musial, who according to my dad was one of the greatest athletes of all time. I’m thinking he couldn’t have been as good as Caleb Waters, but St. Louis never manages to keep a professional soccer team for very long, and the Cardinals have won, like, eleventy million championships, so baseball is much more popular here.
Micah and I enter the stadium where I am glad to be out of the sun for a few minutes. Vendors carrying coolers of beer and soda gracefully navigate the throngs of people. Pockets of blue—Cubs fans—snake their way through the red-and-white masses.
“Do you want food or anything?” Micah asks.
It’s a nice gesture considering that food here would probably cost more than I paid for our tickets. “No, that’s cool. I’ll eat later.”
We find the right-field bleachers and it only takes a few seconds to pick out Jason in the fifth row. I’d recognize his broad shoulders anywhere. A shock of blond hair juts out from his fitted Cardinals cap. I’m torn between wanting to run toward him and wanting to hide.
He’s sitting next to Dan Spencer, a guy who just graduated, who Kendall dated briefly when she went through what she called a “slumming phase.” I barely hear Micah saying something as I stare at Jason’s back, at the way his muscles pull the fabric of his replica jersey taut. A family of four squeezes past us carrying nachos, hot dogs, and a tray full of sodas.
Micah nudges me. “Are we going to sit or what?”
“Yeah. He’s in the fifth row.” I nod my head toward Jason and then slowly make my way down the concrete steps, keeping my eyes locked on him the whole time. Jay’s row and the row right in front of him are mostly full already. I pause halfway down the stairs, praying he doesn’t turn around. I’m not ready for him to see me yet.
Which is stupid. The whole point is for him to see me with another guy. Don’t be a coward, I tell myself. Boldly I move down to the fourth row. Micah and I start squeezing our way toward the center.
“Do you know the guy he’s with?” Micah asks.
“Yeah. Kendall went out with him a few times.” I do a quick check of the surrounding seats but don’t see Alex, the world’s sexiest EMT. Score one for divide and conquer. Well, divide anyway.
When we pass Jason and Dan, I look up and pretend to be surprised. “Oh, hey,” I say.
Jason’s got sunglasses on so I can’t see his expression. “How’s it going, Lainey?” His head angles slightly toward Micah, but he doesn’t say anything. Dan gives me a nod and a slow smile, but there’s no time to say more since people behind us are pushing forward to find their seats.
“Enjoy the game,” I say brightly, resting my hand on Micah’s lower back as he makes his way to the end of the row. As I settle next to him, I casually sling my arm around the back of his chair, lean over, and murmur in his ear. “That was perfect.” Hopefully from Jason’s vantage point it looks like I’m giving Micah a kiss on the cheek.
He turns and brushes my hair back from my face and I catch of whiff of his cologne. “I think you just violated our minimal touching rule.” His breath is hot against my cheekbone. “I feel like a whore.” He traces one finger across the bare skin of my leg and I stiffen. “Chill, Lainey. Pretend you’re an actress. Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch, a big commercial star like yourself.”
I make like I’m going to hold his hand, but instead I give him a hard pinch above the knee. He smells really good. In fact, he smells like Jason. “Is that Red Lynx you’re wearing?” I ask, smiling as he winces in pain.
“Yeah. Why?” He tries to pinch me back, but I slap his hand away. This is perfect. To anyone who doesn’t know what’s going on, we totally look like a couple play-fighting. “Oh, don’t tell me what’s-his-face uses that too. I’m going to go buy something else as soon as we’re done here.”
“Why are you wearing cologne for a fake date anyway?”
Micah widens his eyes into a pretend-innocent look. “It’s aftershave. I splash some on when I’m too lazy to shower.”
I laugh. “You’re gross, you know that?”
“Yup,” Micah says, smiling. “And proud of it.”
