“You know you can come to me with any problems, right?”
“Yes Coach. Thank you. Like I said, it won’thappen again.”
When I get out onto the court, Priestley’s giving me the stink eye and Ben’s trying to throw me a sympathetic smile.
Fuck, how did I let this happen?
Even now I’m here, I can’t focus. Everyone’s already paired up so Assistant Coach Rodriguez hits with me, but I miss everything and can’t even get my serve locked in. He jogs up to the net and asks me if I’m okay, basically repeating Coach Sanchez’s little speech. I tell him I’m fine. I can’t wait until we can get off the court and I can be left alone.
I’m never like this. I love tennis. Even practice. Love being out here on the crisp blue courts with the sun beating down on my back. The rhythmic sound of tennis balls hitting rackets. Laughter from my teammates. The camaraderie. The team spirit. But I don’t feel it today.
Priestley approaches me the second we get into the locker room, repeating my coaches’ questions, but with less concern.
“You know this game against Harvard is important, right?”
“I know that.”
“Give him a break, Priestley. He was probably just out getting laid,” Archer chimes in, pulling a t-shirt over his head.
Priestley sighs and rolls his eyes. “No one asked you.”
“Hey, when we’re in the locker room, only Coach can tell me what to do.”
“That sounds dirty.” Miles grins.
“Ew, shut up.”
My face flushes, but Priestley at least lets me go.
I text Evan.
What are you doing later?
No reply comes and I tell myself he’s probably asleep. Not ignoring me.
I can’t let this go. I need to talk to him. We need to get all of this out in the open. Talk about what happened. Make him let me explain. Apologize. And if he still doesn’t listen, if he still wants to resent me, then fine. There’s nothing else I can do after that.
I make it through the day. My business class with Ben—who is good enough not to question me on why I was late to practice. A meeting at the frat house I sit through on autopilot, until Priestley calls on me to provide some documents I luckily worked on already last week.
I keep checking my phone whenever I can. But there’s no reply from Evan. Unable to wait around anymore, the second the meeting is over, I hop in my car and head over to my old neighborhood, sending a message to Evan on the way.
I’m coming over, meet me at the beach? Our old spot where the good shells used to be. I know you’re mad, but please, I just want one chance to explain.
While I drive, I can almost smell the sand and hear the clack of shells in buckets we were bringing home for our moms. Evan’s salty skin as we stood under the outdoor showers and washed sand off our feet. While I averted my eyes and tried not to get excited over Evan being so close and so almost-naked.
I look at my phone at every stop sign and light, but there’s no reply from Evan.
After getting no response, I don’t expect tofind him at our spot. But when I stop the car, there he is, sitting on a boulder with a hoodie on and his back to the road.
The minute I see him, I know I’m fucked. I would have run through fire to be here right now, and not just because he needs me. Or someone. But because ever since I saw him again at his dad’s funeral, even though it was the shittiest of circumstances, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.
He's staring out at the black water.
“What’s up?” I ask, taking a seat beside him on the sand.
He looks over at me and snorts.
I frown. “What?”
