Catching Jordan

Then I feel my lips dragging me up toward him, toward his mouth, and right when I’m about to kiss him, just to see how it feels, he puts a restraining hand on my chest.

“We can’t, Woods. I’m sorry…”

“Oh. Okay.” Embarrassed, I drop my head back onto his chest. Birds chirp outside the window, and I hear his sisters laughing and playing out in the living room as we lie here in silence. I feel tears wel ing in my eyes. I reach up and drag the back of my hand across my face.

“You have a boyfriend now, Woods! You can’t just go around making out with every guy you see,” he says with a laugh. After squeezing my shoulder, he sits up, grabs a deck of cards from his bedside table, and starts shuffling. “Let’s play some war.” He starts dealing the cards into two stacks.

Another tear fal s from my eye, but I don’t have the strength to wipe it away. Al my energy is being used by my heart, because it’s having to pump twice as hard just to keep working. Why wouldn’t he kiss me?

Henry keeps dealing. When al the cards have been separated, I pick up my stack and shuffle my cards again. Then I look up into Henry’s eyes, and he’s staring back at me, at my tears, and I see al these tiny wrinkles around his eyes—sadness wrinkles. He frowns, biting his lip.

“What the hel just happened?” I say, staring over Henry’s shoulder at his Jerry Rice poster.

“I don’t want anything to change.” He throws down a card, a five. I throw down a nine. I sweep both cards away and back up into my stack. He throws down a king, I throw down a four. He sweeps the cards away. Should I tel him that everything already has changed?

I throw down a seven.

a debate

Ty:

Damn, he’s fine.

Damn, he’s a good quarterback.

Damn, he’s nice and sweet.

Damn, he’s a good kisser.

Damn, he’s buff.

Damn, he’s great to his family.

Damn, now that I know about Henry,

I’m not sure Ty and I are right for each other. Henry:

I love the way his curls flop around and hang across his forehead.

I love how he never just lets me win. I have to earn it. I love how he touches me just because.

I love his loyalty.

I love how when we sleep head-to-toe,

he always finds a reason to sleep head-to-head instead. I love his unconditional support.

I love his spontaneity and crazy sense of humor. I love his stupid dances.

I love…him.

carter

the count? 6 days until alabama

Ten thirty a.m.

In the potting shed, sitting up against a bag of fertilizer.

I just can’t go to school today. I write in my journal: Love hurts worse than getting slammed by a 250-pound linebacker

After playing war in silence yesterday afternoon, and except for saying, “I don’t want anything to change,”

Henry didn’t give an excuse for why he didn’t kiss me. In his defense, I didn’t ask again either. I just sat there hoping he’d change his mind.

Since I never skip, Mom came in to check on me this morning.

“Is it your father?” she asked. “Because he feels horrible about how he behaved at dinner the other night.”

I shook my head.

“Is it Ty?”

“No,” I replied, burying my face in the pil ow like Henry does. Remembering what Mike said yesterday, I blurted out, “Oh yeah, Mom, I’m dating Ty now, I guess.”

She smiled and clasped her hands together. “Good. Your father and I like him very much. Come downstairs for some breakfast if you feel better.”

I stil don’t feel better.

My cel rings. Before checking the cal er ID, I try to guess who it might be. It’s either Ty or Henry. Please be Henry. Please be Henry. I look at the screen. It’s Carter.

“Yo,” I say.

“Woods, what the hel are you doing?” he says. “Get your ass to school or Coach won’t let you come to practice this afternoon.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

Carter doesn’t respond. We’re great friends, but like with JJ, we don’t spend a lot of time talking about hopes and dreams and puppy dogs and shit. We’re just good friends who hang out, eat, and play bal together.

“Want me to get Henry?” he says final y.

“No!”

“Woods, what’s going on? Do you need me to come get you?”

“Yes, please come get me. Let’s go to Waffle House,” I say.

“You got it. I’l be there in twenty. You owe me, though. I’l have to skip cooking class, and I was gonna learn how to make dumplings today.”

“I’l buy you a lifetime supply of dumplings,” I say, hanging up before Carter can change his mind.

I run back inside, take a quick shower, and put on the underwear that Henry liked—the black ones. It’s not like I think Henry wil see the underwear today; I just hope they’l be good luck. God, clues were al over the place, and I didn’t pick up on any of them. When a guy notices your underwear, that means he’s looking, Jordan!

Henry said he didn’t want anything to change, but does he actual y mean that? How can you be in love with someone for forever and not be wil ing to take a chance when it final y hits you in the face like a linebacker?

After Carter and I have ordered enough food to feed ten people, I slide the salt and pepper shakers over in front of me. I stack salt on top of pepper, then yank pepper out. Salt fal s straight down onto the table, not spil ing a lick. Carter takes the shakers and stacks pepper on top of salt. He pul s salt out, but pepper comes down at a weird angle, spil ing al over the table.

