Page 15

Plopping down on the couch, I grab a pillow to hug against my chest and throw my feet up on the coffee table, legs crossed at the ankles. “Is it too early for cartoons?”

Daniel flops down next to me, jostling my entire body with his weight. “Bro, seriously? It’s never too early for cartoons. ”

We spend the next hour watching reruns of Scooby-Doo without a care in the world.

It’s exactly what I need right now. Something familiar and silly to keep my mind off how important today is.

But, of course, like all good things, the peaceful distraction ends when my stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since last night’s leftover pizza binge.

I pause the show and stretch my arms above my head, groaning as my joints pop. “Hey, want to check out that new healthy place down the street for lunch? I could go for a wrap right about now.”

Daniel yawns and nods. “Sure, I could eat.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Since when are you into ‘healthy’ food, though? Thought you were more of a burger and fry kind of guy.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “I don’t know, just thought I should fuel up properly before the big game, you know? Can’t be sluggish out there on the mound.”

The real reason is that my anxiety is still simmering under the surface, and I’m worried that greasy food will upset my stomach even more. But I don’t want to admit that to Daniel. He already thinks I’m being a neurotic mess about this whole thing.

We throw on some clothes—which, for Daniel, means finally putting on pants—and head out. The sun is high in the sky now, warming my skin as we walk. I take a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill my lungs and calm my nerves.

The café is small but inviting, with exposed brick walls and succulents lining the windowsills. We grab two seats at the bar overlooking the bustling street outside. I scan the menu, settling on a turkey and avocado wrap with a side of sweet potato fries. Healthy-ish, right?

As we wait for our food, an awkward silence descends between us.

I drum my fingers on the countertop, trying to think of something to say.

My mind keeps circling back to the poetry slam when Daniel and Olivia had that huge argument.

He still hasn’t told me what it was about. And it’s been bugging me to no end .

I clear my throat. “So…what happened between you and Olivia at the gallery?”

Daniel tenses, his jaw clenching. “It was nothing. Just a stupid fight.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Didn’t seem like ‘nothing.’ You guys weren’t exactly being subtle. Everyone was staring.” When he doesn’t respond, I press further. “Come on, man. We’re best friends. You can tell me.”

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to get into it right now, okay? Can we drop it?”

His tone is sharp, almost angry. It throws me for a loop. I haven’t seen him like this since sophomore year, when we lost the championship because he missed the ball hurtling over home plate. Daniel, all closed off and irritated, unsettles me.

I nod, not wanting to push him further, but my mind won’t stop racing with possibilities. What could they have been fighting about that has Daniel this on edge?

Our food arrives, giving me a much-needed distraction from everything. We eat in silence, the only sounds the clanking of silverware against plates and the chatter of the other patrons around us.

I gaze out the window, watching the people pass by.

A group of teenage girls giggle as they huddle around a phone.

An elderly couple strolls hand in hand, the man using a cane to steady himself.

A guy in a Rocky Horror Picture Show T-shirt bobs his head to the music blasting from his earbuds, the iconic red lips emblazoned across his chest.

Seeing those lips, I’m suddenly transported back to the poetry slam, to the moment I saw Olivia mouth my name in the midst of her heated exchange with Daniel.

Is that what they were arguing about? Me? Did I do something to piss Olivia off? I rack my brain but come up empty. As far as I know, she and I are cool. We’ve never had any issues. Why would she be upset with me?

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought that she’s mad at me. I’m a golden retriever; I’m impossible to get mad at. I’m simply reading into things that aren’t there. Whatever’s going on with him and Olivia, it has nothing to do with me.

I sneak a glance at Daniel, but he’s staring resolutely at his plate, his brow furrowed in concentration as he picks at his salad. I want to say something, to crack a joke and break the uncomfortable silence, but the words stick in my throat.

Sighing, I turn back to the window and let my thoughts drift far away from lovers’ quarrels, baseball scouts, and New York City dreams.

Instead, I think about summer nights in Bomont and riding my bike past those blinking yellow lights as the crickets chirp in the ditches by the road.

About fireflies floating lazily through the warm air before getting trapped in a glass jar.

About wishing on stars and tending to cows.

An odd sensation courses through me as I reflect on my childhood. It’s similar to longing but not quite as sharp-edged or desperate.

It’s more like…nostalgia.