Page 20

In the Doghouse

Colt

S he’s so onto me. And it doesn’t occur to me what kind of implications my personal life might have on our public one, until that practice.

Rod, for his part, isn’t experiencing any sort of stress. In fact, the second his ass hits the chair at the dining table in my parents’ house, he starts yapping with them, and they, of course, have been immediately hooked in by his ever-so-social personality since the day they met, two years back. He’s the kind of guy who, as far as I know, has never needed media training, and has the propensity to chat up a pile of dirt. It doesn’t hurt that his daughter, Talise, is the sweetest angel of a pre-schooler that ever walked the earth, and is currently happily asleep in the guest room, something my mom mentions with delight more than once in between talk about what an ‘easy’ child Tali is.

‘… and I was always so sure there was something brewing between the two of them,’ my dad is going on and on; all of this shit about May and me in high school. ‘And then Colt here chose Boston. That’s what you call missing one train to catch another, if you ask me, because, you know, Boston was good. Boston brought us a lacrosse legend. But if we’re talking about May, he got lucky, and here we are.’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ Rod nods. ‘Though at least today, they weren’t behaving much like a couple. I don’t know if it’s how the two of them get over lacrosse, but you could’ve cut the tension with a steak knife. Horrific.’

‘Really?’ Connor Dean, momma’s boy of the Woodchucks, leans forward inquisitively, his big blue eyes the size of our dinner plates. ‘That true, Colt? Trouble in paradise?’

I roll my eyes at Rod, the snitch. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’

‘Oh?’ Ma is unconvinced. ‘Is that why May isn’t here tonight? You know we invited May along with the guys, don’t you?’

‘I was pretty excited to meet your girlfriend,’ JJ Kovacic – our team’s child in a college grad’s body – adds unhelpfully, all crestfallen. ‘Not to mention future MLL player, I hope.’

‘I know,’ I grumble.

‘No sass at the dinner table,’ my sister cuts in. Sav crosses her eyes my way to punctuate her point.

‘Savannah.’

‘Colton James.’

‘Dude, stop!’

‘Sav, Colt, come on. We have guests .’

‘How does it feel when your girlfriend bails?’ smart-mouths Sav.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings, and as much as I don’t want to face May right now, I pray it’s her just so I can shut my sister up.

‘I’ll get it.’ I scramble to my feet and, before anyone at the table (especially Rod and definitely Sav) can give me any shit, I rush over to the door to see who’s there.

As I open it, relief and terror simultaneously flood my body. She’s standing on the porch in fresh Wranglers and a tight long-sleeved grey Henley after my own heart, her hair braided over her shoulder, that same pair of brown boots embroidered with butterflies peeking out from the hems of her jeans, her favourite pair. She holds a big glass container covered in cling wrap, which she extends my way, totally deadpan. ‘Dessert. We made tiramisu. If you’re into that.’

‘Thanks – um, thank you.’ I step aside and usher her in, closing the door behind her. I try my best to slap an expression of upset onto my face. I mean, I should be pissed. We absolutely have to strike this dumb relationship balance unless we want to be found out, and that’s not even accounting for the fact that May’s anger at practice started prodding at some of the reasons for coming home that I haven’t been so keen on sharing. Instead, I find myself leading May to the kitchen, where we’re at least somewhat secluded from the hubbub of the dining room.

‘We’re not actin’ much like a couple, are we? Going out there and starting arguments in front of the team?’ May sets the tiramisu on the island and leans against the counter, crossing her arms. Guarded. ‘But forget the relationship end of things for a moment, actually. We wouldn’t even be worrying about that if you’d been a fair coach out there. I’m not asking for special treatment, Colt. I’m asking for fair coaching.’

‘May, I …’ I’m keeping my voice way more hush-hush than she is. The May I know well, with the relentless affinity for red-card games, is starting to creep in. ‘I swear, that wasn’t my intention at all. I know last season wasn’t the best, and it wasn’t fair of me to—’

‘To put me in a situation where I had to make the sort of shot I missed a million times over last year?’ she finishes, eyes wide in disbelief. ‘Really, Colt? It’s not just about learning how to move. It’s about learning how to think . You have to teach that. You can’t expect me to just know . Does it make sense for me to say that?’

It’s about learning how to think . I kind of wish she weren’t right all the time.

‘Trust me, I get that.’ I train my eyes directly on hers. It’s the only way I can find to steel myself for the confession I’m about to make. I’ve hurt her and hid enough from her, and if I keep doing it, I’ll burn the last bridge I have with May Velasco for good. ‘That’s why—’

‘Oh my word, May!’

I almost slump over the island in despair when Ma hustles into the kitchen with her flailing hands and hugs, and that’s the end of that. ‘Ma,’ I groan, but it’s lost to all the cooing and embracing going on at the island. My mother, quintessential lacrosse mom through all the ups and downs, has never missed a game since May and I started playing in elementary – and being a professor of what she is, she never missed a single boys’ or girls’ game. May got to know her pretty well as our rivalry turned to one-on-ones and pickup down in Eagle Rock, to staying late on the field at Prosperity High, to bets on milkshakes, to bets on dinner. And my mom, of course, loved May.

