interrupting. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t have any flaws, even though rationally I know it’s impossible. I fiddle with my newly purchased cell phone, then rest it in my lap.
“So, what do you like most about her?” Tate offers a lick of his maple vanilla cone as we lounge on the stone rim of the enoromous fountain in the middle of town. The statue in the center is a child riding a dolphin, the waves splashing but motionless around her. When I was little I used to want to be that girl, riding away to somewhere unknown. But as I look into Tate’s gleaming eyes, I know there’s no place I’d rather be. I put my phone in my pocket lest I damage another one; then I slide my flip-flops off, spin around, and sit on the edge of the wall so I can dip my feet into the cool water. In the fall the sports teams sometimes come here after big games. Tate has probably dipped his feet in here, or been thrown in, many times. Maybe he’s even kissed someone here. I banish the thought.
“This may sound lame, but right now I’m just happy that she exists.” I look over my shoulder at Tate and use my hand as a visor. The sun is shining so hard. “When I talk to her, I feel as though I have a tether out there. A mooring in—”
“In the ocean of the world?” Tate interrupts me for the first time with his sarcasm.
“Joke all you want, Bro, but it’s true.”
Tate crunches the last of his cone and spins around so he’s facing the water alongside me. “Fitz, don’t call me Bro.”
My brow furrows at this unexpected announcement. “Why not?”
Tate shrugs and looks off in the distance. Every once in a while I wonder if he’s thinking about what’s ahead for us. Do I fit somewhere in the equation that adds the sports season to the back-to-school season? I really hope I do. He takes my hand, brings it up to his mouth, and lightly presses his lips to my palm. “I’m Bro when I’m with the team. When I’m with you, I’d rather be Tate.”
I know exactly what he means.
He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear and goes in for a kiss when my cell phone rings. He smiles. “Let me guess? The great Alexa is on the line. I’ll take off.”
I look at the phone. He’s right; it’s her. I really want to pick up, but I don’t want him to go, either. “Stay. I’ll only be a minute.”
Tate has that faraway look on his face again. “It’s fine. You should take your time talking to her. I have to run sprints, anyway. The first game is around the corner.”
When he walks away and I think about how soon we will be forced back to our old worlds, I make a wish that summer could last forever.
“It’s like I can feel August being sucked down the drain.” I’m wandering through the town square, cutting across the green so I’m near Downtown Studios. On the way I count twelve signs for the art show, and with each glance at them, I feel another level of anxiety: I have to get into that show, otherwise I have to wait a whole year before trying for it again. And by then who knows what will have happened or where I will be?
“I know what you mean,” Alexa reassures. “The city’s practically deserted. My moms usually rent this house in the Hamptons for the last couple weeks of August, but they didn’t this year.”
Alexa’s two mothers are both lawyers who seem eternally busy, always dashing in for late meals and leaving at the crack of dawn. At least, that’s how she tells it.
“Did you finish any paintings for the show?” she asks. “There’s not much time, you know. Maybe you should just pull an all-nighter and drink lots of Red Bull and just whip something up. That’s what what I would do.”
“Thanks for putting the pressure on,” I say, and smile. “Art’s not like that. You have to think a lot about what you’re trying to create. At least, I do. Besides, I can’t stand the taste of Red Bull. I’m more of a root beer float kind of person.”
Alexa laughs, and I like the
“So, what do you like most about her?” Tate offers a lick of his maple vanilla cone as we lounge on the stone rim of the enoromous fountain in the middle of town. The statue in the center is a child riding a dolphin, the waves splashing but motionless around her. When I was little I used to want to be that girl, riding away to somewhere unknown. But as I look into Tate’s gleaming eyes, I know there’s no place I’d rather be. I put my phone in my pocket lest I damage another one; then I slide my flip-flops off, spin around, and sit on the edge of the wall so I can dip my feet into the cool water. In the fall the sports teams sometimes come here after big games. Tate has probably dipped his feet in here, or been thrown in, many times. Maybe he’s even kissed someone here. I banish the thought.
“This may sound lame, but right now I’m just happy that she exists.” I look over my shoulder at Tate and use my hand as a visor. The sun is shining so hard. “When I talk to her, I feel as though I have a tether out there. A mooring in—”
“In the ocean of the world?” Tate interrupts me for the first time with his sarcasm.
“Joke all you want, Bro, but it’s true.”
Tate crunches the last of his cone and spins around so he’s facing the water alongside me. “Fitz, don’t call me Bro.”
My brow furrows at this unexpected announcement. “Why not?”
Tate shrugs and looks off in the distance. Every once in a while I wonder if he’s thinking about what’s ahead for us. Do I fit somewhere in the equation that adds the sports season to the back-to-school season? I really hope I do. He takes my hand, brings it up to his mouth, and lightly presses his lips to my palm. “I’m Bro when I’m with the team. When I’m with you, I’d rather be Tate.”
I know exactly what he means.
He tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear and goes in for a kiss when my cell phone rings. He smiles. “Let me guess? The great Alexa is on the line. I’ll take off.”
I look at the phone. He’s right; it’s her. I really want to pick up, but I don’t want him to go, either. “Stay. I’ll only be a minute.”
Tate has that faraway look on his face again. “It’s fine. You should take your time talking to her. I have to run sprints, anyway. The first game is around the corner.”
When he walks away and I think about how soon we will be forced back to our old worlds, I make a wish that summer could last forever.
“It’s like I can feel August being sucked down the drain.” I’m wandering through the town square, cutting across the green so I’m near Downtown Studios. On the way I count twelve signs for the art show, and with each glance at them, I feel another level of anxiety: I have to get into that show, otherwise I have to wait a whole year before trying for it again. And by then who knows what will have happened or where I will be?
“I know what you mean,” Alexa reassures. “The city’s practically deserted. My moms usually rent this house in the Hamptons for the last couple weeks of August, but they didn’t this year.”
Alexa’s two mothers are both lawyers who seem eternally busy, always dashing in for late meals and leaving at the crack of dawn. At least, that’s how she tells it.
“Did you finish any paintings for the show?” she asks. “There’s not much time, you know. Maybe you should just pull an all-nighter and drink lots of Red Bull and just whip something up. That’s what what I would do.”
“Thanks for putting the pressure on,” I say, and smile. “Art’s not like that. You have to think a lot about what you’re trying to create. At least, I do. Besides, I can’t stand the taste of Red Bull. I’m more of a root beer float kind of person.”
Alexa laughs, and I like the
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