Select (Select #1)(37)

“Supposed to be reading, but I’m staring out the window.” I looked at my bare feet, trying to get a grip. I couldn’t believe I was nervous. I realized too late that not being able to read his mind from this distance put me squarely in the same position as any other girl on the phone with John Ford.

“What are you looking at?” he asked. John didn’t sound nervous in the least. It made me want to know what he was thinking even more.

“The lake.”

“Nice. Are you in your room?”

“Yes. I practically live up here.” I didn’t mean to make that sound like a bad thing.

“I hear you. I walk out, and I have to answer thirty questions.” John laughed, a little humorlessly.

“It’s nice they ask you.” God, I didn’t want to sound like I felt sorry for myself. “Where do you live?” I sounded pleasant, like I wanted to get to know more about him. If he only knew.

“I live in Zilker. Right by the elementary school. Actually you probably never come south of the river,” he teased. We always seemed to fall into easy flirting.

I laughed. I wasn’t expecting the playful shit-talking to start already. “What are you saying? I go south all the time!” I realized I was winding my hair around a finger and smiling. I dropped my hand to my lap. “I spent many a night at the train tracks.”

“What were you doing there?”

I was sure he had visions of rich kids buying drugs. “I’d watch my friends try to jump on the passing trains. It was pretty frightening actually, but safer than watching them play chicken with their cars.”

I had to be careful, I realized. The only people I was used to talking to and spending time with were my family. It was too easy to get sloppy with him. “You’re leaving the tennis team, aren’t you?”

“How’d you know?” John asked.

“That’s why your brother was there today, right?” I lowered my voice in case anyone was in the hallway outside my door.

“Yeah, it’s time to go back to my real coach.” He sounded like he actually regretted having to leave.

“I’ll still see you in English.” I realized I’d just admitted there was something between us.

“True. But I’ll miss seeing you after tennis.” I couldn’t believe he just said that.

“I know.” What was I doing?

“Are you seeing that guy? The one who punched the cop?” John sounded like he wanted to know once and for all if he was wasting his time. I’d caught him in class thinking about the way I’d looked at Angus at Barton Springs. He hated Angus. It bothered me how much he still thought about Angus touching the police officer and what he thought he saw.

“No,” I said quickly. Maybe too quickly.

“It’s weird. I don’t know why I went to Barton Springs that day. I never go there.”

What if I hadn’t met you? My own thought flashed by and took me by surprise.

I decided to ask, “What about you? Do you miss…what’s her name?” He knew I knew her name.

“You mean Sarah? No, I don’t miss her. I miss believing she’s a good person. And that Tom is my friend. Whatever.”

“Not whatever. Maybe they’re basically good but they made a mistake.”

“Mistakes are one thing. But I think you can’t consider someone good when they hurt other people. On purpose. Repeatedly.” He was definitely cold to the people who crossed him. It looked like he never thought about Sarah or Tom anymore.

I needed to change the subject. “What are you doing this weekend?” Oh no, now he was going to think I wanted him to ask me out.

He sounded resigned. “I have to play a tournament this weekend.”

“Where?”

“In town, actually. At UT. It’s a big one.”

“Maybe I’ll come by.”

“No, don’t.”

“Why?” I was curious.

“Because I’ll want to impress you.” Wow.

“Can I come?” I persisted, suddenly realizing what I wanted to do. I was sick of feeling bad about Barton Springs and about reading his mind. It wasn’t appropriate to care. If I helped him win his match—one more time—I’d absolve myself and be able to move on.

“It’s open to the public.”

Oh, now I had to be at this tournament.

“No, of course you can come,” he finally said.

“Okay,” I said, as though we’d reached an agreement. We had a moment of warm silence. I felt myself begin to blush. “I gotta go.”

“Good night.” I heard the smile in his voice.

“Good night.” I lowered my voice to almost a whisper.

I placed my phone down on the bed and stared out my window, telling myself I had this thing under control.





The night before the tournament, I wandered downstairs after talking to John. I was looking for something to eat, deliberately waiting until late so I wouldn’t run into Victoria or my sister.

I was replaying our phone conversation—which, this time, had lasted for hours—enviously thinking about all the cool concerts he’d been to, and laughing to myself about his unexpected devotion to both Run the Jewels and Taylor Swift.