The section fills up quickly and we’re surrounded by chatter from Cubs and Cards fans alike. As Micah gets engrossed in the pregame warm-up, I risk a couple of glances back at Jason, but I can’t tell if he’s paying me any attention. The electronic scoreboard informs the crowd that the air temperature is 94 degrees, and the temperature down on the field is a tropical 102. I pull a floppy hat out of my purse and adjust the brim down to protect my face from the sun. At this rate, the SPF 50 I slathered on my face will sweat off before the third inning.
The Cards take an early 2–0 lead on a Cubs error and the whole section goes crazy. I jump up and cheer along with everyone else in red, trying to stay out of the path of the guy next to me whose beer threatens to slosh all over my sandals each time he moves.
The game continues to be almost all Cardinals and by the end of the fourth inning, we’re leading 5–1.
“Man, that was one of the most beautiful bunts I’ve ever seen,” Micah says.
“I know, right?” I say, even though no one ever makes it on base when they bunt so I couldn’t tell a good one from a bad one.
I spend the next two innings laughing loudly at everything Micah says, even though I’m not really paying attention. I just want Jason to feel like I’m having more fun with Micah than I ever had with him. He’s competitive—that sort of thing will get to him even if he’s not feeling jealous. Look at me—exploiting a weakness I didn’t even think about with Bianca.
Blotting the sweat from my face, I turn my attention back to the field. The Cardinals are up to bat again and the first batter hits a home run. The whole crowd is cheering in time with the organ player. Micah exchanges high fives with the people sitting around us. I smile and do the same with Sloshy Beer Guy.
The Cardinals score twice more and now we’ve got an 8–1 lead. It’s shaping up to be a long game for the Chicago fans. When the Cubs finally come up to bat again, I pull my phone out of my purse and check my messages. There’s an email from my brother that says he’s finally settled in and starting to explore Ireland, and he hopes I’m taking good care of his car. The way he babies the Civic, you’d think it was Lamborghini. I email him back and tell him I’m at the game. I glance up at the field—one out, a man on first—and then scan the pro soccer scores and CalebWaters.com. Nothing new has been posted about Flyboys.
The crowd roars and I reluctantly get to my feet again, clapping one hand against my phone, even though I’m not sure what happened.
“What is more important than a perfectly executed double play?” Micah peers down at my phone.
I shrug. “I was checking my messages.” I fan myself with one hand.
He scoffs. “Expecting your ex to text you from the next row?”
“I was emailing my brother.” When Micah looks confused, I lower my voice and add, “Sorry. I’m not really into baseball.”
“Don’t you think this is going to look a little obvious then? You showing up here with me?”
“I don’t know.” I pick at a fraying thread on my jean shorts. “This is one of the only places I knew for sure we’d run into Jay, and you seem to like baseball well enough.” A gnat buzzes in my
ear. I claw violently at the air around my head. “Maybe if it wasn’t ten million degrees. Aren’t you dying in those jeans?”
“A little,” he admits. “You want to go hang out in the shade for a bit?” He winks. “Maybe Jason will think I’m dragging you off to some deserted corner so I can do bad things to you.”
My eyes narrow. “You wish.”
“You wish I wished.” Micah says. “Come on. If you’re nice, I’ll buy you a water.”
“Woo, big spender,” I say.
We wait for a break in the action and then I make a production out of standing up and gathering my purse. Micah takes my hand as we tromp down the long row of bleachers and back onto the steps.
Dan leans over and whispers something into Jason’s ear as we pass and both guys burst out laughing. My stomach twists itself into knots. What if my plan is totally transparent? Or what if Jason thinks I was so devastated by our breakup that I just went out and grabbed the first guy I could find? No. Must. Not. Panic. I smile brightly and act like everything is fine.
I stare at my tan fingers curled inside Micah’s pale ones as we head back into the stadium tunnels. I’m a little sweaty, and so is he, but it doesn’t feel nearly as weird as I thought it would to hold hands with another guy. Jason used to squeeze too hard sometimes and practically crush my fingers, but Micah’s grip is firm and relaxed. Kind of nice. It feels almost normal, really. Like, in another world, the two of us could actually be on a date.
