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Nine, ten, eleven, twelve—Taylor trapped the ball and looked right at her, and then at the scoreboard ticking off the seconds. He sprinted over and reached her, working to loosen her rigid knuckles. She burst out, “Will you please just win so those assholes will leave me alone?”
The apology seemed to form on his lips, but he clamped it shut. His eyes matched her wounded, indignant ones, and he let go.
They won not only that game but ascended to the State Championship two weeks later.
The soccer team was crowned victors inside the Metrodome in downtown Minneapolis, and the very peers faulting her for Taylor’s mistakes now hugged and congratulated her as if she had scored his winning goal.
Students and parents climbed over the bars, hopped down onto the synthetic turf, and joined the magic. Analise remained where she was, drained from the tension of it all. She watched his mother cry and smoosh Taylor’s cheeks. When his dad gave him an awkward side hug, Taylor’s smile faltered, and his eyes searched elsewhere.
When he found her, he dodged and brushed aside bodies, grabbed the metal railing, and hoisted himself up and over. They embraced. His sweat dripped and mingled with the smell of cleats and deodorant. She emptied her tearful relief into him.
Taylor held her and swayed their bodies as if hushing her. “This is the second-best moment of my life.” The warmth of his words moved from her ear to her mouth. His kiss was long and hard, but like that first morning after giving their virginity to one another, they were forced to part. He told her he loved her and jumped back into the fray.
Analise watched Taylor pose for a picture with his mother.
The week before Thanksgiving, Taylor was scheduled for a ten-day trip to visit colleges with his parents. “Ten days of hell,” he told her. They shopped for phones at the mall, and Analise bought a cheap Nokia that came with prepaid cards and no features except phone and texting.
When Ulla left for work on Saturday, the day before his flight, Taylor came over. His legs were like solid and secure beams that she wrapped herself around. No longer were they in her bedroom, forbidden to see one another, but in his dorm room, lingering in bed after making love. She’d curl her fingers through his hair and tell him it’s not the end of the world to get a B in Advanced Calculus.
“Let's go,” he said, getting dressed. She pulled on her jeans and sweatshirt, too, and they embarked into November’s sunshine.
They bought deli sandwiches, picnicked at Nicollet Island, and walked across the abandoned Boom Island Bridge. She tried to steal the soccer ball from him, and he took pictures of her with his digital camera. They went to the public library off Washington Avenue and uploaded the photographs onto his laptop. She clicked through the ones he’d saved from Homecoming. Her favorite: on his bed, the skirts of her dress a blanket for them to lie upon. He’d positioned the camera above and captured them in a kiss.
Taylor sat at a library computer and logged onto the Internet. He clicked on Google email and “Create an Account.”
“What should we name it?” He tugged her onto his lap.
“We?” she asked. “I only use email for school.” And she forgot her password half the time.
“This one’s for us.”
“Our own diary?”
“Something like that.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “I’ll be the one pouring out my heart half the time.”
She traced a tender finger along his nose. “How about our names?”
“Too obvious.”
She lightly slugged his arm. “You already have something picked out, don’t you?”
He unleashed a guilty smile and then typed it in: kingandqueen
It was available.
“I got the password.” Analise typed in their initials followed by their birth years. She clicked a few more buttons, and their new inbox appeared. Taylor reached past, his fingers rapid on the keys:
Subject: FIRST EMAIL: IMPORTANT QUESTION
How am I going to survive being away from you for so long?
Love,
T
Chapter Forty-One
Analise
