He looked up as if I’d surprised him. “Nah. My mom’s coming.” Then he added, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud, “Eventually.”
He paused just long enough for something to slip in. Sadness? Loneliness? I wasn’t sure. But I offered him my Gatorade, to which he shook his head.
He nudged a pebble with his toe. “You live close?”
“Just past the school. My mom’s probably making grilled cheese.”
He nodded, like that sounded good.
“I’m Darien, by the way,” he said after a minute. “You?”
“Truen,” I said, then added quickly, “But you can call me Tru.”
“Tru.” He tried it out. “Cool. You gonna be at practice Thursday?”
I nodded.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll save you from the worst partner.”
I was pretty sureIwas the worst partner, but I didn’t say that out loud. Instead, I offered, “You wanna come over and have lunch with me? You can check out my Pokémon cards. We can call your mom and let her know.”
His face lit up, as if my offer opened the curtains on whatever dark mood he’d been sitting in and let some sunshine through.
“Yeah, okay.”
It wasn’t an epic moment. Nothing earth-shattering or monumental. Just two boys on a curb with grass in their socks and dirt on their shins.
But it felt likesomething.
Something important and new.
And part of me already knew—Darien Carter was going to change my life.
We rode in the back seat of my mom’s car, both of us a little sweaty and smelling like sunscreen. She asked Darien polite questions.
“Do you play other sports? How long have you lived in Oak Hill?” And he answered easily, charming like he’d been trained for it.
I said almost nothing. I couldn’t. I was too busy paying attention to his answers, hungry for pieces of him. Who wasDarien Carter? Where did he come from? And why, of all the kids he could’ve gone home with today, had he chosen me?
When we got to my house, he followed me inside as if he already knew where everything was. He dropped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes.
“Smells good,” he said, sniffing. “What’s that?”
“Grilled cheese,” I said. “My mom makes them with three kinds of cheese and garlic salt on the crust.”
His eyes lit up. “Okay, fancy.”
“You want one?”
“Duh.”
While she cooked, we camped on the living room floor with a tray of apple slices and juice boxes for little kids instead of the mature ten-year-olds we were. I pulled out my Pokémon card binder and watched his face go from curious to shocked.
“Dude,” he said, flipping through the pages. “You have aHolo Charizard? This thing’s worth, like, two hundred bucks.”
I shrugged. “My uncle gave it to me. I don’t play much anymore.”
He held it up as if it were a treasure. “You don’t play, but you keep them this organized?”
