The team has a reputation, but I don’t think of Declan like that.
“He does have some tattoos.” Giselle looks at an image on her phone.
“Are you into tattoos?” Etta Jo shimmies.
Giselle raises her hand. “I am.”
It’s easy enough to read between the lines and see where they’re going with this. “If you’re asking if I’m into Declan, the answer is no. We’re friends. Just friends. It’s always been very clear where Declan and I stand: squarely in the friend zone. Forever. Always. End of story.” And if my smile says anything, it’s that I’m grateful for his friendship.
“Declan,” Etta Jo echoes. “I like that name. Sounds like it would belong to a strapping lad.”
Giselle and I both laugh at her southern-accented attempt at an Irish accent.
“He’s originally from Ireland, but we met in high school. We were both new to the private academy. We clicked.”
“You clicked?” Giselle says, as if sensing there’s more to the story.
“We were both kind of oddballs, I guess.”
Etta Jo and Giselle both pitch forward slightly and exchange a glance as if they’re asking each otherwho’s going to handle this?
In a deliberately slow version of her peppy southern accent, Etta Jo asks, “Can you defineoddballbecause, see, I’m from outside Savannah and you’re from, well, I’m not sure where you were born and raised, Maggie. Bookmark that because it feels like something I should know about you. But back to the point, where I come from, an oddball is someone unusual, eccentric, quirky?—”
“And ugly,” Giselle adds. “And you, Maggie, are not ugly.”
“Neither is Declan.” Etta Jo wears a smirk as she peers over Giselle’s shoulder while she scrolls what are likely photos of Declan Printz. “Nope. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“You’d make a good couple,” Giselle says.
I roll my eyes. They aren’t the first people to pine over the football player. Not that I have, but I’ll give them a little more to the story to establish that he and I are only friends. Then the girls and I can move on.
“Forget last words, I’ll never forget Declan’s first words to me.” I lower my voice and try to imitate his slight Irish accent. “He said, ‘How did a California girl end up in dreary Boston?’ I wondered how he knew I was from California.”
“You’re from California?” Etta Jo asks with bruised surprise in her voice.
Oops. Shouldn’t have mentioned that. “Yep. I was born there. Anyway, he said it was a hunch.”
“The blonde hair and the sunny smile are giveaways,” Giselle adds.
Then he went on to say that I didn’t answer his question. My response? He was right. I said, “We shall never speak of it.” And made no further comment. But I had a question of my own. I asked, “How’d a tough-looking guy from Ireland end up in Boston?” He answered, “We shall never speak of it.”
Declan and I became instant friends and inseparable, but we recognized that we were both grappling with the past and knew better than to trauma dump on each other in order to bond. It was a laugh riot from the start, if only to chase away the blues.
Giselle scoots next to Etta Jo, and they both ogle over more images of my best friend, commenting on how good he looks in his uniform...and out of it. Some athletes do amazing things and even end up in the Hall of Fame, yet their names are largely unrecognized except among super fans.
Then there’s Declan Printz, who parades around like the cock of the walk. I sometimes wonder if we had just met now if we’d become good friends. But I know him and want to believe deep inside still exists the brown-eyed boy who made it his job to see to it I laughed at least once a day and who loved football more than fame.
I hang on tightly to my friendship with Declan, even though now we only text, which makes it feel like it’s slipping out of my hands because it’s the last real, good thing I had before I stumbled over mishap after mistake. I’m afraid that if I talk much about it, I’ll lose him too.
“Why didn’t we know that you’re good friends with this guy?” Etta Jo asks.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“He’s obviously a big deal. A very big deal.” Etta Jo stares at the heart charm around my wrist as if she knows it’s from him.
“At the very least, we should’ve gone to his game the last time he played Miami,” Giselle says.
“You have your own football star,” Etta Jo replies as if she called dibs on Declan.
