Reason to Breathe (14 page)

“I just have to get a few things from my
locker before we go, okay?”

“Sure,” I whispered, still distracted.

The halls were vacant when we walked to
Evan’s locker so he could stuff a few books into his backpack. I
was relieved not to have witnesses when we left together. I really
didn’t want to fuel the gossip – or get caught skipping class, even
if it was just study period.

I looked around nervously, expecting a voice
to stop us and ask where we were going when we exited the school.
But we were never stopped. We didn’t say anything as we walked to
his car through the thick mist of the persisting grey skies. Evan
held the car door open for me again - the gesture still caught me
off guard. I slipped into the car, and he closed the door behind
me.

“This should be an interesting game in the
mud tonight, huh?” he noted as he started the car.

“It slows the game down,” I admitted, “but I
actually like sliding in the mud.”

“I know what you mean.”

I relaxed into the leather seat as we talked
the entire ride to his house. My guarded tension was finally
melting away when we pulled into his driveway.

Evan lived in one of the historic homes in
the center of town. The extended driveway pulled the white
farmhouse with black shutters away from the road, revealing a
perfectly manicured front lawn with a large maple tree that was
turning a magnificent red. The house was wrapped with a wide porch,
accented with white rocking chairs and a hammock - it was a three
dimensional Norman Rockwell painting. At the end of the driveway,
behind the house, was a two story barn that had been converted into
a garage. Beyond the barn was an expansive field surrounded by
trees, without a neighboring house in sight.

We entered through the door on the side of
the porch that led into the kitchen. The house may have been
historic, but the kitchen had every modern amenity available. It
was a large room with a shared dining area. The space still held
the rustic charm of the farmhouse, with exposed beams and wood
framed walls, stained a warm brown.

“Do you want something to drink? I have soda,
water, juice and iced tea,” Evan presented, attempting to be
hospitable after placing his backpack on a chair. The peninsula
separated the cooking space from the dining area that recessed into
the floor, with three long steps leading to a large dark wood
dining table.

“Iced tea would be great.” I sat in a chair
along the peninsula while he filled two glasses with iced tea from
a glass pitcher he removed from the refrigerator.

“I like how you set up the newspaper,” he
said, handing me a glass from the other side of the counter. “The
paper at my other school was rougher looking since the printing was
done in-house. It was more of a flyer than a newspaper. The
Weslyn High Times
actually resembles a newspaper.”

“Thanks. Have you received any comments about
your article – you know, since it made the first page?”

“Yeah, I have,” he admitted with a grin –
knowing that was the only acknowledgement he was going to receive
from me that it was a well written article. “Mostly questions about
my sources, trying to pair up an insecurity with a person. It’s
kind of annoying, but I should’ve expected it.”

After a moment, he added, “I never did get to
interview you. I thought it would be a conflict of interest.”

“I don’t think I would have let you interview
me,” I replied. “But if I had, what would you’ve asked?” As soon as
I said it, I regretted it. What was I thinking putting myself out
there? Telling Evan my physical insecurities was not on the top of
my list.

“Name one part of your body you’re insecure
about and how you would change it?” His expression was calm and
attentive. His demeanor was unexpected. I thought this topic would
definitely have evoked one of his wide smiles.

I hesitated.

“Okay, I’ll tell you mine first if that’ll
help,” he offered, still serious.

“You’re insecure about your body?” I
scoffed.

“I hate the size of my feet. They’re huge,”
he confessed.

“You’re feet? What size are they?”

“Fourteen and the average size is ten. It’s
not easy finding shoes I like that fit.” Oddly enough, he remained
genuine.

“I can honestly say I’ve never noticed, maybe
because you’re tall. Or maybe because your feet are not what most
people look at.” I realized, with a blush, that I shouldn’t have
made a comment that he could misinterpret.

“Really?” he grinned, confirming my fear.

“You know what I mean,” I retorted, my whole
face reddening.

“What’s yours?” he prodded.

