The Ocean (9 page)

“Again,” I cal ed, as I jogged back to my position. And we did it, over and over. Final y, we al hit the showers and were on our way home.

“Thanks for hanging out while I worked on my catch. I’ve been off this week,” I sighed, as I pul ed out of the parking lot.

“No problem, man. I know you know the techniques. I’ve seen you catch, but I think you’re thinking about it too much. You have to let it come to you.

Be there for when it gets there.” He shrugged as he looked out the window.

“I know. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, I guess.” I glanced over at him.

“Wel , Gia wouldn’t want to be a distraction, so you need to get it together, or she’l decide to break things off with you. We haven’t talked much about you, but she likes you. She likes you a lot.” He paused and looked at me, and added, “If you don’t treat her right, you’l have me to deal with.” I looked at him, nodding my head.

“I understand.”

We arrived at their house. I worried that I was over-staying my welcome. This was the third day that I ate dinner with them. Mom would be giving me a hard time soon I was sure. I didn’t care though; I was going to ride this out as long as I could.

Gia was pul ing a meatloaf out of the oven as we came into the kitchen door. Alex took his bags upstairs and left me standing there watching her as she cooked.

“Can I help?” I asked, going to the sink and washing my hands.

“Yes, the rol s in the freezer need to go into the oven,” she said. I got the package down. She handed me a pan, and I placed three rol s on the pan.

She put them in the oven and stirred the green beans as she checked the potatoes.

“Who taught you how to cook like this?” The meatloaf was making my stomach growl; it smel ed so good.

“Who else? My mom, wel , and the Betty Crocker cookbook,” she smirked.

“Why did your mom leave your dad to begin with if you don’t mind me asking?” I leaned against the counter watching her add spices. She looked up to the ceiling for a moment, thinking, and then she looked at me as she sighed.

“My dad wasn’t very nice back then; he drank a lot, and used my mom as a punching bag. He grabbed Alex by the col ar once, and that was al it took for her to realize that she had to do something. We left the next day when he went to work. He’s been in rehab and is supposedly better now.

He ignores us now; I haven’t seen him since Sunday.” She went back to stirring.

“I’m sorry.” I reached and touched her arm.

“I was six when she loaded us up and drove to Atlanta. I was scared that he would be mad and come after us, but he never did. In fact,” she turned to face me, “he never even contacted us. My mom contacted him for the divorce, and then when she remarried and Mitchel wanted to adopt us.

That’s what makes al this so hard, being here in this town, in this house.” I reached up and caught a tear as it slipped from her eye. She looked away and went back to the stove. She asked for the butter and milk from the refrigerator. Then she mixed the potatoes. She cal ed to Alex, and I helped her set the table. We ate, discussing the upcoming game. His phone rang during dinner, and he disappeared upstairs again.

“He and Kiarah are getting close.” She smiled.

“Yeah, he real y likes her,” I added.

“I hope he doesn’t break her heart. He was a bit of a player back home; I mean in Indy.” She laughed nervously.

“I can see that. The cheerleaders seem to like him.” I smiled.

“It’s unbearable being his sister sometimes. He charms everyone, and sometimes I had troubled realizing who were real friends and who were just trying to get to him. I’l be right back.” She cleared her plate and went to the kitchen. I heard her banging around. I assumed she was putting away the leftovers. She returned and sat back down. “Just so you know, tomorrow night wil be meatloaf, too; we have enough I think,” she sighed, relieved.

“You’re going to make me fat if you keep cooking like this.” I patted my bel y that was ful . “What are you going to do for your speech next week?”

“I have a couple ideas. What are you doing?” she asked mysteriously.

“I have no ideas. I was hoping to steal one of yours.” She laughed at my joke.

“Wel , I’d be happy to help.” She refil ed my cup with tea.

“I have so much homework. Is yours done?” I took a drink.

“Almost. Do you want to do it together? Maybe stay for a little while?” she asked shyly.

“I’d love to.” I helped her clear the table. She said Alex would do the dishes, and I retrieved my bag from my car. She was waiting for me by the stairs, and we went up to her room. It was a smal room. She had a single bed that was up against the wal long-ways. She had pil ows against the wal , and it looked almost like a couch. Beside it were smal , white, shelved end tables on each side. Her dresser was in the corner with a tal mirror.

