Page 24

Personable Guy

May

I t was the June after my junior year at Prosperity High. Hot, dry, and heavy with nerves. First game of summer league. I picked up my stick just like I did before any match, but this time, something was glaringly different.

I couldn’t stop seeing him across from me, him with his crosse, me with mine, opposite sides of the field, just like it had always been. Opposite sides of the country.

Emotions were supposed to be easy for me. I got my dad’s stoic nature, rather than my mom’s out-loud empathy. I had never struggled this way before.

‘MAY!’ I heard Jordan’s voice yell, and suddenly, the ball was coming my way. A crucial pass – and I flinched, my stick flailing instead of preparing for the shot. The ball whipped right past me. I watched the entire thing go down in slow motion, down to the moment that ball landed square in the net of an opponent’s crosse, and that was that.

That match was the first time I’d ever had to be benched. Understandably, after a few of these incidents in the fourth quarter, the coach had had it up to here. ‘I think you ought to take a break,’ she said with a sigh, subbing me out for Teresa Ingold.

The silence in the locker room afterwards was deafening. I felt so deeply ashamed of myself. How could I let a man come between me and my game? He had allowed me to let my team down.

My hatred for him doubled in size and, as for my heart, it shrivelled up. I had no room left to cosy up with my sympathy for CJ Bradley.

I don’t think I ever truly came back from it. The way you feel when you realize your entire team is watching you, witnesses the very moment when you send all their work to shit because your personal life gets into your head. It really, really sucks. Which, maybe, is why I can’t bring myself to feel like Colt deserves any of what’s been coming his way. I guess I know just how horrible it is to stand there and forget everything you thought you knew so well.

The most I can ever do about it is to practise. To make sure, like Papa says, that your house is stronger the next time the storm comes. Which is why showing up to practise Thursday, with a home game coming up Saturday, only to hit brutal traffic, puts me in an awful mood.

‘What the hell?’ I groan as my truck inches forward in the lane. The traffic light for the field is literally right up ahead. Almost there. Please stay green.

It does. I make the turn into the Chester complex …

‘No way .’

The entire parking lot is full, rivalling game days out here. Every spot is taken, and I have to circle the place like a vulture until I find one parking space so far out I’ll have time to listen to half a podcast on my walk to the field. I completely forgot this was today. And unfortunately, so did everyone else.

They’re gathered at the far equipment shed, well outside of Chester, where we keep the golf carts. Even Coach is there, jaw slack in shock. ‘May!’ she yelps. ‘This was today?’

‘I had no freakin’ idea.’ I stare down the chaos happening inside Chester, visible through the chainlink fences. The grass, our field, is completely full of adults and kids and families all together, and the thud of the bass shakes the ground all the way out to where we are. The whistle of water guns is loud in the air as coloured water and powder fly above the fences.

‘What’s today?’ asks Colt, squinting at the field.

‘Uh. Some context.’ Coach clears her throat awkwardly. ‘We are kind of stretched thin for money here. As you know. So we rent the field out.’

‘You do what ?’ Colt’s right eye twitches in confusion. ‘For who?’

‘May’s mother has some contacts.’ Our coach winces as a bomb full of colourful powder explodes above the field. ‘In the South Asian Association of Oklahoma. Their Holi celebration is today. Which we did not realize. At all.’

‘Wait, wait. So what’s going on with practice, then?’ Maddie holds out a hand. ‘Is there another field we can use right now?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Coach looks like she’s literally sweating bullets as the entire team glares nervously. ‘I know your game is Thursday, girls, but the soccer field is taken, and you know sure as hell we won’t be able to get into Benson.’ She’s unfortunately right. Athletics would never let women’s lacrosse onto the precious football field just to run a practice. ‘Why don’t we go see what time it ends? Maybe we can postpone? Or ask if they could wrap up early?’

‘Coach.’ I shake my head sadly. ‘They’re Desi. They probably got here two hours late. There’s no way they’ll leave a minute early.’

‘Well, negotiation is our only bet!’ Jordan calls, already jogging towards the field with waving arms beckoning the rest of us. ‘Worst case, we party!’

‘That’s easy to say,’ I grumble. ‘We have a match Saturday.’

‘I mean, it’s not all bad.’ Colt perks up. Holy golden retriever. He’s bright-eyed, gazing at the celebration going on right across from us. ‘This could be fun, right?’

‘We’re going to get eaten alive by aunties.’ I used to go to this thing with my parents every year (who, more likely than not, are already inside, getting sloshed and fighting kids for their water guns). Unfortunately, I stopped around the time I turned fifteen. It sucks to step away from that side of my culture for such a stupid reason, but I cannot stand the community judging every breath you take and every choice you make. My mom had much the same to say about the story when she married my father. It took her, quite literally, over a decade to finally re-immerse herself into South Asian culture.

By the time we reach the door to the fence and sneak in, the music is so loud my eardrums might just burst into about a million pieces. Someone’s water gun fires, and I wince as the droplets fly.

‘It’s fun!’ Brianna chirps happily, moving her shoulders to the beat of the invasively booming Bollywood song playing in the background. Ever so eager to make conversation no matter where we put her, Brianna taps a nearby girl’s shoulder. ‘Hey! Do you know what time this thing ends?’

