Reason to Breathe (15 page)

“I have to fend for myself a lot, so yeah, I
cook,” he explained without looking at me. “You don’t, I take
it?”

“Not since eighth grade Home Ec.”

“Huh, that actually surprises me.” He didn’t
say anything more, and I wasn’t about to try to explain the rules
of Carol and George’s kitchen.

“Can I ask you something?” I blurted without
really thinking through what I was about to say. This was becoming
a habit that was causing my heart and head more distress than I
could handle. Whenever I was with Evan I found myself revealing,
asking, and agreeing to things that were sending my brain into
shock.

“Go for it.” Evan stopped what he was doing
to lean his back against the counter, still holding the knife in
his hand.

“Do you always get what you want?” He looked
at me with uncertainty, so I attempted to clarify, “I mean, are you
as forward with everyone as you are with me?”

He chuckled, not the answer I was looking
for.

Evan paused long enough to make me wish I
hadn’t asked the question. He smiled before he replied, “No. Normal
girls wouldn’t be able to handle it. They tend to respond better to
subtlety and flirting. I know that whatever I say to any other girl
would be passed on to her friends and eventually to the rest of the
school, so direct doesn’t work in most situations. But this is not
most situations, and you are far from any other girl.” He turned to
continue his preparation.

His answer left me baffled. If this was
direct, then I would hate to be a normal girl, because I had no
idea what he meant by half of what he just said. I decided not to
even attempt to understand it - fearing it would only make me more
confused.

“Okay,” he said, still with his back to me as
he dumped the contents of the cutting board in the wok on the
stove, “I have a question for you.” Now look what I started - I
sighed and braced myself.

“How come you’ve never been on a date?” Evan
turned to look at me, anticipating my answer.

“Why would I?” was the first thing that came
out of my mouth.

He laughed and went back to tossing the
contents of the wok. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he said with a
smile. I shrugged, fiddling with a string on my sweater. I had to
change the subject, but I was coming up blank.

“Have you ever been kissed?” he asked
suddenly. My face flashed with the familiar warmth as my mouth
dropped open.

“Well, that was
definitely
direct,” I
accused. “And I don’t think I’m going to answer that question.”

“You have,” he concluded, glancing back at me
with a smirk. “Good to know.”

“Let’s change the subject,” I pushed as the
heat on my face spread to my ears. “Where was your favorite place
to live?”

He didn’t respond.

“Evan?”

“What? Sorry, I didn’t hear the question,” he
confessed, absently pushing around the ingredients sizzling in the
wok. “I was trying to figure out if I know who the guy is. But if
it was someone from school, I’m sure I would have found out by now.
Is he in college?” He leaned against the counter to examine me,
trying to pluck the answer from the mortified expression on my
face.

“You’re forgetting the line,” I reminded him
with wide eyes.

“What? This isn’t about you and me,” he
defended. “I thought friends shared this kind of stuff. I’ll tell
you who my first kiss was if that will make you feel better.”

“No, not really,” I stated emphatically. “I’m
not interested, and I’m not going to answer your question about my
private experiences. We’re not that good of friends.”

“But you have been kissed - I was right,
wasn’t I?”

“So,” I gaped. “What does it matter if I’ve
been kissed?”

“But you’ve never been on a date,” he mused,
like it was a mystery he was attempting to solve. If he thought
that the answer was going to reveal something surprising, he was
definitely going to be disappointed. He set two filled plates on
the counter.

“This is really good,” I said after taking a
bite, anxious to change the subject. But I wasn’t being dishonest,
the stir fry
was
good. I wasn’t sure I liked continuing to
find things about Evan that impressed me.

“Thanks,” he said inattentively, still
thinking about my responses.

“Can we please move past this?” I
pleaded.

“Sure, but you’ll tell me eventually,” he
said confidently.

“I don’t understand why you want to know.” I
realized, after I spoke, that I was feeding into the same topic I
was trying so hard to get away from.

“I’m still trying to figure you out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out. I’m not that
interesting.” Evan didn’t respond. He looked down with his
mischievous grin and pierced a piece of chicken with his fork.

As we ate, I was finally able to redirect the
conversation toward different places he’s lived. He described each
country or city and what he liked and didn’t like about it. I
breathed easier, having escaped the ever revealing inquiry about my
personal life. I helped with the dishes while we continued talking
about a skiing trip he went on with his brother in Switzerland a
couple of winters ago. I was extremely enthralled with his travel
stories and the many experiences he’s had in only seventeen years.
Especially since my sheltered life within the confines of New
England had little experience to compare it to.

“Do you have your license?” Evan asked as we
sat back at the counter.

“No, I don’t have my permit yet,” I
admitted.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“You’re sixteen?” He seemed surprised.

“Oh, something you didn’t know about me?” I
taunted. “I skipped a grade early in elementary school. My
birthday’s in June, but I’ve been too busy to get my permit and
take classes.”

This, of course, was a complete lie. In order
to get my permit, my guardian was required to take two hours of
parent classes - that was never going to happen. Carol and George
weren’t burdened with having to drive me from place to place - so
why would they care if I had my license? Besides, what good was a
license if I couldn’t afford a car?

“Do you know how to drive?”

“Sara’s tried to teach me the basics in empty
parking lots. She wants to take me on the road, but I’d die if
anything happened to her car. If we ever got caught and she lost
her license, it would suck for both of us.”

“Does she have an automatic or manual?”

“Automatic.”

“I’m surprised that her car’s an automatic.
Want to learn to drive a stick?”

“Not today,” I replied bluntly.

“A library day,” he determined with a
grin.

“Maybe,” I said hesitantly. How many of these
library days was he planning? The thought of getting caught made my
stomach hurt. It was bad enough I had agreed to go to the batting
cages on Sunday. There was no way I could risk more excursions.

