poked
me on the shoulder.
“Did you poke
me?”
She smiled and
shrugged. “What was up with Mrs. Dinkleman?”
Five minutes.
A record for sure. “I helped out around here when it was first renovated.”
“You worked
here?”
“Sort of.”
“What’d you
do?”
I took a
breath. “Designed it.”
Her eyes widened.
“You designed this?”
I nodded. “She
came to me after Mr. Mykiam—remember him? He taught art and was one of her
leaders for the Wednesday night bowling league—he wrote me a letter for school
and he got me involved with the designing and the building plans.”
“Wow! You did
all this?” She looked around the room, and I could see the pride in her face.
It was not what I expected to see. Cassie’s eyes were as bright as her smile.
It imprinted this moment into my brain. I never thought that I’d get to share
this with her, and to have her love it like this made me feel like I had a
purpose. Like my dream was something we could share again. I stood next to her.
It really was amazing looking at something I designed and watching other people
get joy from it. Especially her.
I poked her
and she laughed. “I didn’t do the polka dots.”
“Too bad. That’s
the most inventive part,” she said before she turned around to put a silver
bowling ball on the return. I grinned because I knew she was kidding. She
always got this tone when she was kidding.
God, that
girl. Crazy how she still sent me spiraling, and after all that time, I thought
it would’ve passed. If I was sane I’d step away, put space between us but that
was the last thing I wanted.
“You ready to
lose, Tucker?” Cass called.
“Ready if you
are,” I said. I clicked the scorecard on the computer console. “You’re first.”
Cass turned
toward the screen. Grabbing her ball, she stepped into position. The screen
flickered to life and her name popped up. She squealed. “Mr. Hyde?”
I raised an
eyebrow. “And Dr. Jekyll.”
“Those are
horrible nicknames.”
“We are a
horrible man,” I said. Cass shook her head. She hated that book. It was the
great rampage of sophomore year.
I watched Cass
as she put her feet on the little dots. One, two, three, and she let go of the
ball; it rolled straight down the middle and knocked down eight pins. She
smiled back at me. “It’s a good start, Doctor.”
I laugh. “This
is only the beginning, Mr. Hyde.”
21.
Cassie
Graham won. We were in the
car laughing about the night, “River” by Joni Mitchell (my pick) playing in the
background around us. I had fun, and I’d forgotten how much fun Graham could be;
he always knew how to make me smile. Somehow all of that got lost in my head. I
didn’t want the night to end, but he pulled up in the spot between our houses.
We sat in his
truck, neither of us moving at first. I didn’t know why he was frozen, but I
knew why I was. This had been a great night, and now what? How did we go back
to pretending? Or had we been pretending all night? No, we hadn’t. I hadn’t.
That was too natural to be fake. I didn’t like fake us; I liked the real thing.
I unbuckled my
seatbelt. Someone should move, and even though I didn’t want to, it had to be
me. He’d made himself very clear, and I wondered if that had changed now. But I
couldn’t ask; it wasn’t fair.
“I had fun,” I
offered.
Graham’s smile
faded when he looked at me. I wondered what he was thinking. He had to be thinking
something. Had I upset him again somehow?
“Thank you,” I
said.
He cleared his
throat. “Of course. Let me walk you home.”
It was an old
joke between us, since my home was maybe thirty feet from his. He used to come
around and open my door. We’d held hands and lingered outside the truck,
lingered on the sidewalk, lingered on the porch. We’d always lingered, always
tried to hold on for another hour, or minute, or heartbeat.
He didn’t open
my door today. He waited outside the truck for me, and we walked in silence
toward my
me on the shoulder.
“Did you poke
me?”
She smiled and
shrugged. “What was up with Mrs. Dinkleman?”
Five minutes.
A record for sure. “I helped out around here when it was first renovated.”
“You worked
here?”
“Sort of.”
“What’d you
do?”
I took a
breath. “Designed it.”
Her eyes widened.
“You designed this?”
I nodded. “She
came to me after Mr. Mykiam—remember him? He taught art and was one of her
leaders for the Wednesday night bowling league—he wrote me a letter for school
and he got me involved with the designing and the building plans.”
“Wow! You did
all this?” She looked around the room, and I could see the pride in her face.
It was not what I expected to see. Cassie’s eyes were as bright as her smile.
It imprinted this moment into my brain. I never thought that I’d get to share
this with her, and to have her love it like this made me feel like I had a
purpose. Like my dream was something we could share again. I stood next to her.
It really was amazing looking at something I designed and watching other people
get joy from it. Especially her.
I poked her
and she laughed. “I didn’t do the polka dots.”
“Too bad. That’s
the most inventive part,” she said before she turned around to put a silver
bowling ball on the return. I grinned because I knew she was kidding. She
always got this tone when she was kidding.
God, that
girl. Crazy how she still sent me spiraling, and after all that time, I thought
it would’ve passed. If I was sane I’d step away, put space between us but that
was the last thing I wanted.
“You ready to
lose, Tucker?” Cass called.
“Ready if you
are,” I said. I clicked the scorecard on the computer console. “You’re first.”
Cass turned
toward the screen. Grabbing her ball, she stepped into position. The screen
flickered to life and her name popped up. She squealed. “Mr. Hyde?”
I raised an
eyebrow. “And Dr. Jekyll.”
“Those are
horrible nicknames.”
“We are a
horrible man,” I said. Cass shook her head. She hated that book. It was the
great rampage of sophomore year.
I watched Cass
as she put her feet on the little dots. One, two, three, and she let go of the
ball; it rolled straight down the middle and knocked down eight pins. She
smiled back at me. “It’s a good start, Doctor.”
I laugh. “This
is only the beginning, Mr. Hyde.”
21.
Cassie
Graham won. We were in the
car laughing about the night, “River” by Joni Mitchell (my pick) playing in the
background around us. I had fun, and I’d forgotten how much fun Graham could be;
he always knew how to make me smile. Somehow all of that got lost in my head. I
didn’t want the night to end, but he pulled up in the spot between our houses.
We sat in his
truck, neither of us moving at first. I didn’t know why he was frozen, but I
knew why I was. This had been a great night, and now what? How did we go back
to pretending? Or had we been pretending all night? No, we hadn’t. I hadn’t.
That was too natural to be fake. I didn’t like fake us; I liked the real thing.
I unbuckled my
seatbelt. Someone should move, and even though I didn’t want to, it had to be
me. He’d made himself very clear, and I wondered if that had changed now. But I
couldn’t ask; it wasn’t fair.
“I had fun,” I
offered.
Graham’s smile
faded when he looked at me. I wondered what he was thinking. He had to be thinking
something. Had I upset him again somehow?
“Thank you,” I
said.
He cleared his
throat. “Of course. Let me walk you home.”
It was an old
joke between us, since my home was maybe thirty feet from his. He used to come
around and open my door. We’d held hands and lingered outside the truck,
lingered on the sidewalk, lingered on the porch. We’d always lingered, always
tried to hold on for another hour, or minute, or heartbeat.
He didn’t open
my door today. He waited outside the truck for me, and we walked in silence
toward my
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