Page 31

Stay

Seventeen Years Old, Tennessee

A week after Isaiah and I have our heart-to-heart in the glaze closet, I’m out on a Friday afternoon, walking Major through the neighborhood. I hear a basketball bouncing on the pavement even before I round the corner leading to the recreation area.

Trevor, who I’ve gotten to know during Art Club, is on the court with Isaiah. There’s a girl, too, sitting on a nearby bench. She has brown hair twisted into a bun, and she’s wearing a puffer jacket. I’ve seen her at school, though we don’t have classes together.

I’ve no choice but to walk past the trio, and I’m torn about whether I want them to notice me or not. Being around Isaiah kicks my nerves into high gear. I find myself thinking about him at the oddest times: halfway through a journal entry, pen poised above the page; or in the middle of a show, while the keystone characters are making up or making out; or in the dark of night, before I slip into sleep.

I don’t dwell on what my preoccupation suggests.

As I stroll by, the boys grapple over the ball, laughing and shoving. Isaiah comes out victorious, then takes off toward the basket, leaving Trevor to stand at half-court. Shielding his eyes from the low winter sun, he spots me and shouts, “Lia!”

Isaiah’s mid-shot. By the time the ball sinks through the net, he’s looking my way.

“What’re you doing?” he calls, his voice pitched with surprise.

I hold up Major’s leash and shrug.

“Come hang out,” Trevor says, waving an arm.

My dog’s already tugging toward the court, intrigued by potential new friends. I let him lead me to Isaiah. “I meant, what are you doing here ,” he clarifies, bending to greet Major.

“I live here.” I point toward the far side of the pond. “That way.”

“No shit?” Trevor says, trotting over with the basketball under his arm. “Same. I mean, out by the clubhouse. But hey—we’re practically neighbors.”

By now, the brunette has left the bench to join us. Trevor hooks an arm around her shoulders. “This is Molly,” he tells me. “Molly, Lia. She joined Art Club this semester.”

“Nice,” she says, flashing a smile. A silver charm bracelet peeks out of her jacket’s cuff. I bet it’s the one Trevor picked out at the mall before Christmas. “Are you an actual artist,” she asks me, “or are you in it for the résumé building, like Trev?”

“Neither,” I say. “It just sounded like fun.”

Isaiah gives Major a final pat before straightening. “It is fun.”

“Nothing like playing hoops though,” Trevor says, underhanding the basketball to Isaiah, who catches it smoothly.

Their team won again last night, an upset against the top-ranked school in the district. I’ve started paying attention now. And yeah, according to ERHS’s morning announcements, the basketball team’s social media accounts, and the local news, Isaiah is a phenom. He and Trevor are cocaptains and apparently an indomitable duo on the court.

“You guys are kicking ass this season,” Molly says, looking at Trev, smitten.

“Yeah, we are,” he hollers, thumping Isaiah’s shoulder, “thanks to my boy.”

Isaiah whacks him back. “Okay, high scorer.”

“Don’t let him fool you with his meek bullshit,” Trevor tells me. “He’s a straight baller .”

Molly rolls her eyes, laughing. “If you guys are done with the ego stroking, Trev and I’ve gotta go.” She gives me a scheming look. “We’re going out to dinner with my parents soon. He’s so excited.”

Trevor groans, but drolly. “Can’t. Fucking. Wait.”

She takes his hand and leads him off the court. “Nice meeting you, Lia!”

“See you around,” Trevor calls as they take off down the block.

Isaiah watches them a second, then spins the ball on his forefinger like it’s easy as winking. He ought to be watching its balance, but his eyes are on me. “Want to shoot around?”

“Oh—but my dog.”

He looks down at Major, who’s curled up at my feet.

“He seems okay to chill.” His eyes meet mine. “Stay.”