The girl just shrugs and laughs. And then proceeds to throw a fistful of pink powder straight at a shocked Brianna.

Our cheerful midfielder spits out bits of pink with a strangled, ‘Oh, okay!’ Then, to me, ‘May? Is this normal?’

‘Yes.’ I can’t help but laugh. ‘Holi is the festival of colours. The whole thing is that you throw these coloured paints and water at each other. Or—’

I don’t get to finish. An arc of bright blue soaks my entire left arm. My mouth slowly falls open as I turn to absolutely storm down the offender. ‘Water cannons,’ I mutter through gritted teeth, getting ready to hit the warpath, Smurf-blue and all.

Colt stands a couple of paces away with a group of young boys, all of whom are exchanging smirks and giggling. A big grin spreads across his face as he holds out a cannon happily. ‘Retaliate!’ he shouts. ‘It’s fun!’

I absolutely refuse. I won’t be retaliating anytime soon, considering I’m already turning into a blueberry from the left side. But the urge to get Colt back for this attack is stronger.

Jordan is already at my side with an entire bag of purple colouring. ‘Get ’em,’ she jeers, grabbing a fistful herself.

I reach in, take as much powder as I can hold, and make a run for it. Colt’s eyes widen, and he reacts far too late. By the time he’s dodging, I’m already throwing the entire mass of purple right at him. The cloud of it erupts every which way, and once it dissipates, he’s standing there with purple all over his hoodie and face, his cannon at the ready.

This time, when he fires it, it’s straight on. Nearly every part of me that’s facing him is dyed blue in less than a second, and those damn kids he’s got to do his bidding take their shot at the same time, spraying me with red and pink and orange while I struggle to run from these ridiculously fast boys, dodging disappointed aunties and drunk uncles.

‘An army ?’ I gasp through coloured water. ‘Of children ? How, Colt?’

‘I’m a personable guy,’ he chuckles as he jogs towards me, but when he pumps the cannon, a sad little spray comes out. ‘Aw, come on! Dude, Rahul! Hit me!’

Rahul – one of the members of Colt’s newfound army, a little Desi kid who can’t be more than twelve – chucks his gun Colt’s way. Colt snatches it, basically spamming the trigger, only for a weak spurt of green water to come out.

‘Nice going, Captain Personable.’ I grab some more purple from the bag of some passing aunty, and I don’t hesitate to smear it all across Colt’s cheek, completely unaware of how close we’re suddenly standing to each other until my hand comes away from his clean-shaven jaw. ‘And for the record, happy Holi.’

A smile spreads across his face, as spattered with colour as it is. He spins the little water gun on his index finger. ‘Happy it definitely is.’

I roll my eyes. He’s so damn tacky. Except he uses my moment of ignorance as an opportunity to steal some colour, because I feel the sprinkling of powder on my forehead, and my gaze snaps right to him. With a laugh, he opens his hand, revealing a massive mound of red powder. ‘I’m not gonna throw it. That’d be cheating.’

‘You don’t need to be chivalrous.’ Or does he? There’s something sweet about it: the patient look on his face, laced with longing. ‘Looks like anything goes here.’ I gesture to the full-out colour war going on around us.

Colt, even so, flicks his gaze to the rest of the red in his hand. ‘May I?’

Oh, honey. You’re a couple. Yeah, of course he may. For the narrative, I remind myself when I nod yes.

His fingers brush my cheek, leaving behind a trail of coloured powder, and my eyes find his light-hearted smile. It takes some effort to remind myself that this is for everyone else’s benefit.

‘Happy Holi, May,’ he whispers, stormy eyes glimmering. His touch traces tracks of red down the side of my neck before dropping off. Goosebumps spread all over my body at just that much. No matter how many times I force my mind to put the brakes on, instinct just has to have its way. Maybe all signs are trying to tell me something, but I can’t afford to read them.

I turn my attention to something I can actually control instead.

‘You’re easy to distract.’

Palming Colt’s tiny water gun, I trigger it straight at his chest, the barrel pressed right against him, and he looks down in alarm, and then amusement, as the green spreads across the fabric of his beige hoodie.

‘That’s actually cheating,’ he practically chokes out, clutching his heart all dramatically.

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Funny of you to say.’

‘Sure. But considering you’re the one distracting me, I think it’s fair.’

My pulse pounds double time when his eyes trace their way across my body reverently, even though I’m a hot mess covered with every colour of the rainbow. My wet T-shirt clings to my body, my running shorts the only water-resistant article I have been fortunate enough to wear.

‘Colt!’ shrieks little Rahul from a couple of paces away. I’m instantly thankful for the kid’s presence, ending my contemplation. ‘Come here! We’re going to get Aryan’s mom next!’

‘Aryan’s mom is next,’ Colt says to me, ever so seriously, like this is a mission of utmost importance. He slides his gun from my hand, his palm just brushing mine. ‘Don’t think we’re not coming back for you.’

He runs off with a clutch of at least eight kids, fitting for the man who, at least in my eyes, never bothered to grow up. Something about this is different, though. Endearing. I can’t ignore it for ever. The thoughts war in my head until he disappears in the crowd of dancing and yelling people covered in colours, and all that’s left for me to think about is the feeling of his fingers on my cheek.