Interim(74)



Still nothing.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered, and scooped her up, cradling her like a baby. “What do I do with you now?”

Her arm dangled lifelessly. She really did pass out. He didn’t know where she placed her car keys. He couldn’t drive her home like this. She had to wake up. Eventually.

He made his way to a lawn chair sitting next to his Camaro, and sank into it slowly. She groaned and turned her chest toward his, nuzzling his neck with her cheek and nose. It tickled and sent shock waves through his arms. He tightened his grip on her and listened for the even sound of her breathing. Barely detectable.

“I hope you had a nice birthday after all,” he whispered, lips pressed gently against her forehead. It was a bold move, but she was asleep.

“I did,” she whispered back.

He tensed. She didn’t move. He looked down at her face. Her eyes remained closed, like she’d answered him in her dreams. But he knew better, and he wondered what she was up to, trying to trick him like that.





~

It doesn’t matter what she does. She could do anything. Be anyone. Hurt my feelings over and over. Say the sweetest things. Make me cry. Make me laugh. Tear me to pieces. Build me back up. Take everything away from me, and give it back. Play games. Be real. She could do it all, and I would still love her. I would still want her. Because broken people don’t know when enough is enough.

~





Perfect day for a soccer match. Unseasonably cool. Sun bright and hopeful in the sky. Packed bleachers. Everyone came out to watch the Ridgeview girls battle River Run. Big time rivals. Lots of history. Lots of shade-throwing in the stands and out on the field. Regan avoided the bleachers as much as possible. She didn’t want to know where the scout camped out. Better to pretend there was no scout at all. It was only her entire future riding on this game. No pressure or anything.

“Feet, don’t fail me,” she whispered, looking down.

“You don’t have to play your best game,” Casey said earlier in the locker room. “You just have to play well enough.”

Regan snorted. Casey always said the exact wrong thing before games. She was Regan’s biggest and worst cheerleader.

“And don’t worry about Brandon,” Casey added. “You two will work it out, but you’ve gotta communicate.”

Regan ignored Brandon’s calls all weekend. Thank goodness Monday was a holiday. She hid from him today because she still hadn’t decided how best to break up with him. Casey knew something huge happened between them over the weekend, and she only pried once before she realized it was better to leave her friend alone. She’d never seen that look in Regan’s eyes—like she could kill someone. Like she would kill her if Casey didn’t stop pressing.

“Um, okay,” Regan replied. She rolled her eyes.

“What? Not good?”

“No. Not good at all. Why are you even mentioning him to me right now?”

“I’m just trying to give you perspective!” Casey argued.

Pfsst. Perspective. Like this chick had any perspective. She was in a bad relationship with a bad guy from a bad crowd.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Regan replied curtly, lacing up her cleats.

“Whoa.”

“Just sayin’. I love you to death, but get out of the locker room, and stop giving me advice.”

“It’s compulsory.”

“Exactly. Leave, please.”

Casey huffed and leaned over. She pecked her best friend’s cheek—a ritual they started back in ninth grade when Regan made the varsity team. It was unheard of. Freshmen never made the varsity team.

“One for good luck,” Casey said automatically. A peck on the other cheek. “One for the goal.”

“I need ten,” Regan replied, and her heart dropped.

It was true. Well, her absurd truth. She’d convinced herself she needed at least ten goals to stamp her name and number on the scout’s brain.

Casey walked to the exit, then paused. She turned around.

“Did you wrap your boobs?” she asked softly.

“Jesus, Casey!” Regan cried, hands automatically going to her chest.

“Sorry. Sheer curiosity.”

“You’re a terrible friend right now!” Regan snapped.

“I know! I know!”

“Please, go away.”

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