She had two large windows that almost took up the far wal . She had a street view. Her closet stood in the corner near the windows. She had a black square box that looked like a smal suitcase, a blow dryer, and hair products, along with her laptop, sitting on the dresser. Al but for a couple posters of musical artists, her room was very impersonal. She didn’t have pictures anywhere; she had a clock radio with a music dock for her phone that sat on an end table and books stacked up on the other one. A guitar case leaned in the corner. She hit PLAY on her phone and music softly fil ed the room.

“So this is your room,” I said.

“We pretty much established that yesterday.” She smiled as she sat down cross-legged and pul ed an algebra book and note pad out of her bag. I dropped my bag to the floor and sat down beside her. It was so strange to be to be sitting here with her. I took out my notebook and my literature book. I turned to the poem by Edgar Al en Poe. I began my rough draft, outlining the meaning behind it and how it related to my life. She paused and watched me write.

“Which poem are you writing about?” She leaned on her hand bracing her elbow on her knee.

“ ‘Annabel Lee.’ Which one did you choose?”

“ ‘The Raven.’ I like your handwriting. It’s real y plain for a boy.” She smiled as she watched me write.

“My mom used to make me practice for hours in elementary school. She said she wasn’t raising a doctor, which was weird. You would think she would want me to make a lot of money when I grew up.” I laughed, remembering her tracing the letters and then making me do the same.

“Maybe she was just holding out for a lawyer.” She giggled and nudged me. She went back to her homework.

“Maybe.” I leaned back against her pil ows. “I’m blocked.”

“What do you mean?” She looked up again from her homework.

“I keep dropping footbal s. I’m going to cost us the game on Friday.” I couldn’t believe I was admitting it to her.

“Why do you keep dropping it?” she asked.

“I don’t know, too much pressure, maybe?” I shrugged.

“Have you pictured the other team naked?” Her face was serious.

“No, I don’t think I want to picture that.” I looked at her and shrugged off the mental picture.

“Have you pictured the coach naked?” She tapped her pencil against her chin.

“Um, that’s worse!” I sat up and looked at her. A wicked smile crept across her lips.

“You could picture the people in the stands naked,” she continued with her smile broadening.

“I don’t want to see ANYONE naked.” My face turned bright red. I could feel the heat pushing its way out. I lied. There was one person I’d thought about seeing naked since the beginning of the week. I’d never admit it.

“That’s too bad,” she smirked. Her whole intention was to embarrass me. It worked. I couldn’t even look at her.

“I’m just teasing you; you’re so serious.” Her eyes burned into me. “You’re taking yourself too seriously.” I looked at her searchingly. My intentions were to help her, and here she was helping me.

“It’s al in your mind. I’ve never had that much pressure and practicing can only get you so far.” She put her hand on my arm. “But if you just relax and enjoy the game, I bet you wil catch every bal that comes your way.” She patted me and turned back to her algebra.

“Thanks.” I just watched her. After a few minutes, she looked up at me again.

“You’re making me a little nervous; you should stop.” Her laugh was a little higher than usual. It was adorable.

“I’m avoiding,” I sighed.

“So what do you want to do?” She stretched out her legs; I put her feet in my lap and began to analyze her toes. She wiggled her toes and tried to pul her feet away, but I held them there.

“What we’re doing now.” I smiled at her. She stil tried to wiggle her feet out. We laughed. I tightened my hold on her ankles and pul ed her down toward me. I began to tickle her, and she laughed. Our books fel to the floor, and I somehow ended up lying beside her, almost on top of her.

Realizing at the same time how we were, our eyes held each other. We were both out of breath.

“Thanks again.” I propped myself up on my elbow, and as I smoothed her hair from her face, loose curls spil ed onto the bed between us.

“For what, being a weakling that you can tackle and torture?” she breathed.

