Skidding to a manageable pace wears me thin, but I start with my feet as I eye the stars in question.
When I can hardly take another step, I scale the two flights of stairs to my room, sweaty and spent. No lights. Austin’s already in bed.
Pray for Kit.
I need a shower, but I pause in the dark.
Help Kit with whatever is going on with her. Comfort her. Take away whatever is hurting her and give her good gifts. Give me words to encourage her. Help her, please, Jesus. Guide her to what you have planned for her. You know what she needs.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
It’sthe night of the last Flooders intramural game before the championship. No official football team or field here, but the top teams on campus get to a compete on the official Mayberry soccer field, complete with bleachers and floodlights. The cool metal of the bleachers seeps into my skin and my mood. The lights aren’t enough for Haymitch to play. I’m missing home. And that conversation with Austin still weighs heavily on me.
Dreamy Athlete Levi catches an important pass—of course he does—and lands hard with a thud. He barely moves.
Levi.
I jerk up, ready to run to him, but he hops to his feet. My lungs inflate again. He’s fine.
I drop back into my spot as Sophie starts singing. “You should take it as a compliment that I ate your sweets and made fun of the way you nod.” Modifying a Taylor Swift song on the fly.Impressive. “You should think about the consequence of your magnetic smile pulling a little too strong.”
Her impromptu performance is rewarded with a burst of laughter from Mia and giggling from Ayumi. I try to purse my lips at her, but it’s far more of a grin. The other girls scoot closer to listen.
“I got no boyfriend, you’re older than us. You’re on the field doing I dunno what.”
The whole floor cackles, and I miss a line. From noise or humiliation, I couldn’t say.
“Long walks at night. Your eyes so kind. Favorite part of life. But I won’t say you’re mi-i-i-i-ine.”
I hide my face with my hands. It’s painfully accurate. And apparently premeditated. How else is she doing this quick lyric swap?
“You’re so gorgeous. I can’t say ‘I like you’ to your face. ’Cause look at your face.” Sophie holds her arms toward Levi to illustrate as the guys come out of a huddle.
He’s too far to hear what she’s singing, but it’s clear the girls are laughing about him, and he points at me, like a wink from afar.
“And I’m so mortified when people say I feel this way. But I keep at my games. You’re gorgeous.”
My games. My head droops.
Maybe bravery isn’t flashy or exciting. Maybe it’s simple selflessness. Maybe bravery is doing what’s best for Levi, even though it hurts.
Sophie startles our giggling floormates when she suddenly bolts up and cheers Austin down to the end zone. The guys chant “Samwise,” and despite my imitation of Sadness fromInside Out, I’m so happy for Austin and the boys. They’ll be in the championship after Thanksgiving break.
After the G1 team tunnel—already fully tradition—and their final huddle, Levi beelines to me. I know it’s asacrifice. His friends will disapprove that he’s not heading back immediately to celebrate this big win.
His text flashes to mind. He’s Ada, and I’m Levi. He managed to walk away from her, but I can’t “walk away” from him. Not in the long run. My actions prove as much. Still, I’ve reached the end of what I can manage with my unreliable mind. I can’t be what he needs. I can’t manipulate a happy ending. The only way he’s going to let me go is if I force his hand—if I tell him the truth.
My friends poke and prod me toward him as they leave the field.
I haven’t had the resolve to protect my own heart, but I can find it for him. I can’t let him continue on this path for another day. My mind swings from ecstatic to unsafe in a split second. This isn’t fair to him. He won’t move on, do what’s best for him. He won’t do what makes sense.
I ache seeing Levi up close. He’s rolled a black bandana around his forehead in honor of the playoff game. Flushed face, messy blond hair. He’s triumphant, like an adorably harmless warrior. But with every step, his shoulders fall, even more weighed down than yesterday.
“Great game, Levi. You really killed it.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I need to talk to you about something. Can I walk you back?”
We wander off the field, but I’m only half present as my mind churns. I’ve thought for too long. I have to do something—no more thinking, just doing. When we get to the woods by the pond, he motions for me to stop. His compassionate, worried eyes aren’t helping. I avoid them. An angry red scrape stretches across his forearm, dried blood visible even in the dim light. I reach for it and lift gently, wanting to take the hurt away. We should clean this up, get ice from MSC, use Neosporin. I have a first aid kit in my room. That fall must have really hurt. I feel a gentle squeeze on my arm and jerk back, dropping his injured one.
