First & Then(38)

“Why are any of us friends with the people we’re friends with?” Jordan went on. “They’ve got qualities we like—maybe some we see in ourselves. Maybe some we want to see in ourselves.”

“What are Ezra’s … qualities?”

“What aren’t Ezra’s qualities, baby? He’s got ’em all.”

“Most people tend to think he’s kind of a jerk.”

Jordan nodded. “I’ve heard people say that before, but they just don’t get Ezra. It’s just that he’s so…” He screwed up his face in thought. “He’s so f*cking concentrated. He’s like … like baking chocolate. You ever eat the baking chocolate when your mama makes cookies?”

“Yeah. It looks just like regular but it tastes disgusting.”

Jordan laughed. “Okay, so maybe Ezra’s not like baking chocolate. But you know what I mean? When you cook it up, it’s full of flavor. But by itself, it’s too … intense to be understood. Ezra’s just a really intense dude. You got to get him in order to really … get him.”

“So how did you get him?”

Jordan’s eyes shone. “You’ve seen him take to that field, Champ. No one’s immune to it. It’s like watching one of the masters, like fricking … da Vinci, painting or something.”

“Lofty,” I said, and he grinned.

“You know what I mean, though.”

“Yeah, but you can be good at something and still suck as a person.”

“It’s not just that. How Ezra approaches football is how he approaches everything else. Just so damn … committed, and thoughtful, and … I don’t know.” He grinned. “I’m not trying to write a book about him here, I’m just saying, that’s the kind of person you want on your side, isn’t it?”

I nodded, because it was, and then Jordan continued. “But enough about him. When are we going to talk about my good qualities?”

“Would you like me to list them alphabetically?”

“Yes, start with A for ‘attractive in the face.’ And then B for … ‘but damn his ass is fine.’ And C is for…”

“Capable,” I said.

“See, you could’ve said cute, but I’m glad you didn’t. I’m not just a piece of meat, you know.”

“Oh I know,” I said, and linked my arm through his, and we continued around the store until Mrs. Wentworth called us away.




That night I was tucked away in a sleeping bag on the floor of a student dorm room. The room’s residents had stayed up late to tell me all about Reeding life, and although they were asleep now, I was too jazzed to shut my eyes.

I imagined myself living at Reeding for real. I would have a dorm room like this, with a bulletin board and a minifridge and a roommate. I would eat breakfast in the cafeteria in the morning, and walk to class with a messenger bag slung over my shoulder, and study in the shade of the oak trees, and I would be so collegiate. I would have opinions on current events! I would accomplish academic goals! I would have a purpose and a … a path to something. I didn’t know what that something was yet, but I knew that there was definitely a Something. Forget “advanced breakfast with a minor in cable television.” I suddenly wanted … more.

The minifridge hummed. The Reeding girls stirred slightly. Eventually, I nodded off.




The next day, we went to a financial-aid seminar and sat in on a philosophy class, and then the trip was just about over. We had yet to see the beach, but I could hear Jordan angling for it as we all stowed our bags back in Mrs. Wentworth’s van.

“There’s no game tonight, so there’s no need to rush. Maybe we could have a little free time,” he said. “And maybe we could check out the beach? I mean, it is an aspect of Reeding life.”

Mrs. Wentworth had that shine in her eyes, that Isobel shine I recalled at our first meeting. After a moment she said, “I’ll give you an hour. But then we’ve got to hit the road.”

My family vacationed on the Gulf, so I wasn’t used to the Atlantic. Charcoal-gray waves hitting the brown sand. I was right—it was too cold to swim. But everyone managed to make the most of it. Cas, Jordan, and Ezra tossed a football around. Maria, Lauren, and Lindsay lay out on the sand and soaked in the sun. And I sat a bit removed, on a bench overlooking the beach. I had my notebook out, hoping for a little inspiration for a better college essay. One that could actually take me here.

Footsteps came up behind me after a little while. I thought it might be Mrs. Wentworth, but when I turned, it was Ezra standing there.

I hadn’t noticed him leaving the game of catch. “How’s it going?”

He shrugged.

“Do you … want to sit down?”

“Are you working on something?”

“Just essay ideas.” I slid down the bench a little, and Ezra sat down next to me. “College stuff. You probably don’t have to mess around with much of that, right?”

“Not really.”

“Must be nice.” I closed my notebook. Last night’s revelations about college were still fresh in my mind, but the reality of it all had flooded in as well. I would never wear that collegiate messenger bag and study under the trees if I couldn’t get into Reeding in the first place. As much as I knew I had to do more before, I felt an even greater sense of urgency now.