The Music of What Happens(76)

“Look alive!” Max says, and a heavy ball smacks me in the chin.

I open my mouth and narrow my eyes at him. “I know you did not just do that to me.”

“Sorry,” he says, smirking. “I’m used to friends who, you know, look alive.”

I kneel down and pick up the still-spinning ball. I stand and whip it at Max. I throw it sideways because that’s how it’s in my hands. He catches it easily.

“I hate you,” I say, smiling.

“God I love late June in Arizona,” he says as we walk toward the large, empty green field next to the basketball courts. One woman is walking a dog toward us from the pathway, and when she sees it’s me, she waves and unleashes her dog.

“Because you’re crazy,” I say as the pit bull runs up to me, white tail wagging like crazy. It jumps up to greet me. I scruff the dog on the top of the head. “Hey, Rufus! Sorry, boy. No Dorcas.”

“Did you ever tell me why she’s named Dorcas?” Max asks as the dog runs back to its owner and we walk on toward the center of the huge greenbelt area.

I roll my eyes. “My mom. Went through a religious phase right after Dad died. Right when we got our goldendoodle. So a biblical name for our dog. As God would have wanted.”

He flashes a smile. “Amen.”

“So how does this work?” I ask, hoping the answer is, We throw the ball once and then go home.

He spins the football up in the air and catches it. “It’s very complicated. We draw up plays. Ten of them. Then we memorize them. And we run them in order until they all are perfect.”

“It’s sooo hot,” I whine.

“Kidding,” he says. “It’s a ball. We throw it to each other.” He tosses the ball at me, and this time I violently thrust my hands up and catch it.

“Woo!” I say. “I got it!”

“Later we’ll buy you a medal.”

I narrow my eyes at him and take a deep breath. I decide to just tell him. “For you this is normal, I guess. I have never, ever caught a ball before. Of any kind. Ever.”

“How is that possible?” He puts his hands up and I throw it sideways again. It wobbles and falls well short of him even though I am just ten feet away.

“I grew up petrified of this kind of thing. Or maybe just the people who did this kind of thing. They all wanted to punch me in the chest and call me a sissy.”

“Wow,” he says. “Can I show you something?”

“Anything, cowboy.”

“Gross,” he says, and I mock pout.

He shows me how to hold the football, putting pressure on the lacing mostly with his middle and index fingers. I take it from him and copy him. He nods, takes it back, and waves me away. I wave back.

“No. That means run. I’ll throw you the ball.”

“It’s sooo hot,” I whine again.

“Just five minutes and I promise we can spend the rest of the day inside. Doing anything you want.”

“Anything?” I ask, and I give him a tentative look. I honestly don’t want to push him given what he’s been through, but I have to admit: I’m curious.

He tips his head as if to say, Oh good. Sexual innuendo. My favorite.

“Yes,” he says, and he waves his hand toward me again. “That means ‘Go out for a pass.’ ”

“Oh, um,” I say, momentarily confused. Then I turn and run a bit. About five seconds later, I turn around. Max tosses me the ball. I flail my arms up and my hands grab at the ball. It hits off my palm.

“So close!” I say, a little excited, actually. “Throw it again!”

I pick the ball up and throw it to him the way he showed me, with pressure on the laces, the small end facing him. It spins out of my fingers and goes right to him.

“What the?”

I have no idea how I did that, and a tingle climbs my spine. “A boy likes to be mysterious,” I say.

“I guess.” He throws another, and this time I really concentrate and zap my hands up like a Venus flytrap or something. The ball nestles between my hands and stays.

“Yes!” he says, and he runs over to me. I’m just standing there, looking at the ball in my hands, amazed. He puts his arms around me and hugs. I tingle some more; also the sun begins to feel like it’s going to make me faint.

I say, “You know? I don’t hate this. I mean, in the heat I do a little, and I don’t love it like the working out thing. But I could totally do this sometime. Play football catch.”

“I’ll take you up on that. And by the way? Not everyone who grew up doing this wanted to punch you.” He kisses me on the lips. I kiss him back, and we walk, hand in hand, back to his truck.



I ask him to take me back to my house, and when we arrive, I lead him to my room, and on the way I realize he has no idea about my ’80s bordello. Shit.

Then I decide, fuck it. He knows me. This may be the weirdest thing about me. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter. We’re solid. He’ll be okay.

He exhales wildly when he sees it for the first time.

“Dude,” he says.

I laugh. “Back in eighth grade I convinced my mom to take me Goodwill hopping. We bought everything ’70s and ’80s that would fit in a bordello.”

He actually bends over and clutches his stomach, laughing. I watch him, unsure, but soon I realize I’m not the joke, exactly. I start to laugh and he glances up, sees me laughing, and comes over and sweaty hugs me.