“Steve got in trouble,” he says finally as he hands the ear bud back to me and begins gently tossing his basketball back and forth between his hands.
“What?” I turn my full attention to him, setting the iPod and ear buds aside. “He hasn’t even been back very long.”
“Seven months. He got pulled over last night for driving drunk. He went to jail. Dad posted his bail this morning,” he says without looking my way.
“Oh,” I offer simply unsure of what else to say. This is the sort of thing I assumed he would talk to Chick about not me. Normally all interaction with me is reserved for incessant teasing and public humiliation. “Sylas why are you telling me this?”
“Steve is my idol. I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone else. And you’re too embarrassed to mention us talking privately to anyone else so I get to vent, you get to not be teased, and Steve’s screw up will stay a secret,” he explains and I am shocked at his logic and insight. I mean—I know for a fact he isn’t dumb or a joker all the time. He just pretends to be. When it comes time for him to apply to colleges, I fully expect him to get multiple acceptance letters and a scholarship.
“Um, okay but you’re wrong. I’m not embarrassed to talk to you in private. I kind of like this. I’m only embarrassed when you make a spectacle of me at school.” He looks at me then, his eyes sparkling in the early evening light with a little sadness making them seem even softer, warmer.
“I’d say I’m sorry about that buuut…”
“Did you know there’s a betting pool now?” I scoff and shake my head.
“Yeah it’s a pet project,” he shrugs.
“You started the betting pool?” I gasp.
“No not technically. Chick is brokering that on my behalf,” he shrugs.
“So by proxy then,” I snort. I again shake my head in disbelief but I’m also slightly impressed, a fact that he will forever be ignorant to. A foreign urge to hug him blindsides me and I look for something to change the subject. “Teddy called. He’s supposed to deploy to Iraq soon,” I say quietly, feeling like we are trading our burdens across enemy lines during this temporary ceasefire. I don’t bother telling him that the idea of my big brother going off to a war zone scares me senseless. The worry is implied.
“Oh, war stories,” he croons. “He is going to come back with a bunch of good ones,” he says looking me in the eye and I have to distinct feeling that he’s telling me that Teddy is in fact coming home. My eyes burn with emotion and my chest feels tight. In this moment a tiny chip of the armor I have fended him off with sort of falls away and turns to dust. He looks back out across the park while I survey his profile and remain confused by my sudden desire to touch him. He looks over at me again this time with a smirk. Great. He caught me staring at him. His lips curl up into a huge grin and the sight distracts me. “Whoa! Braces!”
“Oh, yeah…” he pauses running his tongue over his teeth. “Got them taken off yesterday. Feels weird but eating is way easier now.”
“Wanna bite,” I say offering him my cheese stick.
“Gross. You know I hate cheese.” He scrunches his nose and scoots away from me. “But I could bite something else,” he teases chomping his teeth at me.
“Eww! Stop.” I laugh.
“Why?”
“Because…” I fidget unsure of what else to do with my hands.
“You know my deal. You go on a date with me—a date where I vow to be a total gentleman—and all this picking on you comes to an abrupt halt, scouts honor,” he says holding up his fingers.
Two can play this game.
“I have a better deal,” I begin staring down at the string cheese in my hand. Sy’s brows rocket up his smooth forehead.
“Anything,” he declares then stares at me, waiting for me to go on.
“You manage to eat something cheesy—really cheesy, and enjoy it and you get your date,” I levee, proud of my manipulation skills. I’ve known this butthead since elementary school and I know for certain he would barf if he ate anything with cheese on it, in it, or around it. In fact, I’ve seen it! I mentally cringe thinking back to sixth grade when the lunch lady accidentally handed him a paper boat of fried mushrooms that were actually fried cheese curds. He tossed his cookies all over the cafeteria. Weirdo. Who doesn’t like cheese?
“I see I have underestimated just how evil you can be,” he says clutching his chest with his eyes narrowed.
“Yes well I’ve had an excellent instructor in all things cruel and manipulative, Sensei,” I laugh then take another sip of my soda. “Ugh,” I grumble spotting the time on my watch. “I have to get back to work,” I say stowing my unfinished lunch.
“Aren’t you going to finish that nasty snack of yours?”
“I don’t have time and I’m not really feeling it. I’d rather have one of those big grilled cheese sandwiches from Old Bayou Diner, anyway. You know the one with like four different cheeeeses on it,” I say with extra emphasis on the word cheese just to make him cringe. “So gooey,” I whisper. I turn on my heel and head back to work.
“See ya later, Grasshopper,” he says to my back followed by the resuming beat of his basketball a moment later. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and I smile facing away from him but he’s never going to know that.
I slip into the plastic chair at our usual lunch table at school and much to my own irritation my eyes search the crowded commons area for Sylas. Last night, alone in my room my mind seemed stuck on Sylas. I tried to dissect what’s going on between us. My bet is that my thoughts about him, my feelings, the subtle flirting are all on account of our teenage hormones. That must be the culprit. I tried to imagine him touching me, kissing me and it didn’t gross me out—not in the slightest—like it once would have so it’s a no-brainer. Hormones. I just need to keep that in mind and be rational until everything simmers down. He’s a guy; he will find another girl to chase in no time.
My friends all slide into a seat one by one, chattering away, oblivious to my private thoughts about sparkling honey brown eyes and irritating stunts devised for the soul purpose of embarrassing me to death. Two minutes into lunch I catch sight of a saunter belonging to the one and only Sylas Broussard. He marches right past his friends and people trying to say hello to him. His brown eyes locked onto his target—me. They’re glued to me even from across the large commons area. My gut twists wondering what the hell he’s up to. He comes to a stop at our table.
“Excuse me ladies,” he says snagging an unclaimed plastic chair. “Y’all don’t mind if I join you?” he asks shimmying his chair between Jenny and Mika with a flirty smile on his face and his brows wiggling at them. They glance between each other then smile and scoot over making room for him to squeeze in. I narrow my eyes at him questioningly. “Mmm, that looks great,” he says leaning forward a little to survey the Salisbury steak with gravy and mashed potatoes I got from the lunch line today. “I like that one best from the lunch line. Definitely my favorite,” he says resolutely, ticking his finger in the air.
“It is good…” I murmur with my head cocked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.