Chapter 12
“MILITARY TACTICS ARE LIKE UNTO WATER; FOR WATER IN ITS NATURAL COURSE RUNS AWAY FROM HIGH PLACES AND HASTENS DOWNWARDS.”
—SUN TZU, The Art of War
I drop Micah’s hand the second we’re back inside and then excuse myself to slip into a restroom and freshen up. Pulling off my floppy hat, I cringe. I look like I’ve played about three overtimes. My hair is frizzy on top and the ends are curling in all directions due to the humidity. Sweat has made my skin all shiny and wreaked havoc on my eyeliner. My left eye is doing the raccoon thing; my right eye looks basically naked. Maybe Jason and Dan weren’t laughing about Micah. Maybe they were laughing about how hideous I look.
Pulling a paper towel from the dispenser, I blot my whole face and apply powder until I’m not causing a physical glare in the mirror. I redo my eyeliner and then put my hat back on.
By the time I’m done making myself look human, Micah is leaning against the wall outside the bathroom holding two sodas. “I hope you’re not one of those skinny girls who drinks diet,” he says. “I got you a Coke.”
“No way. Diet soda tastes like poison.” I take the cup he offers gratefully and swill down a long drink.
“Feel better?” he asks.
“Yeah. I wish we could see the game from here.” I gesture around at all the shade. “It’s about twenty degrees cooler.”
Micah’s face is a little flushed. I’m not sure if it’s from the heat or if he’s getting a sunburn. “The Cards scored another run while you were in the bathroom,” he says. “I’d say this one is in the bag. There’s no reason to stay if you don’t want.”
I take another sip of my drink and let out a happy sigh. Soda has never tasted so good. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Nope.” He takes a drink of his soda and mimics my ecstasy. “But there’s no point in wasting your time if you’re bored. We’ve accomplished what we came here to do, and like I said, if we don’t come back, your ex will wonder what we’re doing.”
“Good point.” I run my fingers across Micah’s forearm. “You’re looking a little pink. Let’s get out of here before we both end up with third-degree sunburns.”
Back on the MetroLink, I soak up as much air-conditioning as possible. As we near our stop, thick storm clouds begin to blot out most of the blue sky.
“I still can’t believe you don’t like baseball,” Micah says.
I shrug. “Jay and I usually go to a couple of games a year. I don’t hate it or anything. I just like soccer better.”
“Maybe next time you should take me somewhere you and Jason went together that you actually like.”
A smile plays at my lips as I think of the perfect place, a place I’m sure Micah would hate. But it would be fun to see him totally out of his element. “Good idea,” I say. “So next time we’ll go to Beat.”
“The dance club?” He makes a face like he swallowed a wasp. “Amber tried to drag me there for one of their full-moon parties. How about we forget I said anything?”
“Too late.” I elbow him in the ribs. “You offered. And speaking of Amber, did she call you yet?”
Thunder rumbles in the distance. Even as the sun cuts its way through the clouds, raindrops begin to plink against the train window.
Micah shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“Have faith,” I say. “It might take a couple more dates.”
As the words tumble out of my mouth, I hope I’m right. The only thing that’s kept me sane without Jason the past couple of weeks is all the plotting and scheming in the name of getting him back. I try to imagine what my life would be like if it doesn’t happen. Days spent watching him from afar in the hallways, agonizing about whether to run toward him or away from him. Nights at home alone, wondering who he’s with. No. That’s not how I’m going to spend my senior year. I refuse to even entertain the possibility.
The MetroLink purrs to a stop and Micah and I jump off. The rain is coming down in soft sheets now, drowning out what’s left of the sun. The air temperature has dropped a few degrees.
