Paris turned at the safety barrier. “Come on,” she said. “Boost me.”
“Wh—” I started, but you were already on your feet and jumping down beside her. I guess boys are just better at obeying commands without thinking about them at all.
You cupped your hands and crouched; Paris got one foot on them and you powered her up. Everything was happening very fast, and I wasn’t really processing any of it because I had two conflicting thoughts in my mind:
— He’s helping, that’s so sweet, he doesn’t know what she’s doing or why she’s doing it, I don’t even know, but he jumped right up to help her over the fence, like a knight in shining armor.
And:
— He’s helping, that’s so awful, he doesn’t know what she’s doing or why she’s doing it, but he jumped right down and he put his hands out, and they’re touching oh God I’m so jealous her foot was in his hand and her hand was on his shoulder, just for a moment, and THIS MEANS HE LIKES HER DOESN’T IT? He’s only here for her, he’s a knight in shining armor, but he’s a knight in shining armor for her.
It made me feel sick, that feeling, that envy, seeing your bodies touch, just for that moment.
And, yes, I know this is repetitive, I know it’s just like when I thought you were into Jane from the library, and I apologize for that. But the thing is that minds are repetitive. They tend to get into fixed patterns.
This is something I know better than most.
Anyway. Those two thoughts were warring in my mind, but it was so much faster than I am conveying it here. It all happened in an instant.
Paris pivoted over the top of the fence, using the momentum you had provided with surprising grace, at first anyway. Then … then it kind of went wrong, her leading foot was over but her back one caught, and she flipped suddenly, scary-fast, like someone being hit by a bull, and for a frozen instant she was upside down on the other side of the fence.
Then she hit the ground, sprawling, her head and shoulders taking the impact, and rolled.
“****,” you shouted. “Are you okay?”
Paris stood, awkwardly. She shook herself like a dog. Then she put her arms up in a V, like an Olympic gymnast, like, “TA DA!”
She turned and hurried over to where the two teams were gathered, though it was obvious she was limping.
“What’s she doing?” you asked.
“I have no idea,” I said.
You frowned. I must have sounded angry. Because of the touching. Because of you giving her that boost, and how obviously you would be more into her than me.
And then Paris was pushing a big silver trophy into Julie’s hands and there was a flurry of movement and suddenly the Bees lifted Julie up into the air and the crowd went wild.
Click. Kodak moment.
“Um,” you said, over the noise of celebration. “What was that?”
“I’ll explain later,” I said.
But I didn’t.
I mean, I didn’t explain later. I really wanted to, I really wanted some time alone with you, I had been looking forward to that all evening, thinking about the ride home and how we would stand in the yard together, under the night sky …
But sometimes life thwarts our plans. Often, in fact.
First off, we were hanging out with Paris and Julie and the team in the parking lot and then you offered them a ride and the whole way to their apartment the pickup was just filled with them, with their excitement and happiness, and Paris was so loud.
“My girl got her trophy!” she was shouting. “My girl is a champion!”
“It was a team effort,” said Julie, but I could hear the bright joy in her voice, and it made me twist inside.
“She is the champion, my friends … ,” Paris started singing. You glanced over at me and raised your eyebrows. Paris did not have a beautiful singing voice. I just wanted her to be quiet, but she was Paris. She was never quiet. I mean, what are you going to do? You can’t ask the sun to stop shining.
So she sang the whole song, only she didn’t know most of the words, not that it stopped her.
Then we dropped them off, and Paris and Julie went up, Paris still shouting stuff, mostly impossible to make out now, and Julie was holding the trophy aloft that Paris had given her, and finally they went into the apartment building and you turned to me. And then I found out that sometimes your own feelings can thwart stuff for you; you don’t even need life to do it.
“Wow,” you said.
“Uh-huh,” I said. I must have sounded cold.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Absolutely not.”
“But you’re pissed with me. Is it because I offered them a ride?”
“No.”
You sighed. “O … kay … So nothing is wrong?”
“No.”