Select (Select #1)(47)

I realized he was freaking out in his own quiet way. He was procrastinating, suddenly unsure of how much he actually wanted to know. I needed a moment too, before I committed myself to doing something stupid. And he had a point—I couldn’t go home like this. I was doing everything I could not to draw attention to myself.

“Okay,” I said slowly, trying to calculate what to do with my clothes, which were just as telltale as my ashy face.

Like he’d read my mind, John said, “I can take your clothes and wash them if you want.”

I nodded. “Thank you.” We’d barely spent any time alone together, and now I was showering at his house. Both of us were trying to act normal when all of this was anything but.

“Come on.” He led me down a short hallway to the first open door. John snapped on the light.

I entered the small bedroom, now feeling extremely shy that I was in his room. It was overstimulating being surrounded by everything John—the person I had been fixated on, like it or not, for weeks now. A queen-size bed was pushed to one corner of the room, no headboard, dark-blue sheets on the unmade bed. The room had a wood floor like the rest of the house, and there was a hefty desk taking up too much space under the one window. French doors led to the backyard.

While John gathered clothes from the floor as fast as he could and tossed them in his closet, I peered closely at the photo on his desk next to a wireless speaker. It was of John and his brother, a huge fish dangling in front of them for the camera, mountains in the background. They looked quite a bit younger—maybe thirteen or fourteen—but even back then, in their sunglasses and trucker hats, they appeared overconfident and cute. I’m sure girls—and boys, I now knew—had been chasing the Ford boys forever.

Then I noticed a pink wristband on the desk scattered amid the ChapStick, school papers, and spare change.

“Is this mine?” I held it up for John to see. He momentarily stopped his cleaning frenzy.

“I’ve been meaning to give that back to you, and then I kept forgetting.” He shrugged, trying to sound offhand.

“This was from the first match. I remember because I didn’t want to wear team swag. Did I drop it?”

“You left it where you were sitting.”

I dropped the pink wristband back on his desk. For some reason I wanted it to stay there. John was done cleaning and he scanned the room, as if looking at it from my perspective. There was no escaping that we were in his bedroom by ourselves.

In spite of how reckless I was being, or maybe because of it, I had the feeling of being exactly where I wanted to be. It had been a long time since I felt this peace and thrill at the same time. Maybe since before I’d become a Lost Kid.

“Do you have something I can wear while my clothes are in the washing machine?” Both of us blushed at that. Damn. I wanted to look like this didn’t faze me.

“Of course.” This sent John into another small tailspin, and he started opening and closing drawers to find me something. “Here. Take this—” He quickly began unbuttoning his shirt. “It’ll be long enough.” He was still blushing. I took the shirt but probably didn’t look away fast enough. His body was even nicer than I remembered.

“What?” he asked. I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.

“What are we doing?” I grinned. “You’re standing there half-naked.”

“I’m handing you my shirt! And I’m not naked.” But he quickly went to his drawer, threw it open, and grabbed a T-shirt, pulling it over his head. “Better? I didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities. Wait, before you go in, let me make sure the bathroom’s clean.” He put his hand on the doorjamb of the connecting bathroom and leaned in, quickly taking a look. It was clear my presence was making him crazy.



The bathroom smelled like a boy, but in a good way, like a bar of green soap. It was actually decently clean. The tile looked vintage, an aqua blue. John’s total of three products lined the side of the bathtub. I was surprised to see contact solution on the sink counter. I opened his glasses case, curious to see what his frames looked like.

While in the shower, I wondered what I was doing. I couldn’t live with the anxiety of John knowing. It wasn’t too late to backtrack, put on my clothes, and leave.

When I was done, I pulled the shower curtain aside and realized I’d forgotten to ask for a towel. I stretched my arm out to reach for John’s. Fluffy and tan-colored, it was slightly damp but felt fairly clean. Something was seriously wrong with me if I didn’t at all mind drying myself with John’s used towel.

I stepped into my underwear and regretfully put my smoky bra back on, not feeling quite so clean anymore. I grabbed his shirt and buttoned it up, making a concerted effort not to bring it up to my face to deeply inhale his scent before putting it on. Gathering my pile of clothes that smelled like a campfire, I opened the door and walked back into John’s room. He was scrolling through his phone and looked up at me. His shirt swallowed me, but it did show a lot of leg. Still, he didn’t need to stare, making me feel even more self-conscious. John put his palm to his forehead and pressed like he had a headache.

“When are your parents getting home?” I quickly reframed the question, which made it worse. “I mean, I didn’t mean it like that. I just realized this looks bad.”

John cleared his throat but didn’t look away from me. At least he was looking at my eyes now, willing himself to stay focused on me above the shoulders. “It’s okay. They’re going to be gone until late.”