“What?” I ask, wiggling under him some more. Oh! The light is brightening up again! “Did you figure out what causes it?!”
Colten launches himself off me as if I burned him.
The sudden loss of his warm weight sends a shiver through me. Now all I feel is the cool grass against my back.
“I’m done,” he says, already heading for the locker rooms without looking at me.
“What?” I ask, blinking after him. “It’s barely been half an hour!”
He doesn’t answer. He just breaks into a jog, the glow around him dimming with every step. It’s disappointing both to watch him go and to see the magic disappear—but also, why? Did I say something??
“Colten!” I yell, but he doesn’t look back, let alone stop, even though I shout his name loud enough that a couple of guys on the other side of the field turn to look at me.
I scramble up from the grass, grabbing our soccer ball as I run after him. “Hey!”
Colten is already halfway to the locker rooms, faster than the cows at feeding time.
What the heck.
Literally five seconds ago, he was sitting on top of me in the grass, looking extremely pleased with himself.
Hemustknow why it happened, how he made himself glow. He figured it out, but he’s not telling me.
Which is both annoying and a little concerning. Mostly annoying.
I catch up just as he disappears through the doors that lead to the locker room. The ball basket is sitting outside the entrance, so I toss the ball in before pushing through the doors.
The room is quiet, most of the guys still outside running drills. The faint echo of sneakers against the floor is the only sign anyone else is here.
I find Colten at his locker, his shirt already off, showing off his lean, wiry frame. It’s a deceiving build, the kind that doesn’t look particularly intimidating until it’s holding you down.
His shoulders are still flushed from practice, but the glow is definitely gone.
“Why’d you leave?” I ask impatiently.
Colten keeps digging through his locker like I didn’t speak.
“Hey.”
Nothing.
“Colten.”
Still nothing. My right eye twitches.
He grabs a towel and starts wiping sweat off the back of his neck, clearly set on ignoring me.
This means he’s doing the thing where he decides he’s not talking about something. I’m sure rocket science is easier than figuring out how to make him talk when he gets like this.
Most people would keep pushing, but I’ve known Colten for three years. Not only is it a frustrating and useless endeavor to force him to talk when he doesn’t want to, but I also know it’s not about me. He just needs time.
I sigh, but leave him be.
He’ll talk when, andif, he wants, but not a second before.
I peel off my grass-stained shirt and toss it in my locker. Honestly, I don’t really feel like practicing anymore anyway, not if Colten isn’t out there. It just isn’t as fun without him these days.
But as I change, my brain keeps circling back to the glow.
