Waiting on the Sidelines (Waiting on the Sidelines #1)(102)

Reed rolled the cast a little and looked at it and just shrugged a bit. “Oh, yeah. They were both at my mom’s when I got back from the hospital, volunteering for one of her things. Whatever,” he said as if it was no big deal.

No big deal. Perhaps it wasn’t. Maybe I was making it a big deal in my own mind. Except, he had to know that of all names he could walk around wearing for two and a half months, these were possibly the only two that could break my heart, if only just a little. Instead of confronting him, though, I just swallowed my emotions and tucked them back deep down inside and plastered on my fake smile.



The first few weeks of school went about the same. Reed and I saw each other in the hall and in the two classes we had together. We held hands and he kissed my lips lightly when we parted. But there was no depth. It was as if we were characters in a play, carrying out our parts for a rehearsal, but saving the real emotion. I just didn’t know exactly what we were saving it for.

Reed wasn’t the only one to blame. I was just as much of a zombie as he was, allowing him to ignore me until he had to come face-to-face with me, pretending that it wasn’t bothering me. I just went on with my days and then sat awake until the late hours of the night watching my phone, each night thinking he would call. And then he didn’t. I didn’t either, though.

We texted the few times we had plans, but that was it. Even his texts were shorter. I still signed mine with XXOO, but his were just short one-word answers or times when we should meet. And we hadn’t met, outside of school, for days.

Reed was spending most of his free time watching tapes with coach and working with Kyle. The team managed to win their first two games, though it was close. Our big test would be Friday when we played Southern Christian. I knew that this game was consuming Reed, and I also knew that he was counting down until the day he was able to take the cast off and work on his strength. The doctors had told him that he might be able to throw in the playoffs if we made them, but that he’d probably miss the entire regular season. His arm just wouldn’t be ready in time.

I stayed late after volleyball practice just to watch Reed work with Kyle on Thursday night. Kyle was picking things up, and Reed was actually a pretty good coach. But I could see his frustration. When Kyle ran back to the field to work out with some of the other guys, Reed stayed at the sidelines and sat on the trainer’s table, his feet kicking a little while he looked down at his phone. I watched him push his phone to his ear and then he jumped from the table and began pacing. He was rubbing his head and swearing a little. Then I heard him clearly.

“Fuck!” he screamed, pushing the giant water chest from the table and knocking down rows of cups, kicking at them as they fell. He shoved his phone back down into his pocket and just stood there, staring at the ground and the mess he’d made. Frozen, I wasn’t sure if I should go help him, comfort him or pretend I hadn’t seen him crack.

He was picking up the cups and kicking ice chips around when I finally got close enough for him to hear me.

“You ok?” I said, nervous.

His eyes shot up to me and then he just looked back down. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he was short.

I couldn’t play this game with him anymore. “You don’t look fine,” I stood, my hands on my hips. “How about you talk to me? Let me help.”

I started to help him clean up the table and he continued in silence. When he reached for the chest, I took it from him and put it the rest of the way on the table. The act seemed to irritate him, though, and he shrugged me off.

“Just … just don’t, Nolan,” his brow was bunched together, like I had offended him.

“Sorry…” then I rethought my words, feeling braver. “I was just trying to help, Reed. You won’t let me f*cking help.”

I turned to leave, starting to feel the anger brew in my tummy once again. I was sure I was going to make it all the way to my car without a protest from him, but he surprised me, stopping me before I was more than a few steps away.

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry,” he sighed. I turned and just looked at him.

“What’s going on?” I pleaded.

He let out a heavy breath and looked back out to the field where his team was practicing without him. Finally, he spoke. “Most of the schools are pulling their offers,” he finally admitted. I had feared this.

“Oh Reed,” I went up to him and put my arms around him, but he still stood limp in my hold. “I’m sorry. I know this sucks.”

I didn’t want to patronize him. He didn’t need that. He looked up at me finally and I saw a faint smile on his lips, but it quickly disappeared. He looked back down at his feet before talking again. “I still have Stanford and UofA,” he said. “So I guess that’s good.”

I thought maybe now would be a good time to let him know I applied, too, just to make him feel less alone. “You know, I wasn’t going to tell you until I knew for sure, but I applied to those, too,” I bit my lip, anxious for his reaction. When he finally did look up, though, it wasn’t the expression I had expected to see on his face. Instead, he looked concerned and baffled.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, sharply.

A little dumbfounded, I stood there looking at my hands as I wrung them together before I could answer him finally. “I uh… I don’t know, I like their programs, too, and thought I would keep my options open? Thought maybe it would be cool if we went to the same school?” I couldn’t believe I had to explain this. What did he mean, why would I do that?