Love? Maybe. by Heather Hepler Page A

where someone is kicking half a dozen pull buoys toward the storage bin.
     
    I feel a flutter in my stomach that isn’t the seaweed. It’s Ben Donovan. “Umm…” I can be so witty under pressure.
     
    Ben looks over to where Peter is still flirting with the blonde. “He’s really broken up about you guys,” he says. I shake my head and hide a smile, both because he’s being so nice to me and because Ben Donovan actually noticed I was going out with Peter.
     
    “He’s brave to hide it so well,” I say.
     
    “Crying on the inside.” Ben Donovan leans over and picks up one of the pull buoys and chucks it at the back of Peter’s head. “Hey, Pete. You owe me breakfast.” Peter smiles over at him and shakes his head. “It’s your fault I urped,” Ben Donovan says.
     
    “Dude, it’s not my fault you didn’t train over break,” Peter says.
     
    Ben Donovan looks over at me. “Does he owe you breakfast, too?” I shrug. “Hey, Pete, you owe Piper here breakfast, too.”
     
    Peter acts like he’s about to make a smart remark at my expense, but he looks over at the blonde who’s still admiring him like he’s Adonis in a Speedo. “You hungry?” he asks her.She nods, but she seems uncertain. I can’t help rolling my eyes. Another girl who can’t eat in front of guys. I dump the last pile of kickboards in the bin and heft my bag from where I put it against the wall.
     
    Ben Donovan walks toward the locker room and I wonder if any of that was real or just guy talk. He catches the door and turns to look at me. “Meet us in the caff in ten,” he says.
     
    “I have to drop by my locker,” I say, then realize with a smirk that this might be the perfect time to
casually
give him the chocolates.
     
    “Okay, then in twelve.” He winks at me, which makes my heart thud a little harder. “I’ll save you a seat.”
     
    I hurry through my shower and pull on my uniform. I say a silent thanks to Jillian that she had her little fashion meeting with me. It takes me three minutes to blow-dry my hair. I start to put on some of the lipstick I dropped in my bag at the last minute, but decide against it. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. I grab my bag and start toward my locker. The halls are still mostly empty, just a few students here and there putting up flyers and wandering around. I twist my combination and pull my locker open, expecting to see my usual messy jumble of books and a couple of boxes of chocolates, but there’s also something else. Hanging from one of the hooks meant to hold jackets is a small brown bag. I pull it down and peer inside.
     
    “A banana,” I say out loud. I pull it out and look at it. It’s perfect. Just this side of green and no spots. Maybe Jillianthought I’d need something to eat after practice. I unload my backpack and lay the banana carefully on the stack of books inside. Smiling, I grab one of the boxes of chocolates and snap my locker shut. I might as well give them to Ben Donovan now since I know Jillian will ask. But when I start heading toward the caff, I’m suddenly nervous. This morning was the longest conversation I’ve ever had with Ben Donovan. What if I don’t have anything more to say? What if I just sit there like a lump while he mentally kicks himself for inviting such a hopeless girl to have breakfast with him? By the time I round the corner, I feel more like I’m walking to the gallows than to breakfast.
     
    Sitting on the far side of the caff in one of the booths are Peter and Ben Donovan. The blonde girl Peter was talking to is walking toward them, balancing two trays. One has four cups of coffee on it; the other is heaped with plates. I watch her wobble a little, then I hurry to her rescue. She hands me one of the trays with a grateful smile and I walk with her over to where the guys are sitting.
     
    “Hey there,” Ben Donovan says, sliding over to make room for me. The smart remark I had about treating women like servants