Students of the Game by Sarah Bumpus

within ear shot.
    “Sorry. I want details though,” she says, as if that justifies the outburst.
    “Stop drilling me, and I’ll tell you,” I whisper, pulling her closer to the railing.
    I relay the whole story to her and when finished add, “I didn’t want to say anything, because I wasn’t completely sure. It’s not like a guy shows signs of interest in me every day.”
    “I could have saved you the worry! The poor guy got a library card from you, for Pete’s sake!” Farah laughs. “So, wait…What did he say after you kissed?”
    “He said it was the only explanation he needed!” I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Carver’s top lip, swollen from the kiss.
    Farah squeals appropriately then I go on to ask her about her weekend. She blows it off as no big deal, but I can tell she had fun. “Oh my God, Joy! There were so many sensitive artsy guys there. They’re like teddy bears. You just want to hug them all.”
    I laugh at the absurdity of her statement. “You look tired though.” I take in the dark circles under her eyes, and the lack luster of her usually bouncy curls.
    “Oh, that’s just this stupid waterproof eyeliner I can’t get off,” she jokes, rubbing her eyes.
    When we finally exit the stairwell, I see him approaching and with each step closer, my stomach lurches with dread. Carver slowly glides over to us and says hello. Farah give s me a flirtatious wave, and excuses herself, heading off to class.
    I turn to him, expecting the worst.
    “We need to talk about what happened at the game,” Carver says, in a serious tone.
    I swallow and look away, expecting the worse. “OK.”
    He laughs and gives me that lopsided smile. “Go out with me this Friday.”
    My head jerks quickly back, d efinitely not what I was expecting. “OK,” I say again.
    “Here’s my address. Be there for eight.”
     
     
    I pull up a few minutes early to the address I’m holding in my hand. There are a few cars parked across a wide graveled driveway, one of them a police cruiser. I start to panic, then suddenly remember the fact that Carver’s dad is a cop. Not sure where to park, I just pull up onto the curb. The house itself is two-story Cape like mine, but with an attached garage. I press the doorbell and a few moments later I hear the hollow sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Carver opens the door and comes out, shutting it behind him. I step back, slightly surprised, because I had expected he would invite me in to meet his parents.
    “Hey.” Carver gives me a once over. I pray to the wardrobe gods that my outfit looks hip enough for him. I have on a slouchy fitting blouse and the skinny jeans I wore to the football game, tucked into a (slightly too tight) pair of brown boots on loan from Farah. My hair is in a thick braid over my shoulder. It’s about as trendy as I can manage without feeling ridiculous.
    “So there’s this band playing down in Providence, I thought we could check out.” He doesn’t really leave it open to discussion, but it’s not like I could have come up with anything better. “You look good,” he adds, as we walk towards the cars.
    I thank him and repay the compliment. Of course he looks amazing, effortlessly hot in his signature basic white t-shirt and jeans. No jacket, which makes me think of Bryce. I shake my head, trying to erase that thought. I’m with the sexiest guy I have ever laid eyes on, and here I am thinking about Bryce.
    I follow Carver over to his car, an older model blue BMW. It’s not perfect, but it’s still nicer than most of what our school’s student body drives, (including my clunky old Jetta). I don’t know why I’ve I never noticed what kind of car he has. Maybe it’s my love for Volkswagens; I guess I don’t really pay attention to anything else.
    “Nice car,” I comment. I bet Bryce would be so jealous of this car right now.
    I want to slap myself across the face.
    STOP THINKING ABOUT BRYCE COLTON! 
    Carver unlocks the passenger door