“Give me the ball.” I hold out my hand.
He smirks. “I think I’ve got it.Coach,” he adds bitingly.
“Smith,” I say warningly, “give me the damn ball and step back.”
He mumbles something about me not being a player, but he hands me the football.
But that’s where he’s wrong. I may not have played in college, but it wasn’t for lack of talent.
I give the ball to the gaping center guard standing in front of me.
“On three,” I tell him as I position myself behind him.
He immediately turns and hikes me the ball. I take it in my hand and drop back. I scan the field, nimbly stepping around a flying lineman trying to sack me. I find an open receiver downfield, and I bring my arm back and let the ball go. It zips through the air in a perfect spiral, hitting the receiver right in the hands. He catches it, turns, and bang—easy touchdown.
“Fuck.” The center turns to stare at me like I’m an alien who just dropped onto the field.
Smith’s scowl has disappeared. “Nice throw,” he says to me.
I tap his helmet. “You can do that too, if you quit zoning out.”
Coach Hughes steps forward, his dark beard not quite covering his smiling mouth. “Jenson Beau was all-state in Pennsylvania. Could have gone pro if he hadn’t thrown out his knee. You’d do best to listen to his advice, Smith.”
Smith gives a quick nod, and I walk back to the sidelines with Coach Hughes.
“Good to have you back home, Jenson,” he says to me. “We’re gonna have one hell of a fall.”
I think of Olivia and how close I was to her mouth yesterday. My pulse picks up, and I answer, “I sure hope so. I’m really glad to be back.”
* * *
Olivia
At six on the dot, I leave the bank and step outside. Mom’s already at the curb, waving at me wildly from her truck even though nobody else is parked within a block of the building.
I open the passenger door and step inside the cab. “Hi, Mom.”
“How are you, honey?” She puts the truck into drive and presses on the accelerator so fast I jerk forward. “I didn’t want to miss the green light,” she explains as I grab for my seatbelt.
We drive three streets over to the Liberty Falls Senior Center. As soon as we step inside the front doors, Bea’s walking toward us. Her long gray hair is tied up in a pretty bun on the top of her head, and she’s dressed casually in blue jeans and a “Getting Old Sucks” t-shirt.
Bea is a first cousin of Mom’s mother. Grandma and Bea were super close their whole lives, and when Grandma passed away last winter, Mom was afraid Bea would take it too hard, so she set up weekly get-togethers for the three of us.
“If Bea keeps busy,” she said to me. “She’ll live longer.”
Bea leads Mom and me over to the sign-up table for the Adult Education sculpting class, and then we head into the classroom down the hall. The Senior Center holds Adult Ed classes every Wednesday, and this week, it’s sculpture. Usually, more people Bea’s age than mine show up for these classes, but thankfully tonight, I’m not the only lonely twenty-four year old in Liberty Falls. There are eight people in the class, and as I look around the room, I notice a man and woman about my age. The man’s wearing sunglasses, even though we’re indoors. The woman has her arms crossed over her stomach and she’s staring down at her feet. I glance down, suddenly self-conscious of my navy blue blazer and matching skirt suit.I just came from work. At least I’m making good money doing something I enjoy. So what if the majority of my closet is filled with suits just like this? Not everybody is fashion-conscious.
The teacher introduces herself as Denice, and then tells us the model’s almost ready. I glance over at the back corner of the room, which is partitioned off by a dark curtain.
I flick my gaze over to Mom. “We’re going to sculpt a live person?”
She shrugs, looking as confused as I am.
When an older naked man steps out from behind the curtain, I suppress my scream. Mom doesn’t quite succeed. A noise escapes her mouth, but she sucks it back just as fast, so it ends up sounding almost like she choked on air.
“I find it best if we sculpt a real live body,” Denice explains with a glance at my mother. “Clothing tends to distract.”
From the look on Mom’s face, I’d say the no-clothing idea is a hell of a lot more distracting. But Denice isn’t asking what I think.
