Page 11

The Game Plan

May

I wish I could blame the adrenaline, but it’s clear I made the shitty decision myself. For the team, I remind myself. For the women’s lacrosse programme Okie needs, according to our coach. For my career after college, I try to ignore the uncertainty surrounding that last part. Either way, it sounds dumb when I realize that this shitty decision has brought me to an overly expensive pasta restaurant in downtown Prosperity, where I sit across from the menace himself.

I don’t even like pasta. There. I said it.

‘We need to lay down a game plan,’ says Colt, swallowing a bite of ziti. ‘We need to set a couple of guidelines, for how this is gonna go.’

‘A game plan,’ I echo in disbelief. This can’t be real. I spear a piece of lasagne, attempting to silence my particularly judgemental thoughts that might accidentally manifest themselves aloud. He’s such a man .

‘What? It’s true,’ he points out. ‘If we’re going to do this, we need a strategy.’

‘Colt …’ I’m not sure how to react, so in the end, I scoff. ‘Dude. It’s a relationship, not a lax play.’

Both his eyebrows rise at that. He tilts his head in inquisition, all curious golden retriever-esque, and a lock of light brown hair falls from the rest of his ’do, which is effortlessly swept back from his forehead. ‘What’s the difference?’

And that’s why no ‘spark’ between us would’ve ever stood a chance. ‘So much. There’s so much difference. Didn’t you have a girlfriend at some point in Boston?’

‘Uh, yeah. I did …’ The confusion on his face quickly turns to a teasing, overly satisfied smirk. ‘Why, were you keeping tabs on me?’

‘No.’ Ugh. I bite down on my tongue. ‘People date. They learn from their relationships. I just thought you’d finally have figured out that feelings aren’t as premeditated as playbooks.’

The silence that comes after that is deafening.

Colt, always the kind of person who couldn’t stand a moment’s lull in conversation, clears his throat. ‘Anyway. This is technically premeditated. So, we could use a playbook.’

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. ‘Fine. What’s in the playbook then?’

‘Well, we gotta look like a couple,’ he starts with a little wave of his fork. ‘We need to feed the press nuggets every so often, make sure they think the relationship is still a thing. Keep pulling in crowds. Maybe even expand our crowds.’

‘ Nuggets? ’ I echo in disbelief.

‘Yeah, you know. Like how we were at the bar that other night.’

‘Great.’ If it isn’t enough that he’ll be at every team practice, I have to give him quality time, too. ‘We can do fake date nights, like, once a week or something. Next.’

‘Well, I couldn’t miss a game,’ he continues. ‘That’d include road games. Which means I’ll be travelling with you, which means more eyes will be on us, and we’ll have to keep up the appearance wherever we go, whenever we’re together.’

Road games. I hold back a sarcastic laugh. I’d forgotten my favourite part about the season. The travel games, my usual escape from the tiny-town chokehold that was Eagle Rock and Prosperity, would now be an experience I’d have to share with Colt.

Not to mention the variable I had yet to contend with: how seriously Colt would take this whole thing. What if when we went to Albuquerque for the rivalry game, he strolled out on the town after a little too much to drink, and he woke up on the floor of some random Alby-U dorm room? I only entertain the idea because I’d done it once before and lived to regret every second of it. Anything is possible once we factor in road games and I don’t particularly want to think about that.

‘Honestly, though,’ Colt says way too quickly, once he notices the vacant expression on my face, ‘I’m only committed to doing what you’re comfortable with. You’re writing the playbook, at the end of the day, not me.’

His cheeks are going slightly red. He messes with the silver chain around his neck, glancing at me all anxiously, his eyes darting like caught prey. He’s definitely flustered. It would be more amusing if our fake relationship and my real career weren’t at stake.

‘I appreciate that,’ I finally reply. It’s not a lie. ‘Colt, I’m going to be real with you. I don’t know where to start here. I saw the full crowd, and how happy the girls were because of it. Jordan and I are graduating, and we need to figure out what kind of role lacrosse will have in our lives after that, and this publicity, this attention, it helps. It attracts scouts. It attracts options. You know that.’

He nods, fiddling with his fork. He meets my gaze through ridiculously long eyelashes. ‘Yeah. I know. I get it, May. Trust me, I do. Breaking into the pros is a big decision.’

A decision as big as where you chose to go to college? I want to retort. A decision as big as leaving Oklahoma behind? I wonder if he remembers the faces of everyone who was disappointed that, as much as Prosperity wanted Colt, Colt didn’t want Prosperity. I wonder if he saw all the shit that happened here just a year ago. I wonder if he knows how much small towns need anchors. How much this place needed him and his talent, and how the ease with which he made the choice to turn his back on the people who made him who he is today – and, I guess, on me – was a knife to the chest.

I count my losses and let it go, though. ‘It is. But as Coach has apparently made clear to you, you’re also aware I’m personally in a tough situation. I have a dogshit year to make up for if I want to stay on this team. I don’t need distractions. This is the means to an end for me. Let’s keep stuff separate.’

Something changes behind Colt’s eyes, just a hint, and he nods in acknowledgement. Crap. Maybe I’m being too blunt. ‘And when I leave?’ he asks tentatively, before I can get too caught up in my own head.

‘That’s curtains, isn’t it?’ I reply, drumming my fingers idly on the table. ‘We stage the great big breakup. Call it quits because you’re leaving, yada yada. Works out well for both of us. No one leaves this thing tied down.’

‘Fair.’ He smiles, but it’s far less eager than his usual grin. ‘Makes it all the more important we have a nice outline to get this thing right, then.’

He takes a napkin from the centre of the table and extends a hand my way. ‘You got a pen?’

I shrug and pull one out of my belt bag for him. ‘Sure.’

Unfolding the napkin, Colt uncaps the pen and starts writing a big number ‘1’ with a dash beside it. ‘You tell me what to put on here, I’ll write it. Our playbook.’

The ache in my chest is dull and nostalgic, and it’s a feeling I thought I wouldn’t feel again. It’s a feeling I squashed after that spring when I watched Colt walk down that hallway with his cheery waving. After his half-assed text message and his mom’s infuriatingly good strawberries. It reminds me that there’s a hole in there, and that hole, only one person was ever able to fill, rivalry or not.

I swallow hard. I want to say, ‘Hiding. Our first play is going to be hiding. You continue hiding things from me, and I’ll hide them from you. Don’t let this get too real. I don’t think I could survive everything you put me through a second time.’

Instead, I say, ‘Unless the circumstances demand otherwise, how about keeping our distance?’

May’s Plays

– Keep our distance. Unless the circumstances demand otherwise.

– Minimal PDA. We refuse to be that couple.

– When in doubt, do as our overly romantic parents would.

– No deep conversations about deep life things (henceforth).

– These terms end when Colt leaves.