“Then let it hurt,” Lucas says, getting up and walking around the table. Logan is a half step behind him. They lean down. “Because if it hurts, then it matters.”
I stand a few feet away and blink through tears I refuse to let anyone see. And when Gabriela tries to get me to move them along, I cut her off.
“They need a minute,” I say.
She looks past me and then nods. “Okay. But the principal’s trying to get everything back in order. The kids all have to get to lunch.”
“I’ll make sure he gets there soon.”
Gabriela walks over to the assistant principal and mutters something, and I glance over my shoulder to see the brothers hugging Matt. One of the gym teachers is sniffing from nearby.
My heart feels bruised when I finally look away, but I can’t keep my eyes on them for a minute longer.
I wonder, not for the first time, what it would feel like to let someone see me cry.
Not today. But I wonder.
Then Lucas laughs at something Matt says, and the sound of it reaches me across the gym. If seeing Lucas with kids weeks ago was enough to make me swoon, seeing him with Matt has made me fall completely.
Right over the line.
***
When the gym finally empties, we all help one of the PE teachers put the equipment away, not because it’s our job, but because I don’t think any of us wants to leave yet.
“Where can I put the balls?” I ask the man.
“The closet along the far side of the wall,” he says, pointing. “Let me help.”
“I got it,” Lucas says, coming behind me and grabbing the extra buckets.
We walk over to the supply closet in silence. Fluorescent lights buzz louder than a beehive. The door is propped open, but the squeak of the man’s sneakers on the floor fade away in the small closet.
Lucas puts his buckets on the shelf labeled “baseballs.” The closet is too small for us to both be useful at the same time.
“You were incredible with those kids,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “With Matt.”
“Thanks. It ripped my heart out,” he says. “But it was good, too.”
I lift my bucket of balls in my arms and tap the fingernails of both my hands on it, the quick clicking sounding as satisfying as it feels.
Lucas watches my fingers like he’s somewhere else entirely. When I stop, he seems to come back to himself and grabs the bucket from me.
“I love the way you do that.”
“Do what? Tap my fingernails?”
He nods. Takes a slow step toward the door. “My mom was a sports reporter. Did you know that? She reported on local high school sports for one of the big outlets in Chicago.” We get to the door and he lets me out first, and then we walk slowly through the gym.
“One of my favorite things to do was to lie on the floor in her office while she was typing. I would lay all my baseball cards out in front of me and would sort them while her fingers just clicked and clacked on the keyboard. It’s my favorite sound in the world.”
I’m strangely honored that my habit is so comforting to him. “That’s really sweet.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “My mom would have liked you a lot.”
He says this so freely, like this isn’t the kind of conversation to save for when we can finally date openly.
We’re halfway to the rest of our group, so I have to control my emotions, even though I’m sick to death of having to watch myself around him. We’re allowed to talk! Expected to. It shouldn’t matter if Logan’s in the room or not.
