When It Happens (28 page)

“Wish me luck,” I say. At least my ball is neon orange.

“Wait,” Laila says. “You don’t have to look for it. Tobey’s going.”

“I don’t think so,” Tobey says.

Laila goes, “I’m cashing in on a deal we have.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, see, we have this deal in which you said if I did something you’d be my personal slave for the rest of the year—well, life, if I remember correctly—and I did it. And I haven’t even mentioned it until now so I figure you have no choice.”

Tobey told me about Laila’s personal-slave deal for trading partners in Music Theory, so I go, “Hey, yeah! How could you let the whole year go by without offering to do anything?”

“She should have asked!”

“Well,” Laila says. “I’m not asking. I’m telling. I’m in charge here.”

Tobey groans. He salutes Laila.

“Go fetch,” she orders.

“Demanding!” Mike yells. “I like that in a woman.”

“Oh, please,” Laila says. “You like breasts in a woman. Preferably somewhere around a C-cup.”

“Bye!” Josh yells after Tobey. “Send me a postcard!”

“Me, too!” I yell. “I hear Greenland is beautiful this time of year!”

“Ow!” Josh yells. “Brain freeze!”

“So why’d you have to guzzle the whole thing in like two seconds?” Maggie says. They’re like an old married couple already. I wonder what Maggie will do if she finally realizes how she feels about Josh in Florida.

The next course is the windmill one. The one that gave me a sign last summer.

Josh jumps onto the fake grass and does this vintage disco John Travolta move, waving his golf club all around. We just stand there looking at him.

He notices we’re not laughing. “Play it off. . . .” he mumbles. He puts his ball down and whales it. It bangs into the windmill and comes rolling back.

“Nice try, slickness,” Maggie teases. “Let me show you how it’s done for future reference.” She puts her ball down.

“Does that mean we have a future together?” Josh says.

“Maybe.” Maggie smiles coyly. “If you’re lucky.”

Josh just stands there, mesmerized.

“Watch,” Maggie says, “and learn.” She gets ready to hit the ball. “Are you watching?”

Josh, who is staring at Maggie’s butt, goes, “Huh— oh, yeah!”

Maggie’s ball rolls through the windmill slats. She smirks at Josh.

Tobey comes running back with my ball. He looks over the course. He says, “This is too easy!” He puts his ball down, takes an inventory of the windmill, and swings. The ball bangs one of the windmill’s arms and zings off toward the batting cages.

“Okay, then,” Tobey says. “I guess it would be your turn.”

I position my ball the same way as before. I don’t need a sign this time. I own the windmill.

I want to tell Tobey about when I was standing in this exact same place last summer, wishing for him to be real. But it’s hard to remember life before Tobey. He makes everything seem possible. Like whatever you feel is true, really true in your heart, you can make happen. And you just know, when it happens, it’s for real. And there are a million possibilities.

Like the possibility of going separate ways.

Together.

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Text copyright © Susane Colasanti, 2008