The Exact Opposite of Okay(46)
He nods. “Yep.” I wait for him to continue. I get the impression he’s been thinking about this for a while, and as usual I am ruining his flow by stating obvious tragic details about myself.
Both of us holding the ball, Carson takes aim. I can feel his heart beating against my back, even through my sweater. Like he’s working a bow and arrow, he gently guides my arms back, then flicks the ball deftly up toward the hoop.
Again, it slides straight through the net.
I whoop, then turn to face him, grinning. He matches my smile. “You’re a natural.”
See? He is a good guy. Which is very different from being a Nice Guy à la Danny Wells.
Also, for some reason, I don’t feel the need to constantly crack jokes and prove how funny I am when I’m around Carson. At first I thought this was a bad thing – like, shouldn’t I be bouncing off him and being hilarious? – but it’s actually quite nice to just relax and have a normal chat like normal people. So it’s weird.
Our faces are so close together that for a moment I think [hope] he might kiss me again, but after a tantalizing moment, he skips off to retrieve the ball.
I take the opportunity to continue the conversation. “So is everything okay at home? You mentioned family issues. I mean, you don’t have to talk about it. But you can if you want.”
He grins again, bounding back over to me. He really is cute with a capital C. Huge smile, smooth brown skin, symmetrical features, striking eyes like Will Smith’s. “Thanks, Iz. It’s really okay, though. Nothing compared to what you have to deal with.”
“Well, that’s dumb,” I retort. “I don’t have the monopoly on messed-up family stuff. Just ask the Fritzls.”
Carson actually recoils a little here. “Izzy, that’s awful.”
“So is your face.”
“Really? Still making ‘your face’ jokes in this day and age?”
“Look, I don’t care what anyone says, your face and your mom jokes will always be hysterical.”
He laughs. “Whatever you say. You’re the comedian.”
But I haven’t even been trying to be funny! I want to say. Is it possible that my natural state is entertaining in itself?? What a relief that would be!
“Nah, honestly, it’s a’ight,” he says. We both watch a nearby seagull doing some sort of Macarena dance as it maneuvers its freshly caught prey into its mouth. “My mom’s partner of eight years left us a few weeks back. Left us in the shit too, financially. Eleven mouths to feed and all. So I’ve been picking up extra shifts at the pizza place downtown.”
“That is unbelievably crappy. I’m sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be. I get free pizza.”
I gasp exaggeratedly. “That is the Holy Grail of job perks. I love pizza more than most things, including oxygen.”
He lets his eyes drop to the ground. [Again, not literally. That would be deeply uncomfortable for him. Nobody wants gravel in their corneas. I mean, maybe you do. I don’t know your fetishes.]
Biting a lip, he finally says, “Then, uh, maybe we should get pizza together sometime.”
Wow, he has such long eyelashes. [Good grief, I really need to stop objectifying this poor boy – it is very unfeminist of me.]
I smile. “Yeah. Maybe we should.”
After we’ve finished shooting hoops, Carson offers to walk me home, which I happily accept. There’s something about being around him that just makes me feel calm and level, despite everything going on, but also tingly and excited. And that’s a sensation I appreciate now more than ever. I can’t get enough.
We walk and chat as the sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the town. Carson and I live in the same neighborhood, so I don’t have to be embarrassed as we stroll past the beat-up cars and overflowing dumpsters and stray dogs scavenging for food. To be honest, the only time I ever properly see those things is through other people’s eyes. Danny and Ajita’s mainly, and even though I know they never judge me, it’s kinda nice to be with someone who lives in the same world. It’s just . . . easier.
On one street I’ve walked down a thousand times, a woman I recognize sits on her doorstep, smoking a roll-up cigarette as two toddlers run around her ankles. She berates the little boy for pushing the girl a bit too hard, even though the girl looks totally unfazed.
The woman is big and beautiful. Her black hair is swept up into a bright yellow headscarf, and her lips are painted purple. When she sees Carson, her eyes crinkle in recognition.
“Hey, Mom,” Carson says, in the same relaxed tone he uses with me. I blink in surprise, but it also makes perfect sense. The woman’s skin is the same perfectly smooth brown as Carson’s, and she has the same wide smile. “This is Izzy. I was just walking her home. Izzy, this is my mom, Annaliese.”
I smile and say, “Pleasure to meet you, Annaliese.”
His mom blows one last puff of smoke through her lips, then buries the cigarette in a terracotta plant pot next to the doorstep. Dusting her hands off on her patterned dress, she stands up and gives me a warm hug.
“Carson’s told me a lot about you.” Her eyes are mischievous, and I know what she’s trying to communicate: he’s told me a lot of good things. I grin conspiratorially.
“Less of that, please, Annaliese,” Carson jokes, but his voice is light. Nothing like Danny’s when he speaks to Miranda. “Everything cool?”