“My dad said he’d be here tonight. I haven’t seen him. Or my mom.” He was mumbling to himself at this point, eyes still scanning.
“I’m sure they’re here somewhere, Brett. Text them?”
“Right.” He nodded and pulled out his phone. A minute later his face fell.
“What is it?”
“She said my dad had to stay in New York longer. He won’t be home till Monday.” His fist clenched when he said this, and I didn’t miss the way he shoved his phone into his pocket like he was mad at it.
I couldn’t understand why he was so angry. His dad missed one game. So what? My dad had missed half my life and I wasn’t snapping at people because of it.
This didn’t seem like a good time to say that, though.
“He’ll be at your next one,” I offered.
“I guess. Do you need a ride home?” He looked at me then for the first time, his eyes going down to the jersey. “You wore it.” Smallest of smiles. “It looks good on you.”
I pulled at the hem self-consciously. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“For the ride or the compliment?”
“Both?”
Brett grabbed my hand then and led me through the crowd. We were making our way toward the parking lot; I could see his car parked in the corner. He didn’t make small talk this time, and I had a feeling he was still upset about his dad. When we arrived at his car and were sitting inside, I tried again.
“About your dad,” I began, “he’s really never missed a game?”
Brett began to drive, a little faster than normal. “Never.”
“What about your mom? Do they come together?”
“Yeah. She said she didn’t want to come alone tonight.”
“So what would have happened if they came?”
He glanced at me quickly, then back to the road. “What do you mean?”
“Like . . . Would you have introduced me to them as your girlfriend or something?” I asked, trying to keep his mind off his dad’s absence.
Brett laughed, reaching over to flick my knee. “Probably, yeah. I already told my dad about you, remember? He would have wanted to meet you.”
For the record, he had not told me that.
“You’ve really never had a girlfriend before?”
“Never.”
“That’s weird,” I whispered so he wouldn’t hear.
We drove past two traffic lights before Brett spoke again. “I know what you’re trying to do, Becca. It’s not working.”
I rolled down the window, letting in the air. “And what’s that?”
“Trying to make me forget about the bakery yesterday. And how you stood me up during the rally.”
I felt my face heat up just thinking about it. “For the second time, I didn’t stand you up! I was going to study before my mom called. And believe me, the interrogation I went through that night was punishment enough.”
“Interrogation?”
“My mom may be your new number one fan.”
“Your mom doesn’t even know me,” he said.
“Isn’t that how it works? Everyone knows bits and pieces about you and loves you anyway?” Now Brett gave me this funny look, his eyebrows drawn together. “What? You’re an enigma.”
“A what?”
“An enigma,” I repeated. “Do you even pay attention in English class? It means a puzzle, a mystery. Whatever.”
He was smiling when we pulled into my apartment building.
“I’m not a mystery,” he said, “people just make assumptions and no one bothers to find out the truth. That’s it.”
With the moonlight slanting across Brett’s face, this entire conversation had taken a sad turn. Uncomfortable and never being very good with talking about deep stuff, I opened the door and began to get out of the car. Brett’s hand wrapped around mine, stopping me.
“Your bag,” he said, reaching across the car and picking it up. “Why is this so heavy?” When his hand began to reach inside, I shrieked and tried to pull it away. Too late. Brett was holding my book.
I coughed. Pretended to look confused. “Wow. How did that get in there?”
“You brought a book to my football game,” he said, all serious and offended.
I looked over my shoulder, pretending someone was calling me. “I did not.”
I was telling so many lies lately I could barely keep track.
Brett placed it back in my bag and handed it to me. At this point I was half in and half out of the car. My back was beginning to hurt.
“Was being at the game that bad?” he asked.
This time, I was honest. “Not at all. I kind of liked it.”
“So no book next time?” He was giving me puppy eyes.
I caved. “No book next time.”
I waved goodbye and was halfway to the doors when Brett called my name. The window was rolled down, his head sticking out of the car like a dog. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he yelled.
I had this irrational fear my mother would hear this conversation from eleven floors up and come barging outside like a shark smelling blood. I shushed him and quickly ran to the car. “Nothing. Study—”
“Studying for calculus. I know. What else?”
I blew out a breath, thinking. “That’s it.” Pause. “I have a very intense social life.”
Brett laughed, and it was like whatever heaviness weighing him down earlier was entirely gone. “Do you want to hang out tomorrow? There’s something I want to show you.”
I felt my face scrunch up. “Is this, like, a date? For show or something?” I didn’t want this relationship to start taking up my weekends too. A five-day school commitment was enough. Plus my Friday nights!
He shook his head. “Not this time. Just two friends, together. You said I was a mystery. Right?” I nodded. “Then let me show you I’m not. It doesn’t make much sense if my own girlfriend doesn’t know anything about me.”
He made a good point.
“I know you like football.”
“I like other things too.”
“Like what?”
“Come with me tomorrow and find out,” he said, grinning.
The guy was good. I’ll give him that.
“Pick me up at two,” I said. Then I ran inside before my mom could look out the window and spot us together.
Brett
I WAS TEN MINUTES LATE to Becca’s apartment. I was still obsessing over my dad and spent almost an hour trying to call him. Where was he? Even my mother said she hadn’t heard from him since yesterday. What was he doing that was so important he couldn’t text either of us back? I told myself he was busy, probably in another meeting—or maybe he got an early flight to come home tonight. It would justify why he wouldn’t call, and it was easier to think of than him simply forgetting.
But my dad didn’t forget. So there had to be an explanation for all of this.
I ended up going to the gym in the morning with Jeff just to get my mind off it. He wasn’t any help. When I told him about my dad, he blew up, said it wasn’t a good idea to idolize people because they can never live up to your expectations. But this wasn’t a celebrity or some random person in a magazine. This was my dad, and there had to be a reason why he didn’t show up. I only hoped everything was okay.