I pause at the edge of the platform and watch the silvery droplets add to puddles of pooling water at the edge of the parking lot. “I think I’m going to go by work and grab a pizza,” I say. “You want to come?”
“Nope. You can drop me off on the way.” Micah heads for the stairs leading down from the platform. “I get enough of that place as it is.”
“Okay. Hang on a sec.” Shielding my phone with one hand, I send Bianca a quick text.
I’m hungry. You want to meet up at Denali? I can tell you about fake date #2.
She replies right away:
I wish I could, but I’m taking my brothers to their soccer game tonight. You’ll have to fill me in tomorrow.
“Everything cool?” Micah asks.
“Yeah. It’s all good.” I slip my phone back in my purse, a little disappointed that Bianca is busy.
“You want me to get the car so you don’t get wet?”
“Nah. I like rain,” I say. “It beats sweating my ass off.”
Micah and I race across the parking lot to the Civic. We slip inside the car and I use my hat to blot a few stray droplets from my face. Flipping on the radio, I tell him to pick a station. He finds something playing music I’ve never heard before. Once again, I kind of like it. When I slow the car to a stop in front of his apartment building a few minutes later, I turn sideways to look at him. “Let me know if you hear from Amber.”
“Yeah. You too.” He watches me warily, like he’s expecting me to give him a hug or something.
I fiddle with the radio preset buttons. Commercial. Commercial. Annoying boy-band song. I end up going back to the station Micah was listening to. The Civic idles loudly. “Otherwise I guess we’ll talk at work. . . .” I trail off.
“Yup.” Micah slides out of the car with a wave.
“Hey,” I call after him. “I’ll wash your shirt and get it back to you soon, okay?”
“No hurry. It looks better on you anyway.” He grins. “See you around.”
As he crosses the lawn in a few long strides and disappears into the building, I feel a little lost.
I’m not used to being all by myself.
Chapter 13
“MOVE NOT UNLESS YOU SEE AN ADVANTAGE; USE NOT YOUR TROOPS UNLESS THERE IS SOMETHING TO BE GAINED.”
—SUN TZU, The Art of War
When I wake up the next morning, there’s a note on the table that says Ebony called in sick so my dad will be at Denali all day. He’d love
it if I came in and helped out, but it’s okay if I already have plans or don’t want to work.
I don’t want to, but going to work is about the only thing that will keep me from staring at my phone all day waiting for Jason to call. Plus Bianca is working this afternoon, so I can fill her in on the baseball game later.
When I get to the shop, the line of customers is out the front door. I catch a glimpse of my dad through the front windows, and he’s actually taking orders at the counter. Dad’s the kind of guy who still does his taxes on paper. He’s terrified of the computerized cash register, so they must be slammed for him to be working the front.
I quickly park between an old station wagon decorated with dancing bear decals and Micah’s lime-green rust bucket. I thought he was off today. My dad probably figured there was a .0001 percent chance of me coming in on my day off so he dialed up the more reliable members of the staff too.
I struggle to make my way into the shop. “Excuse me,” I say, elbowing my way past a bunch of kids dressed in hoop skirts and fake armor. Now I see why it’s so busy. A Renaissance festival must be going on somewhere nearby.
The line is starting to turn into a mob, and people are actually beginning to block part of the street. No wonder Dad was trying to recruit extra help. “Coming through.” I slide between a pair of pale, gangly boys sparring with wooden swords, narrowly avoiding a thwap in the ribs. “Watch what you’re doing.” I give the offender my patented “back the hell up” look. The boy mumbles an apology and sheathes his sword. His friend calls me a “saucy wench.”
Inside, the wind chimes and music are drowned out by the bean grinder, overlapping animated conversations, and the occasional clank of armor against armor. I fight my way through the crowd to the counter. My dad’s glasses are starting to fog up. He mops sweat from his brow with one of the gray rags we use to wipe down the tables. He doesn’t see me until I’m practically on top of him.
