One Small Thing(64)

“I know how they feel.” He sticks a blade of grass in the corner of his mouth. I watch his mouth and jaw move with way too much interest. “Because it’s a lot more fun when you’re around.”

“I’ll have to increase my hours.”

“I work Monday, Wednesday and Sunday,” he volunteers. That deadly half smile makes an appearance.

“Good. I’ll ask for Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.”

I don’t see him coming. He moves like a blur, and suddenly I’m on my back with him looming over me. I shriek and then clap a hand over my mouth. Chase’s head jerks up and he eyes the back door. His whole body is tense, as if he’s ready to flee into the night at a moment’s notice.

But no sound comes. Not from my mom or dad. Not even a bark from a neighborhood dog. Chase hovers over me in a vague reenactment of how we were our first night. Him above me. Except that time there wasn’t so much space. And I had my arms around his neck. And there were a lot fewer layers of clothing between us.

I hold my breath. I think he does, too. I want him to kiss me. I want him to brush aside the wisps of grass and replace them with his hand or arm or chest. I want to feel the heat of him against me.

“What do your parents think you’re doing?” he says finally.

“That I’m thinking about Rachel,” I say tactlessly. “That’s her swing.”

Immediately, he rolls off me to lie on the ground, putting distance between us.

I swallow a sigh of disappointment and curse myself for bringing her up. He already has a hard time managing his guilt. In his head, it’s okay for him to be my friend. It’s not okay to be my boyfriend. It’s not okay to want to hold my hand or kiss me.

I gesture to the wooden seat dangling in the air. “Dad built the swing for Rachel, and when I was old enough we fought over who would get to use it. We’d race out here and she’d always beat me. I’d have to push her until my arms were spaghetti noodles, and then she’d climb off and say, in a super tired voice, ‘I’ll push you until I have to go to practice,’ which, by that time, was about all of five minutes.”

“How much would you give to argue with her again?”

“So much.” Chase makes me talk about Rachel more than anyone else. Even my mom doesn’t like talking about her, because it means that she’s gone.

“What else did you argue about?” He rolls over onto his side and braces his head on a bent arm.

“What didn’t we? She’d get mad when I borrowed her stuff without asking. She had this super cute powder blue bomber jacket from Forever 21. I swiped it from her closet and wore it to a Darling football game.”

“And she didn’t find out?”

“Oh no. She found out. I was dumb enough to think I could avoid her the whole time, but I ran into her at the concession stand before the first half was over. She let me wear it but warned me that if I got so much as a raindrop on it, she’d beat me into tomorrow.”

“And?”

“I escaped punishment. The Forever 21 jacket was returned and she ended up spilling a red slushie on it in the spring. Mom couldn’t get the stain out, so Rachel threw it at me and said it was mine now.”

He chuckles. “Do you still have it?”

“No. I was mad and threw it away. I wish I kept it. I also got in trouble for using her lipstick brush in her eyeliner pot. They look really similar, if you were wondering.”

“I wouldn’t be able to focus in school tomorrow if you hadn’t told me,” he confirms solemnly.

I laugh. He doesn’t make any observation about how all the memories I’ve mentioned have to do with fighting with my sister. It’s just that those moments, when she was imperfect, seem the most real to me.

“I really loved her,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“I miss her every day.”

“I’m sorry, Beth.” He’s returned to lying on his back. An arm is thrown over his eyes, as if he can’t bear to look at me or feels like he doesn’t deserve to. Either way, it sucks.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I know you are.”

We fall silent again. I’m caught between the past and the present. Looking at the swing, I can almost see Rachel there, pumping her legs furiously and going higher and higher and higher until she was nearly a blot in the sky next to the glaring sun. Yet, there’s Chase at my side. A real live human being who listens to me, scolds me and makes me laugh.

I choose Chase, I tell the shadow. Rachel nods and keeps swinging.

“She had the most amazing serve,” I say quietly. “Even when she was young, like sixth grade, she could put this weird spin on it. Her serves were real flat, like you were always surprised they cleared the net, but once the ball was on the other side, it would curve to the corner. And she was really good at serving it in that sweet spot along the line.”

“How come you don’t play anymore?”

“It wasn’t any fun. Without her, it wasn’t fun.” I hadn’t realized how much I’d looked up to Rachel until she died. “We fought a lot, so I didn’t realize I’d miss her this much.” I stop talking because my throat’s too tight. It hurts to even look at the moon so I shut my eyes. Hot liquid seeps out the corners.