Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,28
Darius?”
She was using my first name again, like I needed to be handled.
“Okay.”
“Will you be able to play this Friday?”
“Yeah. For sure.”
“Good.” She nodded at me and then wandered away, her clipboard tucked under her arm, to shout at Jaden and Gabe for horsing around.
I held on to the bleachers for a hammy stretch.
Even though I was kind of annoyed everyone was taking it easy on me, I really did love that Coach and the team cared about me like that.
It was pretty cool, having a team.
I’d never had something like that before.
After practice was over, Christian called all us together.
“Good work today, guys,” he said.
He had this warm, calming voice when he talked normally—like he was doing now—which was nothing like his Captain Voice.
Christian’s Captain Voice would not have been out of place on the bridge of a starship.
“Game against Meadowbrook this Friday. Let’s crush it!”
We all cheered.
“And party after. My place. I got the new FIFA.”
“Woo!” Jaden shouted, and high-fived Christian.
I looked at Chip, who shrugged and grinned.
I had never been to a party before.
Was it the kind of party people had on TV? With drugs and alcohol and sex and broken furniture?
“What if I suck at FIFA?” Chip whispered to me.
“I’ve never played.”
“Well, it can’t be worse than the wrestling parties.”
During the winter, Chip was on the Chapel Hill High School varsity wrestling team.
“Why?”
“Most of the guys didn’t shower after meets.”
“Gross.”
“Right?” Chip laughed and ran his hands through his sweaty hair. “Soccer guys are way cleaner.”
Chip squeezed my shoulder and grinned at me, then followed the rest of the guys toward the locker room.
I stayed where I was, shaking my head.
Sometimes I didn’t know what to make of Cyprian Cusumano.
* * *
Wednesday afternoon I had my first shift as a real employee at Rose City Teas. I worked the tea bar, chatting with customers and figuring out what kind of tea they wanted: black or green or oolong, flavored or unflavored, an old favorite or a new adventure.
While I worked the bar, Mr. Edwards was cupping a new batch of Phoenix Mountain, a Chinese oolong that was supposed to be fruity and delicious. Landon kept poking his head out of the tasting room, waving at me to join them, but every time I was about to, another customer showed up needing help, and Polli was too busy making lattes to cover for me.
Finally, Landon gave up and closed the door.
I don’t know why it made me so sad. It was just one tasting.
But I really did want to try the Phoenix Mountain Oolong.
Instead I prepared a gaiwan service for a man about Oma’s age, who peppered me with questions about oolong processing, and Chinese versus Taiwanese producers. I was trying to explain about Bai Hao and the little bugs that tried to eat the leaves when Polli cleared her throat and pointed out there was a line forming.
I excused myself and started taking more orders.
As I steeped a single-serve pot of Earl Grey and did a wake-up steep for another gaiwan service, Landon emerged from the tasting room, holding a white porcelain Rose City–branded teacup.
“Here,” he said. “This was the winner.”
“Thanks.”
Landon handled the gaiwan for me while I sipped with one hand and poured out the Earl Grey with the other. The tea was bursting with lychee flavor, which was kind of a surprise to me.
I’d never tasted lychee in a tea before.
I wondered what the other batches had tasted like.
I wondered what Landon got to learn about Phoenix Mountain tea and where it came from.
I wondered what I had missed.
* * *
Finally the line at the tea bar petered out, so Mr. Edwards sent me and Landon to do some inventory. As I counted tins of Genmaicha, Mr. Edwards poked his head in. “Can one of you grab some Dragonwell?”
“Sure, Dad.”
Landon went over to the shelves and reached for the top, where the boxes of Dragonwell sat. His shirt rode up, exposing a tiny patch of smooth skin on his back, and the metallic silver waistband of his underwear.
I thought about Chip’s gray sweatpants, and how he didn’t wear underwear with them.
And I thought about Chip, seeing me naked, when I’d never even taken my shirt off around Landon.
My ears burned.
“Darius?”
“Hm?”
“Can you . . . ?” he asked, turning toward me, showing a few inches of pale stomach.
He had this line of fine hair that disappeared behind his belt buckle.
Landon Edwards was a beautiful guy. Way more attractive than me.