The Weight of Blood (58)

“All the time.”

“Then . . . why play?”

“’Cause I love it! The rush, the complication, the violence, my team. Just hate all the other stuff that comes with it.”

Her head tipped to the side. “Like what?”

“Well, like not having a life of my own. Not being my own person. Every conversation always about football or someone sucking up to me about football. Can’t even have a slice of pizza without it having something to do with the game. I miss when it was just me and the guys kicking it, having a good time. I love the game, I wanna play for the rest of my life, but I didn’t ask for all the other shit!”

He shuddered a breath, realizing he’d said too much, and was afraid to look at her. But Maddy met his gaze, staring back with a strange tenderness. No further request to elaborate nor chastising him for being ungrateful. He could be fully honest with her without debate. It made the worry melt out of his shoulders.

“Hey, you hungry? I got a sandwich.”

“Yes. Thank you,” she said with an appreciative smile.

He pulled out the sandwich Wendy had made for his training session, which he planned to miss, and hoped she hadn’t added those weird hot peppers like last time. He didn’t know if Maddy liked spicy food. Other than milkshakes, he didn’t know what kind of food she liked. But he could learn. He wanted to learn.

Maddy took a cautious nibble like a bunny.

“Ham and cheese,” she noted. “Is this your favorite?”

“No,” he laughed. “It’s actually PB&J. I can smash, like, five of those with no problem.”

She blushed, unable to meet his eye. “That’s my favorite too.”

“Really? Okay, grape or strawberry jelly?”

“We only have grape.”

“What? Nah, you gotta upgrade to strawberry preserves! It’ll change your life.”

“Life-changing sandwiches? Guess I have to try that.” She laughed and it sounded like bells chiming, chipping away at the awkwardness.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” he said, grabbing a blade of tall grass beside him.

“I don’t know, can you?”

Kenny leaned back, whistling through his teeth. “Whoa! Maddy Washington with the jokes!”

Maddy covered her face, her neck beet red. “I’m sorry! That was something silly I heard on a show once.”

Kenny reached forward, gently pushing her arm aside so he could see her eyes. She had real beautiful eyes. She gazed up at him, searching, their laughter dying to silence.

“Um, you were going to ask me something,” she prodded.

He blinked and cleared his throat. “Oh yeah. Uh, were you ever going to tell anyone you were Black?”

Maddy’s smile faded. “No.”

“Why not? I mean, folks straight up asked you and you lied.”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. Still hasn’t.”

He shrugged. “So what’s it like? Pretending to be something different?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

In a matter of minutes, Kenny had seen several sides of Maddy he didn’t think were possible.

And like a late reaction to her own words, Maddy gasped, her mouth forming an O. “I’m sorry. Oh! That was . . . I mean, I didn’t mean to . . . oh, I . . .”

“Naw. Say what you mean.” He tried to keep his tone light, but there was a sharpness behind every syllable.

Maddy curled inward, biting her lip.

“I want you to say it,” he insisted. “Don’t hold back. Please. Too many people hold back with me as it is.”

She hesitated, twisting the hem of her skirt. “Well, you just don’t seem like the others. And it just . . . must be so exhausting being so many people for so many people.”

Kenny’s mouth went slack. How could she know that?

“I’m sorry.” She winced. “I guess I’m bad at being normal.”

He scoffed. “Normal’s boring.”

“That is very easy for you to say.”

He noticed an edge to her voice, the defensiveness and lack of humor startling.

“I think, what I mean is . . . everyone you think of as normal ain’t normal. Never know what’s going on behind closed doors.” He laughed. “Don’t seem like it, but I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong. Walking a tightrope day in and day out gets pretty old . . . don’t it? But like my aunt used to say, ‘Wherever you go, there you are.’”

A shock of recognition passed across her face.

“The truth is . . . you’re right,” he admitted, staring at the water. “It is exhausting. ’Cause no matter what you do, you can’t outgrow, out-lie, out-perform, out-play, out-run, or out-joke being different. And, after a while, it starts hurting, like in your chest, being something you not. The older you get and the more you learn just how different you really are, you get tired of trying to blend in. You get lonely, even when you surrounded by people and you end up wanting to chill with someone who’s just like . . . you.”

Kenny exhaled, and turned to Maddy, her eyes taking up her whole face.

Shit, what I say?

She wrapped the last of the sandwich. “I . . . um, I have to get home soon. Gotta start dinner.”