She Loves Me, She Loves Me Not(11)

Ah, yes, nothing like a few friendly head nods to open up old traumas.

“No one here knows you as that person. They’re just staring because it’s Gage’s jersey.” This was from Cam when I almost had a panic attack just talking about it at lunch. Now, I keep repeating his words in my head while I walk, relieved when I get to the field and see only a few other people in the bleachers.

Picking a corner, I sit down and take out my phone, sending Gia a quick text reminding her that I won’t be on the bus, and she’s responsible for the boys and Macy until I get home.

“Hey, Kenny, looking good.”





Gage takes the bleachers two at a time until he’s standing in front of me. I don’t respond right away because, well, Gage is in a uniform. I might pretend to be blind to everyone most of the time, but, when faced with Gage Christensen in a baseball uniform, it’s pretty freaking hard.

Why are some people so beautiful?

He’s that California blonde and blue everyone expects, with clear skin tanned by his outdoor activities. His hair is long enough to curl at his ears and stick out of his baseball cap, and his eyes are brighter than the spring sky, so clear and blue they make me want to believe in mermaids. Or love. What the…

Clearing my throat, I shrug my shoulders and stand, hoping that it will level me out and stop my thought process. “Well, a bet is a bet, though you seem like you were a large twelve-year-old.”

I lift my arms out to the sides, showing him how the shirt hangs like a dress on me. He flicks at it with his finger, laughing when I bat at his hand. Someone calls his name, and he looks over his shoulder and nods before turning back to me.

“I have to get on the field.”

“You don’t say.” Defense by sarcasm. Really original, Kennedy.

He hesitates, not shy, but maybe a little unsure. “Don’t take off before I finish, okay? I’m going to take you home.”

I start to protest automatically, but I stop, swallowing the words back because (A) I don’t really know how else I’d get home except for walking, and (B) nothing about Gage or this project is what I expected. Even more, I’m nothing like I expected when I’m around him. And it’s kind of refreshing.

Look at me, Cam, I’m learning. “Sure. Thanks.” My first time acceptance has his eyes widening. Pushing his hat back on his head, he pretends to scratch his forehead.

“Did you just agree to something I suggested without putting up a fight, Kenny?”

I refuse to smile, but it takes some major muscle work to keep it in. “Yeah, yeah, let’s not read anything into it. There’s still plenty of time.” I shoo him away and sit down. “Now, go hit some balls.” He cocks his head and my face flames. “Baseballs, Christensen. Go hit some baseballs.”

He winks, my blunder not forgotten. “I plan on it, Kenny.”

“It’s Kennedy,” I call after him when he jogs down the bleachers. He just laughs and, sitting down, so do I.





Chapter 10


Week 2, Part 2: Pianist… sounds suspicious

Gage

“When were you going to tell me about this?”

Kenny startles from where she was hunched over a textbook. I slap the school newspaper down in front of her before sitting down at her table.

She glances at it, and then up at me. “The bake sale for Prom?”

“No, Kenny. Not the bake sale. The concert tonight.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table to hold my weight while I look right into her eyes. They’re brown, so dark they’re almost black, like the expensive chocolate my mom uses for baking, the kind that takes forever to melt but when it does… totally worth it.

Kind of like my lovely life-partner.

She doesn’t move back when I push into her space—she’s getting better about that—but she shifts almost imperceptibly; her eyes glance around to see who’s watching us. I don’t do the same—not just because I don’t care, but because it seems really important for Kenny to know I’m only looking at her right now, no matter who else is around.

When she finally looks back at me, I raise my brows and tilt my chin down to the paper again. “It’s hobby week. We were together three days ago. I drove you home, bought you ice cream to ruin your dinner… we talked.” I nod my head in an is-this-ringing-any-bells motion.

It better ring some bells. Watching Kenny lick an ice cream cone with two scoops of vanilla quickly became the highlight of my high school career.

“I know what we did, Christensen. I was there.”

“Then you should also remember when I asked you about yourself. I think it went something like, ‘Hey, Kenny, who are you? What do you do in your spare time?’ Do you remember that?”

She rolls her eyes, and picks up her pencil again, getting ready to hunch back over her textbook. “Are you going to get to your point? Because I have an AP Stats test tomorrow, and I need the extra study time right now.”

“A test isn’t all you have tomorrow,” I say. Rather than flush in embarrassment, she looks truly puzzled.

“Is this some weird, demanding way of telling me you have one of those baseball games with your friends tomorrow and I’m supposed to be there?”

I close my eyes, briefly. “It’s a friendly, not a baseball game with friends. It means a game between opposing teams that has no basis on their standings. Not a pick-up game in the park. Two different things. And no,” I say, when she goes to snap at how much she doesn’t care about the distinction. “This isn’t about me.”