Sure enough, there was the bright orange PRINCETON decal on the rear window, and I felt my ribs twinge when the driver door opened and Marco slid out; we hadn’t seen each other since my campus visit over two months ago.
He looked like summer in a blue EVERTON Premier League T-shirt and fraying green shorts with flip-flops and a deep tan from soccer training. But he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and I wondered why. I liked them.
“Hey!” he called out, raising his arm in a wave.
I waved back with my field hockey stick.
He took that as permission to approach the field.
“Hi,” I said, avoiding eye contact when he reached me. I spoke to his favorite soccer team’s crest on his chest.
“Are you okay?” Marco asked.
My pulse thudded, but I forced my chin upward and we locked eyes. His irises could only be described as perfectly toasted marshmallows, a sweet golden-brown color. “Hi,” I heard myself repeat.
“Hi,” he repeated back. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah,” I said lamely, then straightened my shoulders. “Two months.”
Marco’s lips curved up in a sly smile. “I know. I also counted.”
“You didn’t answer my text,” I added as if he weren’t already aware.
“Not true.” He shook his head. “I didn’t answerright away. The end of the semester was ruthless, and you also made a pretty”—he searched for the right word—“boldsuggestion.”
I didn’t answer.
Get out of that situationship, Marco. She’s the worst.
An anxious ripple went up my spine, wondering if they were still together.
“I’ve been trying to text you for weeks,” Marco continued, “but all my messages weren’t delivered.” He hummed. “Am I having technical issues?”
I shook my head. “No.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “I deleted your number.”
“Huh.” He folded his arms over his chest. “You did, did you?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“Well, that doesn’texactlyexplain why the messages failed to send. You’d just receive them from an unknown contact.” He paused for a beat. “You blocked me.”
“You flatter yourself.” I tried to keep casual, but my voice told the truth, its octave skyrocketing up into the heavens.
Marco gave me a crooked, almost amused look. “Was it really necessary to jump to that extreme?”
Yes, it was. Because for some reason, I hadn’t been able to deal with his radio silence in our chat. It gave me agita whenever I looked at it, which was weirdly a lot. And so I’d deleted our thread, but that hadn’t been enough, either. I didn’t trust myself not to open a new message and apologize to him. Because in all honesty, even if it made me sound immature, I still believedIdeserved the apology.
We stood there in silence for a few moments before Marco let me get away with silently pleading the fifth. “I had some free time today,” he said, “and since I had no way of contacting you, I thought I’d stop over.”
“I’m touched.” I put my hand to my heart. “You could’ve slid into my DMs. I didn’t block you on Instagram.”
“I’m not sure I follow you on Instagram,” he replied just asdryly. I knew he was kidding; his lips were twitching in a smile. “And that’s not my style anyway.”
“Seriously?” I started dribbling the field hockey ball at my foot with my stick. “You’re telling me you didn’t DM”—a sour taste filled my mouth before I said her name—“Shelly after hooking up with her at some party or whatever?”