“My lips,” I admitted cautiously. “I’ve
always wanted them to be smaller. I’ve even practiced tucking them
in in front of the mirror,” revealing more than I intended, as
usual.

“Really? I love your full lips,” he said
without hesitating. “They’re perfect k-”

“Don’t say it,” I shot back at him, turning
redder by the second.

“Why?” he questioned with a crease between
his brows.

“Do you want to be friends with me?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly.

“Then you can’t say things like that. It’s
one of the lines you don’t cross. Remember the rules I set if we’re
going to be friends? You are not playing by the rules,” I explained
firmly, hoping this time he’d take me seriously.

“What if I don’t want to be friends with
you?” he challenged, grinning again, staring directly into my eyes.
Obviously taking me seriously was an impossibility for Evan.

Despite not being able to breathe, I
connected with his taunting gaze and refused to look away. “Then we
won’t be friends,” I said flatly.

“What if I want to be more than friends?” He
grinned wider, leaning his forearms on the counter, shortening the
distance between us.

“Then we won’t be anything at all.” Along
with not being able to breathe, my heart stopped, making it harder
to keep up my defiant stare when he leaned in closer; but I was
determined not to back down.

“Okay, then friends we are,” he declared,
suddenly standing up straight, taking a gulp of iced tea. “Can you
play pool?” I couldn’t say anything for a few seconds - my head was
spinning as I tried to reel my heart back from across the
counter.

“I’ve never tried,” I floundered.

I took a deep breath to clear my head before
I stood up. Evan was waiting for me patiently, holding the door
open for me to follow him.

We entered the large white barn through the
side door into a space that could easily fit two cars. There was a
door to the right of the stairs that led to another area,
unrevealed.

Hung on the opposite wall were shelves
displaying tools and other typical garage items. But what caught my
eye was the extensive amount of recreational equipment stored
beneath the stairs. There were snow shoes, skis, two surf boards, a
couple of wake boards and everything in-between. There were bins of
basketballs, soccer balls, volleyballs – it looked like a sporting
goods store.

“Can’t say you’re bored,” I commented as we
climbed the stairs. He let out a short laugh.

I followed him into a full rec room. Along
the far wall was a dark wooden bar with a flat stone top, fully
stocked and furnished with complementary wooden stools. There was
an oversized, dark brown leather couch and recliner set in front of
a large flat-screened television suspended on the wall to the left.
Abandoned on the floor were several video game components and
corresponding gear. I wondered if all of the wealthy kids at Weslyn
High had similar set ups to Sara and Evan.

A pool table, lit by suspended chrome
canisters, stood on one side of the room with plenty of space to
maneuver a pool stick without bumping into a wall. A dart board
hung on the wall to the right of the door, and to the left were two
foosball tables. There was a closed door behind the tables. The
walls’ deep red paint and the barn’s exposed wooden beams along the
pitched ceiling, created a masculine tone that was finished with
framed rock concert posters, showcasing a variety of bands over a
span of a few decades.

“This is my mom’s way of trying to get my
brother to come home more,” Evan explained as he crossed the room
toward the bar. “So, this room is more for my brother than me. My
stuff is in the other room.” He nodded toward the closed door
behind the foosball tables.

Music erupted through the strategically
placed speakers when Evan turned it on from behind the bar. He
lowered the volume so that we could hear each other.

“I’ve never heard this band before,” I noted,
listening to the rock band with the reggae influence. “I like
it.”

“I saw them at a concert in San Francisco and
really liked them. If you give me your iPod, I can download them
for you.”

“Sure.”

“Darts first?” he suggested, heading to the
corner where the dart board hung. I sat on one of the stools
dispersed along the dark wooden bar running the length of the wall
while he pulled the darts from the board.

“I think I’ve only played darts once before,
and I sucked,” I warned. He handed me three darts with silver
metallic wings while keeping the darts with the black metallic
wings. He stood behind the black line painted on the dark hardwood
floor and threw each dart with ease. I watched them penetrate the
pie and rectangular shapes. He made it look so simple, but I wasn’t
convinced.

