Cole comes back with his hair combed, and I can’t tell if he changed his shirt or if it’s the one he was wearing before. The blue almost matches the lightest shade of the larkspur flowers.
He’s still buttoning the last buttons with one hand when he says, “Sorry about how hot it is in here. And loud.”
I hadn’t caught it before. But he means all the fans blowing, one or two set up in every room. All the windows open, even this early in the day. Another thing I would not have noticed because Bruja Lupe and I do the same thing all the time. Families who can afford it just leave their air-conditioning running.
“We don’t really turn on the AC unless it’s over a hundred,” Cole says, and I hear the nervousness, the self-consciousness under the words. “Saves energy. Good for the environment.”
I never thought that Kendra Kendall might be showing me the sharp edges of her French-manicured nails for any reason but that she wanted a crown and a title.
“I’m really sorry, Cole,” I say, and I don’t know if I’m talking just about plowing into him with a piece of museum memorabilia or the fact that his family has a drawer full of red-lettered bills.
His glance at his arm is involuntary. “You have to know that wasn’t your fault.”
“It was at least a lot my fault,” I say.
“It was a little your fault. Let’s save the ‘lot’ for where it’s deserved.”
“Ribbon. Bike wheel. I should know better.”
“Yeah, well, Bradley should know better too.”
Sports at Meteor Central High were the one thing Cole always had, and I took that from him.
“You’re out for the season,” I say.
“Just the cornhole championship,” he answers, like it’s nothing. “The doctor my mom made me see agrees with Cereza and Lupe. He says I’ll be good for soccer in the winter and I can work up to the baseball stuff for the spring. He just doesn’t want me throwing right now.”
It’s just then that I put something together.
Sports aren’t just something Cole loves.
They’re his future.
He’s talked about college, close enough that he could drive back to Meteor on weekends if he wanted to, far enough that no one would expect him to if he didn’t. I know he both loves this town, and needs breathing room from it. And how good he is on the field is how he’s gonna make that happen.
It was how his older brother got to UNM. The same older brother that, according to rumor, set down the rules of how his teammates were gonna treat the first transgender guy to join their team. “So you guys are gonna look out for my little brother or I’m gonna kick all your asses, sound good?”
I finish with the flowers in time for the oven to beep.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I say.
Cole laughs. “Always.”
“Good.” I borrow Mrs. Kendall’s oven mitts to pull the casserole dish out. Bruja Lupe helped me put the enchiladas together before her Barbara Stanwyck movie marathon with Liz Peterford. “Because I brought you something else.”
But now Cole sighs. “Please don’t serve it for me, my mother keeps trying to do that. I do have full use of my other arm.”
“I won’t.” I set the casserole dish down and stick a serving spoon in it. “You’re gonna do it yourself.”
Now he looks wary. “Is this some kind of exam?”
“Not an exam. Practice.” I pull down plates. “Green enchiladas stain less than anything else Bruja Lupe and I make. This is good experience learning to eat with your other arm. Before you have to do spaghetti or something.”
He shakes his head, like he’s humoring me. But he does it. He pushes the books aside, and we sit at the kitchen table together, Cole as patient learning to eat with his nondominant hand as he is waiting for the right moment on the soccer field.
I say a prayer of thanks that the enchiladas turned out, that I learned how to make something more than the same sugar cookies.
Cole spears his fork into one. “It’s ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’”
“What?” I ask.
“Kendra’s song. It’s ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’”
I look down at my plate so he won’t see me cringing. Even I know how many past Miss Meteor contestants have tried that one.
“Oh wait, I’m not done.” Cole sets down his fork and holds up a hand to stop me reaching for words. “Modified to ‘Somewhere Over the Space Rock.’”
Now I set down my fork. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes. I wish I didn’t, but I now know the words by heart. And no, I’m not gonna sing it.” He picks the fork back up and stabs the tines into another piece of enchilada. “Not even for you.”
“Is she gonna wear the Dorothy Gale dress?”
“In Meteor Central High colors.”
“Leave this town while you still can, Cole,” I deadpan.
“Oh, I plan on it,” he says. “But I’m probably not gonna go that far, you know that.”
“And why is that, exactly?” I ask. Probably a hundred colleges—some of them far from Meteor—would want him for their baseball team. Maybe soccer even more. There’s not a striker in the district who hasn’t wished they had Cole Kendall’s mix of patience and speed.
“Because I love this place,” he says, in a way that almost makes me believe his relationship with this town isn’t as complicated as it is. But only almost. “And I want to be able to get back here when I want to. I just don’t want to live here. I want to live somewhere I don’t have to follow everyone else’s rules to get to be who I am. I wish that place was here, but it’s just not, at least not right now.” Cole shakes his head, smiling. “Believe it or not though, I am gonna miss some things about this place.”
“So am I,” I say, and I feel like my heart’s crumbling to stardust.
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “You’re out of here, too, when you get the chance?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you going?”
I’m trying to figure out how to give an answer that’s not far away, like, galactically far away, when the sound of keys being set down makes me stand up.
I brace for the sight of Kendra’s curling-iron curls.
Worse.
Mrs. Kendall’s high heels click into the kitchen. They match her shell tank that looks like it came from a sweater set. She dresses like this even on her days off. I wonder if it rubbed off on her son. Cole always looks a little nicer than he has to.
I realize, just now, that it’s the richest guys in town who always show up in wrinkled shorts and flip-flops in brands none of us know because nowhere in Meteor sells them.
Before my brain has a chance to give Meteor men’s fashion any further consideration, it lands on something else.
Cole’s father’s trips to Chicago, and Duluth, and Omaha.
Is he never here for Cole’s games not because he’s busy with deals and presentations, but because he’s looking for work?
Mrs. Kendall sets her eyes on us. “What is going on here?”
Cole stands up. “Mom.”
“Haven’t you done enough?” she asks me.