“For distracting me and reminding me to enjoy myself.” She just nodded. I put my hand on her stomach. We stared at each other—probably a little too long. I wanted to kiss her. I began to lean into her. I watched her lips part slightly. She took a deep breath and slowly closed her eyes and opened them again. Her chest was rising and fal ing against me. I was going to kiss her. I was going to do it. My lips inched closer to hers; I looked up to her eyes. She looked panicked. It took me by surprise. I leaned up over her. I sat back on my knees. She leaned up on her elbows.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, the look in her eyes now embarrassment.

“No. I’m just—I think—I should go,” I said. I looked away as I reached for my books and stuffed them into my bag. I stood and left her room. She stood and fol owed me, but I ran down the stairs. I was through the dining room, zooming through the kitchen past Alex rinsing out the kitchen sink. I flew out the door. I didn’t even answer when he asked me, “You’re stil here dude?” I had to get out of there. What was I thinking? She wasn’t the kind of girl that you conned into her room to make out with before you took her out and showed her how a girl should be treated. I was an idiot. AND then I ran away. She thought she did something wrong. But clearly she wasn’t ready for our next step. I was pushing her instead of taking things slow.

She didn’t do something wrong; I did.

Gianna

In fifth grade I went out with Jesse Busey for three weeks. He kissed me behind the fort on the playground. It was a kiss on the cheek because I turned my face. He broke up with me the next day by tel ing al the boys that I wouldn’t go to first base with him. That was the first and last boyfriend I’d ever had. I’d just done the equivalent to Travis. The only thing was, I didn’t turn my cheek. Something about me was off. Maybe I was too rigid; maybe my breath was stinky. I wasn’t sure, but something I did suddenly made me undesirable to him. I tried to catch him, but when I came to the kitchen, he was tearing out of the driveway. I wanted to cry. I looked at Alex, who was putting a folded dish towel in the dish drainer. He smiled at me like he was getting ready to ask me something. I locked the kitchen door and shrugged. I went back to my room. I fel on my bed face first. There was something wrong with me. This was proof. Final y, after listening to John Mayer’s version of “Free Fal ing ” on loop, I sat up and finished my homework. I went to the bathroom, washed my face, and came to my room to put on my pajamas. I crawled into my bed and fel asleep.

The next day I decided I was going to avoid him. He could come to me. After al , he was the one who ran away from me. I didn’t get that chance though. He was leaning against my locker with that cool lean he did so wel . Eyes straight ahead, his leg propped up, and hands in his pockets. I slowed as I approached him. I stood looking at him, waiting for him to move; he didn’t. He leaned his head against the locker and turned his face toward me. He didn’t say anything.

“You’re blocking my locker,” I sighed.

“I know.” But he didn’t move.

“You’re going to make me late.”

“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have left like that.” He continued looking away from me.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” But he stil didn’t move. I stepped past him and began walking toward my class. I would just have to take my bag with me.

“We weren’t ready for that. I shouldn’t have put us in that situation.” Travis raced to catch up to me.

“What makes you say that?” I tried to sound bored.

“Because I saw your face; I don’t want our first kiss to be when you’re not ready.” He reached for my arm and turned me toward him.

“Oh,” was al I said. He held my hand and led me back toward my locker.

“I’m real y sorry. I want to do this right.” He weaved us in the opposite flow of the student herd.

“You could have told me this last night.” I opened my locker and put my books in.

“I know. I was embarrassed. You didn’t do anything wrong. I did.” He looked at the floor now.

“You didn’t do anything wrong either. It’s OK. Can we just put it behind us?” I was ready to be over al the embarrassment, his and mine.

“I can. I’l see you at lunch?” He began to back away.

“Yes.” I smiled at him and turned to go to my first class.

I went to class and thought about our conversation. I thought about the past six days and how fast things had changed. I had definitely reached a crossroads when I came to Florida. I hoped I was making the right decisions. Abby met me at my locker for lunch. We waited for Travis. He must have been running late. I didn’t see him.

“Do you want to just start toward the cafeteria?” She searched for him with me.

“He’l be here,” I smiled nervously.

“There he is.” She pointed. He was descending the stairs with Mason and a couple of other guys at the end of the hal . Rounding the corner behind him was Jil ian. She reached for his hand and wove hers into his. He looked at her with furrowed eyebrows and pul ed away. She then looped her arm through his. He was struggling to pul away from her again. I looked at Abby, and she rol ed her eyes.