My phone buzzes. Ty texts me: Where are you?

I don’t answer him.

Instead, I take a sip of Diet Coke and say, “What’s going on with Ohio State?”

“They’re stil interested,” Carter replies.

“And you’re not?”

“I’m going to sign with them—my dad’s got it al set up.”

“But?”

“Um, you know, I love playing bal , but I don’t know if I want it to be my life.”

Nodding, I stack pepper on top of salt.

“It’s kind of like it’s not my life. I mean, it’s my dad’s life. It’s what he expects me to do,” Carter says, running his fingertips through the mess of pepper he spil ed on the table.

This is huge. Carter never opens up like this. “What do you want to do?” I ask.

“I dunno…cook?”

“Cook.”

“Yeah, I want to cook, like I want to become a chef.”

This is just insane. No doubt, if he wants it, Carter has a future in the NFL. And he wants to cook?

Is this how people think of me? Jordan Woods is a girl and she wants to play footbal ? Shouldn’t she be playing with makeup and clothes and strutting around the mal ? What the hell is wrong with her?

So I guess I shouldn’t judge Carter. No wonder he’s always talking about stuff like Chianti and L’Auberge Wherever.

Thinking about how much I’m beginning to enjoy writing, and how hard this must have been for him to bring up, I say, “Carter, if you want to become a chef, you should become a chef.”

Carter’s gaping. “Real y?”

“Yeah—I play footbal ’cause I love it. You don’t need anyone’s permission to do what you love. You should just do it.”

Carter pouts his lips and clenches a fist. “Okay, I wil . I just have to figure out a way to tel my dad and not give him a heart attack.”

“Good luck with that. But can’t you play footbal and take cooking classes at Ohio State?”

“I guess. I mean, that’s probably what I’l do, but I just

“I guess. I mean, that’s probably what I’l do, but I just feel like it’s not me, it’s not my decision, it’s not me living my life. I’ve never gotten to figure it al out.”

“Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do. To get something better, you know?”

“Yeah. So you gonna tel me what’s up with you, Woods? You’ve been weird for like two weeks.”

“Well , most of that was Ty.”

“I kind of figured that. You’re together now, so why skip school?”

“How’s Henry today?” I ask as the waitress brings plates of hash browns and eggs and waffles to our table.

“Fine, I guess. Tired. He said he was out late with Kristen Markum.”

Kristen? Is Henry freaking kidding me? He went out with her knowing what she said about me on Monday?

Hearing this makes my eyes tear up again. I grab the plastic ketchup bottle and squeeze it as hard as I can, spraying ketchup al over my hash browns. I try to bust the bottle, squeezing harder and harder until there’s nothing left but hash browns drowning in a mound of ketchup.

Feeling the empty bottle disappear from my hand, I glance up and see Carter placing it on the table and putting his hand into mine where the bottle was. He squeezes my hand and moves around to the other side of the table to sit next to me. “Talk to me.”

“I thought he loved me.”

“Who? Ty?”

“No…Henry.”

“Of course he loves you…I love you too. And so does JJ.”

I look up at Carter, who puts an arm around me. “Not like that.”

“Oh.” Carter starts to fidget, squeezing my shoulder unnecessarily hard. He doesn’t say anything else—we just sit here for the next hour, picking at the waffles and hash browns and playing the salt and pepper game. I’m glad he’s here with me, even if he’s not saying anything. Sometimes friendship is just that, just being with someone.

Then Carter’s cel phone rings. Peeking at the screen, he takes a deep breath before answering.

“Yo…yeah…yeah…” He focuses on my eyes, puffy and stinging from al the tears. “She’s okay…we’re at the Waffle House out on the highway…yeah…bye.”

“You did not just tel him where we are?”

“You need to talk to him.” Carter picks up the check and goes to the cash register, then comes back and drops several dol ars on the table. “Henry’s gonna come pick you up. And I shouldn’t be here.” Carter pats my back one last time and leaves.

trades

I hop into Henry’s truck, and he drives. I have no idea where we’re going. In silence, he winds alongside stacks of hay and beneath tree branches that hang over the back roads. Which one of us is going to speak first?

I know he saw my puffy eyes when he first pul ed up, but he chose to focus on a Dumpster instead. It’s bad if your best friend in the world would rather look at a Dumpster than at you.

Ty texts me: I need to know where you are.

I don’t text back.

Final y, Henry parks out by the Cumberland River, and we get out and walk toward a dam. Now that it’s September, the weather is turning cooler. I like it. I can smel the leaves—they’l change color soon. I want to get rid of this tension, so I run down along the banks of the river, heading nowhere. I expect Henry to jog after me, to race me, but he just keeps walking slowly. Henry doesn’t want to race?