He steps closer, and the passion in his eyes and in his voice reverberates, reaching as high as the rafters. Reaching each student listening intently. Reaching me.
“You have to make your own way out. You’re responsible for your future.” He runs his eyes methodically up and down the rows of students. “You can’t wait for somebody else to give you anything. My mom taught me that.”
The warm smile Grip and his mother share telegraphs a closeness I envy. She’s exactly as I’d imagined she’d be. Proud. Confident. Fiercely protective.
“She was the one who encouraged me to apply for a scholarship at the School of the Arts,” Grip says. “Even though it meant leaving this school where all my friends were and taking a bus across town everyday alone. Even though it meant going to a new school that felt like a foreign country, where I felt like an alien. If I hadn’t done that, you might not be hearing my music now. You probably wouldn’t even know my name.”
“He’s amazing,” Meryl whispers, her eyes fixed on Grip’s expressive face. “I can’t wait to write this story.”
“Good,” I whisper back with a forced smile.
My phone buzzes in my lap, and I look down at the screen.
Parker.
I would ignore this call, but I’ve been leaving him messages for the last three days. He has to know I suspect he leaked that information to the media. I need to set him straight, and there’s no telling when he’ll stop avoiding me and call again.
“I need to take this,” I tell Meryl quietly. “Be right back.”
I bend at the waist and tiptoe, hoping I haven’t drawn much attention to myself, though Grip couldn’t miss me stepping out.
“Parker,” I say as soon as I’m in the hall. “Why did it take you so long to return my calls?”
“Bristol, I miss you, too.” His deep voice is part humor, part caution.
“Your people confirmed to the media that we’re dating.” I lean against the brick wall and plow my fingers through my hair. “They wouldn’t have done that without your express permission.”
“I’ve been in India. You know that. It’s just a misunderstanding. A miscommunication.”
“One I am fully capable of correcting if you don’t do it.” I pause for emphasis. “Soon.”
“Is it really so far from the truth?” he asks. “Come on, Bristol. We did spend the night together just days ago.”
“You know damn well I was too drunk to even know my name that night, much less choose to sleep with you. Now, everyone thinks we’re practically engaged.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“You better, or I will.”
Something sinister uncurls and hisses in the silence on the other end.
“That wouldn’t be wise, Bristol,” Parker says quietly.
“You don’t scare me.” I push myself away from the wall, standing perfectly straight as if he were right in front of me to see. “I hope you know that.”
“I don’t want to scare you.” He infuses his words with artificial warmth. “I want to love you.”
“Love?” A bitter laugh leaves an aftertaste on my lips. “The way my father loves my mother? The way your father loves yours? No, thank you. If I ever do marry, it won’t be to a man who needs other women like they do. A man who humiliates me with his infidelities.”
“I’m sure you can persuade me not to stray,” he says, sounding pleased that it matters to me. “I had no idea you were so possessive.”
“I’m not possessive of you, and any man I have to persuade not to stray is welcome to do so. If I have to convince him I’m worth his fidelity, then he isn’t the one for me.”
“I love your spirit, Bristol.” He sounds a little like he’s . . . panting? “It turns me on.”
“All right.” I wish he were here to see my eyes rolling. He’s like a hound dog after a rabbit. A swift rabbit he won’t get a hold of again. “On that note, I’m gonna go.”
“But, baby—”
“I’m working,” I say, cutting into whatever bullshit he planned to say. “And don’t call me baby.”
I hang up before he has the chance to protest further and quietly ease back through the gym doors so I don’t disturb Grip’s talk.
Only he isn’t talking. He’s at one end of the court, poised to shoot the basketball. He’s no longer wearing his black leather jacket and Kelly green hoodie, but just a plain white T-shirt and black jeans. One of the students, as tall as Grip and with an athletic build, guards him with a hand in his face.
“What’s going on?” I ask Meryl. “What’d I miss?”
“It was great.” Meryl’s eyes glimmer with her eagerness. “One of the kids challenged Grip when he talked about the value of an education. He said Grip didn’t go to college, but he’s still, and I quote, ‘stacking dollars’. Then Grip said everyone doesn’t have to go to college, but an education is something that cannot be taken away.”
“Wow. Sounds intense.” I watch the two guys run back up to our end of the court. “How did they end up playing basketball?”
“Then Grip said he’s enrolled in online courses now.” Meryl gives me a curious look. “Did you know that?”
“Uh, no.” I shake my head, watching the student make a difficult shot. “I had no idea.”
He never told me. Why would he not tell me something that huge?
“So then Grip calls him out about some writing contest he apparently won’t enter,” Meryl says. “Before I knew it, Grip said he’d play him for it, one on one. If Grip wins, the student—I think they called him Bop—has to enter the contest.”
“And if Grip loses?”
“If Grip loses, Bop wins his shoes.”
“His shoes?”
Grip has a massive tennis shoe collection, and the classic Jordans in his closet are his prized possessions. I recognize the pair he’s wearing now as especially expensive and rare.
“We haven’t even sat down for the interview yet,” Meryl says gleefully. “And I’ve already gotten a lot.”
I notice Grip’s leather jacket and hoodie on the floor. I pick them up so they won’t get stepped on or dirty. As soon as they’re within sniffing distance, his clean, masculine scent surrounds me. I hold the material to my chest and surreptitiously inhale, closing my eyes to absorb this small part of him. The items still have the warmth of his body, and holding them, even for a few seconds, warms my chilled places.
When I open my eyes, I encounter Ms. James’s golden brown gaze locked on me. Even fully dressed with Grip’s jacket and hoodie hugged to my chest, I feel naked under her stare. She sees everything.
I clear discomfort from my throat and turn back to the court. Grip takes one final shot, which apparently puts the game away, and the students go crazy, emptying the bleachers and rushing the basketball court. Even Amir, Shondra, Ms. James, and Meryl join the exuberant knot of students surrounding Grip on the court. I hang back, observing. He’s laughing, at ease, at home, the basketball pressed to his hip.
I’ve never been in this position with him. On the outside, out of favor. It’s awkward, and it hurts. Maybe I could mitigate this by telling him that Parker and I aren’t dating. Parker should be telling everyone soon enough himself anyway. But do I have the right? Grip finally seems to be moving on and giving someone a real shot. I’m still not going to be with him, so what would telling him accomplish? I should give them a chance, him and Qwest.
I skirt the edges of the crowd, waiting while he signs autographs, all the while encouraging Bop to keep writing, to enter the contest. I’ve never seen this side of him. Listening to the songs he writes about his childhood and his old neighborhood, I suspected it, but seeing it firsthand is an entirely different thing. An entirely better thing.
Meryl steps out of the crowd until she’s standing with me.
“I’m glad you invited me.” Her broad grin pushes the glasses up on her cheeks. “This is a great add for the piece.”