Of course, she’s right. It’s a little harder to absorb than I thought. I take a deep breath. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay. And I … wish I’d had a bit of subtle foreshadowing.’ A little smile finally sneaks out, replacing the empty look that had definitely been freaking me out. ‘But all I will ever need from you, Rod, is to keep it real with me. I know it’s hard to find it in you to trust someone – anyone – after it all came apart like that. Just know that you don’t owe me, or your dad, or anyone else anything. You made every decision you did out of the heart of a father who truly loves his daughter, including the decision to try and mend things with Charlotte. And if anyone asks, I am proud of you for that.’
‘You know exactly what to say.’ It’s not a lie. Her patience is a different kind of virtue. It has this way of taking all the nasty feelings away.
‘I’ve been told.’ She leans all the way over and presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. Her fingers brush the other side of my jaw. Her black hair just skims my shoulder before retreating with her. ‘So. My time in Whittaker’s almost over. We gonna do this thing?’
Typically, although it should feel like a bigger step forward, never having been in a serious relationship since Charlotte, it would feel easier than that with Jordan. Like all summer has led up to this, and it’s just a formality. Except that no matter how many times I replay Jordan’s words, the way she’s promised to stick by me and Tali, both of us, and that means everything, some strange feeling still pokes at my stomach. That this won’t work. That it will be like things were with Charlotte. That bringing these worlds together will fail miserably, and it’ll hurt. Badly.
‘Seeing as I already told Charlotte you were my girlfriend,’ I say instead. Jordan lets out a laugh.
‘That was the most pitiful declaration I’ve ever heard, Rodney.’
‘I’ll do you one better.’ I tuck the stray curl in front of her face behind her ear, and my thumb travels across her lips. ‘Be my girlfriend.’
‘Now that’s more like it.’ She grins, and even as she kisses me, I can feel her grinning still. I know in that moment that I can try, but I’ll never find anyone with that same kiss – the kind with the smile. I’ll never find anyone like her.
So why, now, do I feel like this is such an enormous mistake?
Chapter Thirty-Six
Eye of the Twister
Jordan
Ifeel like I’m making hash marks to count the days I’ve been in prison when I cross another day off on my wall calendar. It’s Monday – that’s five until the cross-camp game. Doomsday? Definitely.
I check the weather. It’s ninety degrees Fahrenheit outside. Of course. Abnormal heat is just what we need this week. I step out of the shower, slap on my camp T-shirt with my nose already wrinkled in discomfort, grab my granola bar, banana and backpack, and head outside to face the destruction.
It is decidedly not good. My sunglasses fog up right away – it’s moist heat. Disgusting. I shoot Rod a quick text:why does it feel like the apocalypse outside???
I’m not sure if I’ll get a reply or not. He’s been in his own head all weekend. I wondered at first if it was something I’ddone, but then I realized that it’s got to be more than that, considering his ex just rolled into town madder than a wet hen, which, evidently, is customary. No wonder the poor guy has been suffering for all these years. My heart wrenches when I think about him alone with Tali for those years, overwhelmed and just plain sad. And honestly, I feel for Charlotte, too. I just haven’t pinpointed exactly what that particular feeling is yet.
Charley Crockett serenades me over the radio as I pull into the parking lot at the field. I sigh in relief when I realize that the sprinklers around the field are on. This isn’t necessarily good for lacrosse – no one likes wet lacrosse. But, more than that, no one likes heat-stroke lacrosse, and we’ll prevent the latter by totally drenching the kids.
I’m welcomed by the same sight as on my first day at camp. Rod is already at the goal, hammering the stakes into the ground with his sleeves rolled up and his cap on backwards. He looks way more refreshed after presumably spending yesterday rotting at home (for his sake, I pray that’s what he did). He shoots me his billion-watt smile when he sees me coming.
‘Hey, you.’ I drop my bags on the bleachers and head over, hands to my forehead. ‘Oh my god.’
‘Yep.’ He gives the last stake one final smack with his big blue mallet and looks up. ‘Remember when we played lacrosse in Rebecca’s backyard?’
My eyes widen. Very not-safe-for-work of him. The memories are, in fact, a bit too vivid. I choke on my words, my cheeks heating up. ‘Uh. How could I forget?’
‘Imagine that but with these sprinklers.’ His smirk is definitely not-safe-for-work. ‘I’m getting Rebecca sprinklers, Curly.’
I scoff and make a couple of incoherent ‘thinking’ sounds. ‘That’s not worth paying for,’ I eventually say with full confidence.
‘For you? Anything.’ The look in Rod’s eyes is all the closeness I need, with nothing but colourful intentions that I’d be happy to partake in.
The kids, for the record, are also eager to have the sprinklers at our disposal today. We start them stretching and drilling, and Rod and Benny intentionally set up cones in the splash zone. Our entire team laughs and hoots as they dance through the spray, rounding the cones to make a shot on goal. Even the three of us get into it, and no one is spared. Our camp shirts are plastered to our chests, hair totally drenched. It really hammers home the bit about how much I wish I’d had a resource like this back home, mentors to guide me down a path that wasn’t full of resentment and anger. I’d be more bitter about it, but after these past two-plus months, I don’t really have reason to any more. This crazy summer job has given me so many things, and even though I didn’t get to have this as a kid, I’m getting it now, and in full force.
After lunch, it only gets hotter out, and when the public district turns the sprinklers off, we all gather around Rod’s phone to ‘please, please, please’ over the hotline until they switch them back on. By pick-up time, everyone is even more soaked to the bone than they were on the water balloon day. Parents thankfully find this as amusing as we did; I am pretty sure it helps that we look about as drenched as the kids.
‘Maybe we should call ’em and let them know they can turn it off now,’ Benny chuckles, his face buried in a towel. He ruffles his dark hair as he dries it off, and when the towel comes away, it looks like he’s got multiple antennae up there.
‘We must be testing the budget pretty hard,’ adds Rod with a wink. He, naturally, drops his cleats off to the side of his bag and runs right back out to the field barefoot, arms wide so that the sprinklers can hit every inch of his body. Benny’s not far behind him, towel totally abandoned, and soon the both of them are swinging their shirts over their heads and dancing around bare-chested. Rod freezes, eyes on me, and grins cheekily, with a ‘come here’ of his hand that I initially wave away.
‘The budget!’ I shout.