“Do you want to give me your iPod and I’ll
download that band for you?”

“It’ll be hard to be without it for the
weekend or actually even for the game today.” I reached in my
backpack trying to decide if I should give it to him.

“You can borrow mine,” he offered without
hesitating. Trading personal property already? This simple gesture
felt so much bigger than just exchanging music. Or perhaps I was
reading too much into it.
Relax
. It was just music.

“Okay.” I handed him my lime green player in
exchange for his black one. It may have been just music, but my
heart was pounding so hard it might as well have been a ring.

“I should get ready for the game. Can you
show me where the bathroom is so I can change?”

“Sure.”

I followed him into a soft yellow room that
was elegantly furnished with a Victorian style couch and chair set,
upholstered with light blue velvet and framed with hand carved
white wood. A small, but stunning, crystal chandelier was suspended
above the hand crafted coffee table. I looked across at the picture
window, which allowed a full view of the front yard. The room
opened up into a receiving area at the main entrance with a small
table set against the wall, where a colorful arrangement of flowers
was set next to a picture of four people, who I presumed to be the
Mathews family.

“The light switch is inside on the right,”
Evan explained when we stopped at a door along the long hallway,
leading away from the elegant sitting room. “I’ll be in the
kitchen.”

“Thanks,” I replied, before closing the
door.

10.
Night Game

When
we pulled into the parking lot at the school, I assumed Evan would
drop me off and come back later for the varsity game. The junior
varsity team didn’t draw many spectators besides their parents and
the varsity team. But he shut off the car and proceeded to get
out.

“You’re staying?” I asked, grabbing my bags
from his car.

“Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I replied. “There aren’t a lot of
people here, but it’s up to you.”

“Can I sit with you and Sara?”

“We usually sit with the team, but I don’t
see why you can’t. I have to warn you, I listen to music to block
everyone out so that I can get focused. I’m not going to talk to
you.”

“That’s fine. I’ll find something good for
you to listen to.” He took the iPod from my hands and started
scrolling through the music selections.

“Hey Sara,” I called to her when we neared
the first row of the bleachers. She hadn’t noticed us approaching
with her attention on the game and talking to one of the girls.

“Hi,” she exclaimed excitedly when she caught
sight of me. “How did – ” Then she noticed Evan, and her question
turned into a smile that lingered a little too long. I knew she had
a thousand questions about my afternoon, so I was relieved that
Evan was here, allowing me to avoid them until the drive home. “Hi
Evan,” she greeted him warmly.

Evan sat next to Sara so that they could
talk, and I zoned them out while listening to my - well Evan’s -
music. He’d selected a band I was familiar with, allowing me to get
lost in the high energy beats while I silently watched the game on
the field. I didn’t look over at Evan or Sara and kept the volume
up so I couldn’t hear them.

The bleachers started to fill in with the
remaining members of the varsity team as the first half of the game
came to an end. They’d acknowledge me with a wave, and I’d nod back
in recognition. My teammates were familiar with my ritual and
didn’t bother trying to interact.

Every so often, Evan would reach into my
jacket pocket and pull out the iPod to find another selection of
songs. When his hand first entered my pocket, my heart stopped –
actually, so did my breathing. Once I realized what he was doing, I
continued to ignore him and watched the movement in front of
me.

The junior varsity teams were having
difficulty moving the ball due to the saturated field and the
divots created by the football game. Grass flew, cleats were caught
in the grass, and bodies slid in the mud. The mist had ended by the
end of the first half, but the damage was done.

When the JV game concluded with the Weslyn
girls losing, two to one, the varsity players gathered on the track
to prepare for the warm up laps. While we ran our warm up laps, the
bleachers continued to fill in with spectators. I didn’t check the
stands to see how big of a turn out the cool damp night had
collected - it had nothing to do with the game.

When the whistle blew to begin the game, I
was entranced. My mind was clear of every thought other than where
the ball was, where it was going, and who was going to be there to
receive it. The ball did not go anywhere very fast. There were a
lot of missed kicks, sliding attempts to dribble or pass the ball,
along with times when the ball was left spinning in place. By half
time, there wasn’t a score, but everyone was covered in mud.

The second half started the same as the
first. After a time, it became evident that the best way to move
the ball was to get some air under it. There were a lot of
collisions when fighting for position to receive the soaring ball.
It developed into more of a physical game than a ball controlling
game, with plenty of yellow card warnings as a result.

With approximately five minutes left in the
game, Weslyn had control of the ball. Our sweeper booted the ball
from the top of the keeper’s box to about mid-field, where the
mid-fielder gained possession. She dribbled a few yards, avoiding
the defender, before she sent it further up-field to Lauren.
Without hesitating, Lauren sent the ball up the sideline to Sara.
The sidelines weren’t as muddy and treacherous as the center of the
field, so Sara continued the ball along the painted white line. She
drew a defender, who came at her with a sliding tackle. Before Sara
slipped off her feet, landing on the attacker, she sent the ball
sailing across the center of the field.

I was a few yards inside the keeper’s box,
with the sweeper coming towards me, eyeing the ball that was
floating right to me, but was waist high. Without considering the
success of it, I crouched down and forced the balls of my feet into
the field and pushed back up with everything I had, propelling
myself in the air. I leaned to my left, concentrating on the ball,
and swung my right foot in attempt to make contact. I wasn’t aware
of where the sweeper was, but I hoped I had sent the ball around
her, towards the goal. After connecting with the ball, my shoulder
collided with the wet surface, followed by my hip as the mud
splashed on my face. I grunted in response to the contact, still
focused on locating the ball. I couldn’t see anything through the
sweeper’s feet while I lay on the ground. I lifted my head to hear
the ref’s whistle declaring the goal, just as I found it resting in
the back of the net.