‘It’s so good to see you, Mrs Bradley.’ May’s voice is muffled, crushed by Ma’s shoulder.

‘May, I am so sorry.’ Ma holds May at arm’s length, a little frown on her face. ‘Despite whatever our reckless son does, you’re always more than welcome to come around, you know that. You’d also be more than welcome to take a GWAS class next semester’ – at that, May lets out a laugh – ‘if you weren’t graduating, young lady.’ My mom beams. ‘I’m so proud of you, honey. And so glad Colt finally came to his senses.’

Ma’s eyes scream, FINALLY . For everyone else, this fake relationship is about playing along with a lie, but for my parents, it’s very much their dream come true. The breakup at the end of this is going to crush them. And me, to be frank, but I’m trying not to think about that.

With a happy, ‘Let’s go eat,’ my mom sweeps us towards the dining hall, where Rod, Connor, JJ, and Pop are waiting with massive smiles, and Sav with a smirk.

‘May!’ the three of my teammates proclaim happily in various cadences. Naturally. I don’t recall them giving me that kind of cutesy welcome.

‘You made it!’ Rod grins. ‘Glad we get to properly meet.’

‘So am I.’ She sits down and shoots him a smile. ‘The team’s all huge fans. We’re thankful you could drop by.’

‘Likewise,’ chirps JJ.

Sav looks evilly gleeful as she reaches for a piece of focaccia bread. ‘May, I thought you hated Colt. Which, I don’t blame you, but …’

I grit my teeth and clear my throat, glaring at Savannah. ‘My sister doesn’t mean that.’

‘No, I did hate you!’ points out May. ‘We were rivals in every way.’

‘Some weird head-to-head turf war between boys’ and girls’ lacrosse at Prosperity,’ Pop says with a nod to the guys. ‘This place is a lax hotbed.’

‘Interesting,’ Connor hums. ‘It’s gotta be kind of nice, though. I’ve lived up on the East Coast all my life. I never thought a tiny town in Oklahoma would be so obsessed with lacrosse.’

‘Don’t get him started,’ I warn. ‘If you provoke Pop, he’ll talk your head off about Prosperity lacrosse history.’

Pop raises his hands in disbelief, but Ma, Sav, and I just shoot him knowing looks. My dad is the original Division One yapper.

‘Well, May.’ Rod fully turns to face her. ‘I know all about Colt’s story. How’d you get into the sport?’

Her face immediately lights up, and I kick myself when I realize just how shit I’ve been doing at the fake boyfriend gig. How can Rod do that in a split second, and I haven’t managed it yet at all?

‘It’s a strange story,’ she begins, as a wistful laugh – one I’d probably give my heart and soul to hear for ever – leaves her lips. ‘My mom wanted me to dance, same as her and her mom before. A very safe pastime. But my father was her polar opposite. He’d ridden bulls in his youth, stopped right before he got married. I was four when I started training for barrel racing. It was everything I wanted as a kid, but soon, I realized I wanted to feel the same thrill my horse got to feel when he ran round the course. I wanted a sport where I could run free and still get to cause a little chaos, and Prosperity was just starting to shape its youth lacrosse programme, feeding into the frenzy of the college leagues. You can guess the rest of it.’

‘She was the captain of the high school lacrosse team. And even then, she’s still been in the annual rodeo fifteen years running,’ someone blurts. That someone, tragically, is me. The implication of my stupidity doesn’t hit me until all the heads around the table, including May’s, have turned my way. Am I fanboying? I’m fanboying.

Ma is the first one to croon, ‘Oh, you two are just the sweetest.’

May’s cheeks go pink, but there’s a hint of gratitude in her eyes that I return when I grin. ‘Almost makes me wish I hadn’t moved up to New England so I could’ve seen every year she’d run in it.’

Not a single word out of my mouth is a lie, and I hope May knows it. I hope she knows I used to sit at every rodeo, listen to the announcer call her name over the booming speakers and join in the applause after she and her horse had done the cloverleaf perfectly – effortlessly – her braid thumping against her back, a tip of her hat as she finished the run.

At the end of the dinner, May’s tiramisu sits completely cleaned out, the glass container empty on the table, and the two of us help clear dishes. At the sink, she hands me a plate, meets my eyes, and says, ‘You wish you hadn’t moved. But you moved anyway.’

A lump grows in my throat at the glancing hint of pain in her voice. It’s the first time I’ve really heard it so quietly, tentatively. What my actions did to her.

I take the plate, and I turn off the water so I can make sure she hears what I tell her next. ‘Yeah, I did. I got a lot of things out of that move. College, the Chucks, lacrosse, all that. But May, man, I lost you. And there’s not a day that’s gone by since I left that I haven’t thought about that.’

This time, she has to hear me out. She’s definitely not asleep. She definitely heard it all.

Gaze lowered, May brushes a wave of hair behind her ear, tucking it into her braid. I have to fight the urge to weave it back in myself. Then she looks up at me, and it’s unnerving how vulnerable she seems. The familiar red-card chaos look is gone, replaced with big eyes, welling with tears. The only other time I’ve seen her like that was after her first concussion, way back in middle school. Manmayi Velasco never cried.

She says, voice so quiet it could be a whisper, ‘It really, really hurt, Colt. It still hurts.’