At least the weather was nice. I descended the steps and turned away from the buses, making my way around the school to the football field. It seemed a shame to waste a day like this even if I had to spend it alone, and Dad had agreed when I texted him at lunch to pick me up once he got off work. I climbed the bleachers and opened my Catalogue of American Fiction textbook to “A Good Man Is Hard to Find,” by Flannery O’Connor. I immediately hated the old woman in the story, though it was pretty obvious I was supposed to. Part of me could sympathize with the bizarre standards she held herself to, to make sure people knew she was “a lady,” but it was a small part. I was highlighting a line when my phone suddenly erupted in the Star Wars theme. I pulled it out and saw that Grant was calling. The ringtone finished once and looped back to the beginning before I gave in and accepted the call.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound distant.
“So. Your phone ain’t broke,” Grant replied.
“No,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose in anticipation of the next logical question: why hadn’t I responded to his texts?
“And you like Star Wars?” he went on. “That’s badass. I love Star Wars! Which one’s your favorite?”
“Empire Strikes Back,” I said reflexively, before sitting up straight and looking around. “Wait, how’d you know that?”
“Aw shit, Empire’s my favorite too! Look behind you.” I turned and saw him sitting on the highest bench, a duffel bag over one shoulder and a phone to his ear. He grinned, flashing perfectly white teeth, and waved like a little kid.
“What?” I said, as I stuffed my things back in my bag and stood. “How did you…”
“I just came up on the far end over there,” he said, pointing off to the side. “You were so into whatever you’re reading I could’ve run up and down the field naked and you wouldn’t’ve known.”
“Are you stalking me?”
“Naw,” Grant said, shrugging. “I accidentally left some stuff down by the benches after practice yesterday and saw you when I came to get it.”
“Oh.”
“I’m glad I ran into you though,” he said. “You’ve been runnin’ outta homeroom before I can even say hey, and I ain’t seen you in the cafeteria all week.”
“I was eating lunch out here,” I said, rubbing my arm and looking away. “The weather’s been nice.”
“And my texts?” he said, as he descended the bleachers in long, loping strides. “I thought you liked me. You can tell me if you don’t. I can handle rejection.”
“No,” I said, scooting over on the bleachers. “I mean yes. I do. It’s just … do you remember the conversation we had when you asked me out for Parker?”
“Ah,” Grant said, sitting down next to me with his duffel bag between his knees. “Is this ’cause your dad’s strict? I could meet him if you want, let him see I ain’t any threat to his daughter.”
“I think that would be a bad idea,” I said, trying to imagine bringing a boy home to meet Dad. “But I mean … about me being complicated.”
“Everybody’s complicated,” he said, scratching his temple.
“Not the way I am,” I said. “I have a past, okay? And you really don’t want to get involved with it.”
“Everybody’s got a past,” he said. “That don’t mean you can’t have a future.”
“Okay, but there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”
“I know you’re one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen,” Grant said, leaning even closer. “I already know you’ve got a good heart. I know when we kissed I felt warm all over, like when you sit too close to a campfire, and I know no girl’s made me feel that way before.”
“That’s really nice,” I said, running fingers through my hair and looking up at the empty sky. I knew that if I looked at him, I would soften, I would give in, and I couldn’t afford that. “But—”
“Listen,” Grant said. I felt his hands grip mine and looked down to find his face inches away. I remembered the last time he was this close and felt my whole body flush. “I’m a big boy. I been knocked down before, and I’ll be knocked down again. I can handle things that ain’t simple, and I can handle things that’re hard. I want you, and whatever it is about you that you think makes you so complicated couldn’t make me want you less.”
I opened my mouth to speak, to protest all the reasons why this was a bad idea—why it might be harder than he thought to get close to me, how it could end in both of us getting hurt—but nothing came.
“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said softly. “Is that okay?”
My head made just the slightest up-and-down motion before he brought his lips to mine and pulled my hips toward his. He had been right, I realized; it felt like sitting in front of a fire, the warmth spreading across every inch of my skin.
9
I spent Saturday night with the girls in Layla’s bedroom—which had an actual four-poster bed with sheer white drapes—trying on makeup and clothes, gossiping, and posting our most vamped-up shots to Instagram. We ended the night getting sodas at Walmart, which was the only place in town still open by then. I wondered why the girls left their makeup on, then learned the answer when we came outside and found a group of kids from our school hanging out at the edge of the parking lot, cases of beers in the backs of their pickup trucks. I didn’t talk to many people, but I also didn’t feel uncomfortable, and Layla made it very clear to everyone I was a member of their group. It was one of the best Saturday nights I could remember. The only way it could’ve been better was if Grant had been there.