I smiled thinking about some of our antics. The turkey we’d rescued was safe from being hunted because he’d become a kind of urban legend. It was considered very lucky to spot him, the turkey that roamed the woods of Saratoga Springs, New York.
My focus shifted back to Brock. He disappeared in the food line, so I got back to my design. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look up every once and a while to get a look at him, so you can imagine my surprise when one of the times I did, it was to find a pair of gray eyes looking back. The connection didn’t last long before he looked away. Those glances always hurt the most because I knew Brock, knew he was hurting too, but for whatever reason, he wanted distance. I didn’t like giving up, but sometimes, you had no other choice but to let go.
After school, I grabbed a pumpkin spice coffee at the local café, before taking a stroll down Main Street. I had homework, but I loved this time of year. It wasn’t cold enough yet, summer refusing to give way to fall, but the garden committee had filled the pots lining the street with mums. Cornstalks framed many of the doorways of the shops in town. In a few more weeks, the temperatures would drop. Pumpkins would be added to the décor, kids would be discussing their Halloween costumes.
I was walking back to my car and heard the shout. I glanced over at the garage and saw Brock in one of the bays. His back was to me, but I’d know him anywhere. I hadn’t known he worked there. I wondered what his father had to say about that. I knew part of what kept him away from me was his dad. I worried about him, knew that his dad was abusive, but Brock was older and bigger and could take care of himself. He wasn’t that eleven-year-old anymore.
I was feeling more nostalgic these days because I was leaving at the end of the school year, moving into the city to attend NYU. A part of me knew when I left, he wouldn’t be here when I got back.
Gym class. I hated gym class. We had a uniform, heather gray sweatpants and a navy blue tee. I added to my uniform, a little splash of color down the side hem of the pants, a small bedazzled happy face on the tee. And, unlike my fellow classmates, who wore the most expensive sneakers the season demanded, I had a pair of white running shoes that I spiced up with buttons I’d been collecting.
Walking into the gym from the locker room, I saw Brock immediately. Standing by the bleachers, his sweats hung low on his hips, his blue tee looked almost painted on. He was only eighteen, but he had the body of a man. It wasn’t a surprise some of the girls in class were standing with him. Ella and Samantha were two of the more popular girls in school, cheerleaders, in the running for homecoming court. They were pretty, their blonde hair long, shiny and straight. Watching them, they had a way of looking at Brock through their lashes that was both adorable and sexy. His friend, Declan, was saying something. They were a study of opposites. Brock with his dark hair, smoldering gray eyes, and broody and distance personality; whereas, Declan was blond with blue eyes, and always the life of the party. Like now, Declan was cracking up, but Brock didn’t laugh, he didn’t even smile, but he did grin. I was bitter about Declan because I’d been replaced. I didn’t dwell on it often, but when confronted with it, I could admit I didn’t like it or Declan.
The teacher walked over, blowing his whistle to get everyone’s attention. “Tag football, mixed teams. Who wants to be the team leaders?”
The dreaded practice of picking teams; an antiquated tradition that should be banned because it only fostered the separation between the popular kids and the outcasts. It wasn’t a surprise when Ella’s hand shot up right before Declan raised his own. Great. With those captains, I was sure to be the last one picked.
Ella picked Samantha. Declan picked Brock, big surprise there. I listened as other names were called, the cushion of people separating me from being the last man standing growing smaller and smaller. Another reminder of how my world had changed because never would I have been last picked with Brock. He was the frick to my frack, but now, I was the one on the outside looking in. My gaze dropped to hide my anger. I chewed on my lower lip and wondered if it was too late to say I had my period and nasty cramps, so I could get excused to the nurse’s office. Most male teachers, as soon as you said the dreaded p-word, had them talking over you and waving you away. As if the condition was contagious.
“Cedar.”
I was pulled from my thoughts when I heard my name, but I was so distracted I didn’t know who called it. Then I glanced around the gym to see there were still several people yet to be called. I had to be daydreaming because in what universe was I picked before Layla, and Grant, he was a first string football star?
“Are you coming, Babe?”
My head snapped to Declan, but my eyes didn’t stay on him because I caught sight of Brock. It was how he was looking that I knew he’d been the one to suggest me. I should be grateful to not be the last one picked, but it felt more like charity and coming from my one-time best friend, it hurt…and pissed me