“We’ll warm up first and then go from there.”
I approached the line and he demonstrated how to hold the dart for
the best control. I attempted to duplicate his example. “Getting
used to the weight of the dart is the hardest part in order to
determine the angle and speed you want to throw it. Then aim, and
toss with a quick, steady hand.” He threw the dart firmly, and it
stuck easily into its intended target.

“You may not want to be anywhere around me
when I attempt this,” I advised cautiously. He smiled and sat on a
stool, giving me my space. My first shot was weak. I missed the
dartboard completely. The dart landed low, and stuck to a black
board that covered the length of the wall behind the circle.

“Oops, sorry,” I said, scrunching my face.
This was going to be a long game, especially if I couldn’t even
make the board.

“That’s what the black board’s for. You’re
not the first, and won’t be the last, to miss,” Evan assured me.
“We won’t play an actual game until you feel comfortable. Try it
again.” I threw the last dart with a little more force and it hit
the number 20, not in the points area, but the actual number.

“Well, at least I hit the board,” I stated
optimistically. Evan smiled and retrieved the darts.

We threw three more rounds until I was
consistently hitting within the colored ring. I wasn’t exactly
hitting the areas I was aiming for, but I was getting closer. With
all of my near misses and extreme misses, I wasn’t embarrassed or
self conscious for my lack of dart experience. Evan made it easy
with his patience and advice. I was actually enjoying myself.

We played a round of cricket. I made Evan
take two steps back from the line, in attempt to make it slightly
more even. He still won – it wasn’t even close. During the game, we
talked about sports and what we’ve tried, or in my case, never
tried.

“So you’re great at everything, huh?” I
confirmed, after he shared surfing and kite boarding experiences
he’d had in different parts of the world.

“No, I’ll try just about anything,” he
corrected, “but I’m only really good at a few things. My brother’s
better at pool and darts than I am. I’m decent at soccer, but I’m
not the best player - the same with basketball. I think I’m best at
baseball. I have a consistent swing and pretty good reaction time
at short stop.

“I bet if you were exposed to more
experiences, you’d find you’re better than I am at most of them.
You’re definitely a better soccer player. I haven’t seen you play
basketball, but I heard you have an impressive outside shot.” The
heat made itself known across my cheeks as he spoke of my athletic
abilities.

“I love soccer, I really like basketball, and
I run track just for something to do in the spring. Since I play a
sport, I don’t have to take Gym, so I haven’t attempted anything
else for a long time. I’m not sure how I’d do.”

“Do you want to find out?”

“What are you thinking?” I asked
cautiously.

“Tomorrow, I’ll meet you at the library and
then we’ll go from there.” My stomach twisted at the thought of
lying. “Or maybe not,” he corrected after observing my pale
face.

“I can’t tomorrow,” I said quietly, but
before I realized what I was about to say, I finished with, “but I
could on Sunday.” Evan’s eyes lit up. My heart leapt into its high
speed patter.

“Really?” he asked, not convinced.

“Sure,” I confirmed with a smile. “What did
you have in mind?”

“Batting cages?”

“Why not,” I replied with a shrug.

“Noon?”

“Noonish.”

“Great,” he stated with a full-fledged smile
that left me lightheaded with the rush of blood to my face. “Ready
to eat? You must be after that sad lunch.”

“I could eat,” I stated casually, ignoring
his antagonizing remark as he turned off the music.

I watched from a stool at the peninsula while
he pulled items from the refrigerator and cabinets and started
cutting up celery, mushrooms, chicken and pineapple.

“What are you making?” I asked, not
anticipating the huge production. I’d expected something from the
typical food groups of pizza and subs.

“Chicken and pineapple stir fry,” he replied.
“Sorry, I didn’t ask you if you were a picky eater. Is this
okay?”

“Sure,” I said slowly. “You cook?” I didn’t
know why I was so surprised. I should be used to the
unpredictability of Evan Mathews, but I still couldn’t help but
follow the production in amazement as he measured, mixed and
chopped with ease.