Fuck.
That’s over. Done with.
I shake my head and focus back on the task at hand.
Keyon is now good enough that he’s running the drill five times in a row before stopping, rather than just the one lap. He’s still not quite at full speed, he’s too unsure of himself, but he’s already much better. I think the quick turns around the fireman’s pole are helping to train his vision, too. It’s a good start. And he doesn’t need me anymore. Not for this.
As we wrap up, I tell him, “I know a couple more drills that would help if you want to meet up this week before or after practice.”
He finishes out the loop he’s on and says, “Wait.” I hadn’t even moved yet, but I raise my eyebrows in question. “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you. I want the team to win.”
“But I’m your competition. What if I end up taking your spot?”
“If a few hours of drills makes you that much better than me, then you deserve to take my spot.”
“You’ve still got to miss another game, though. What if I show you up?”
“I’m not exactly sitting on my ass doing nothing, Williams. Besides, if you’re good enough, maybe Coach will look at going to a two-back offense. You, me, and McClain? We could be pretty damn impressive, I think.”
He nods. “Cool. Yeah.” He holds up the football. “You need this back?”
“Nah, you keep it. You could stand to do this, oh, another thousand times.”
I start jogging back in the direction of my house.
“Still being a dick!” he yells behind me.
“See you at practice, fish.”
Chapter 28
Dylan
On the next game day, I agree to get lunch with my parents because I’m not sure I can handle watching another game with Stella mentioning Silas every few minutes. The masochism has to stop sometime.
But before I’ve even finished setting the table, I know this was a mistake. Mom has brought up Henry three times. She thinks maybe we should invite him and his parents over for dinner . . . since I’m not dating anyone new.
She gives me a look when she says that last thing, and I know I didn’t fool her at that party.
Ironically enough . . . I no longer need to fool her. Because Silas is so beyond done with me.
There’s that masochism again. Rubbing salt in my own wounds.
As we take our seats for lunch, and Mom passes around all the perfectly plated dishes, I struggle to keep my mind off him. I struggle with all the things that used to come easy. The pleases and the thank-yous. Dad notices.
“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
“Hmm?” I look up from the food I’d been pushing around on my plate. “Just have a lot on my mind, I guess. Sorry.”
God, I never want to say that word again. Never. I’d be the rudest person ever, but if I never had to say that word not followed by a kiss again, it would be okay.
I tune out the conversation about some big donation Dad is trying to land for Rusk, and instead sneak my phone out underneath the table.
Phones aren’t allowed during meals. It’s one of Mom’s rules, but I can’t help it. I have to know what’s happening at the game.
I don’t know if they’re playing an easier team or if things have changed since last week, but on my phone I watch the score climb, as I periodically pause to scoop some food off my plate so my parents don’t become too suspicious. Rusk leads by three. Then ten. Then sixteen. And I find myself imagining Silas’s face on the sidelines. Is he happy for his team? Or still too frustrated by his inability to play?
“Dylan? Is that a phone beneath the table?”
I drop my phone into my lap and look up at Mom. Guilty.
“Yeah. Sorry, Mom. I just had to check something.”
“Are you waiting on a call?”
“No, I was . . . sorry. I’ll put it away. That was rude of me.”
I hear Silas in my head telling me to stop apologizing, and then I imagine him kissing me, and it feels like my lungs are filled with water.
“What are you checking?” Dad asks.
I could lie. Say I’m waiting on an e-mail about school or the shelter or anything. But I’m so tired of lying.
“I was checking the score on the football game. Rusk is up by sixteen if you were curious.”
“Honey.” That one word from Mom is chastising, and I don’t know if it’s for using my phone at the table or for the information she’s inferring after that confession.
As always, Dad gets straight to the point. “That football player you were talking to at the party. I don’t want you involved with him. I’m not sure what he told you, but he’s violent and troubled, and he’s been suspended from the team because of it.”
I don’t know what to say to that because technically the things he’s said about Silas are true. Granted, I wouldn’t go so far as to call him violent. But he does walk that line, and I can’t ignore that, can’t excuse it just because I’m attracted to him.
“He’s worked really hard to turn that around, Dad. I think if you asked around now, you’d hear a different story.”
“Kids like him always have the same story. And it always ends up the same eventually.”
Those words burn something up in me, and now I’m the one battling violence. Words like that, people like my father . . . they’re the reason Silas feels like he doesn’t fit in my world. And honestly, I’m not even sure that’s the kind of world I want to be in.
“Then why adopt me?” I ask. “If you think people are only products of where they came from and they can’t change . . . why bother?”
“Oh sweetheart,” Mom says, reaching across the table for my hand. “You were one of the good ones.”
I pull my hand away and stand up, “Silas is one of the good ones. He’s dealt . . . is dealing with a lot. And if you knew him—”
“I don’t need to know him,” my father says. “You think I haven’t seen hundreds of guys like him go through that university? I’m happy to have them there, for them to get an education in exchange for the money they bring in on the team. But that doesn’t mean I want him anywhere near my daughter.”
I shake my head and purse my lips against the urge to cry. I can’t believe I ever contributed to this, that I ever made Silas feel like any of this was true.
“You do need to know him, Dad. Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.”