Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,74
made me hungry.)
There was another version where Bobby suggested we go back to the motel and he’d admit he couldn’t stop thinking about me and couldn’t wait any longer to be with me. That one I’d had to squelch because there’d been ten other girls in the room.
The reality was a bus ride home with a sullen Bobby at the wheel. Our hangovers had settled in on us in varying degrees, but our disappointment and shame seemed uniform and consistent, and we were silent most of the way, even when we stopped halfway home at a McDonald’s. Bobby ordered a black coffee and sat at a small table by himself. Some of the team ordered fries and burgers, more to absorb the nausea than for hunger, and ate in silence. Yesterday’s excitement was gone, and if we still felt like a family, it was a dysfunctional one.
I skipped the food. The idea of wolfing down grease as Bobby drank his coffee and ate granola he’d brought with him felt like yet another shameful choice in the face of his virtue. But mostly I had no appetite.
Not only had I wasted my chance for a winning game—or even a game I could say I’d tried my best to win—but I’d lied to Bobby. We all had. I knew then that it wasn’t losing Bobby I cared so much about; it was that we gave up our chance to win before we even got on the field. I knew he felt this way because I felt it, too.
We made it back just before two, and as we gathered our things, Bobby said, “Practice usual time and place on Monday.” His tone was cold, but a few of us glanced at each other, surprised. We were on his shit list, but he hadn’t flushed us yet.
“Well, we kind of fucked that up,” Tina said as we walked to her car.
“I know,” I said. “He really hates us.”
“He’ll be fine,” Tina said. “Anyway, I know we probably don’t want to talk about last night, but I will say I’m glad you met Todd.”
“He seems great,” I said to her, thinking of what Jeff had said about their relationship. “I’m glad you guys found each other.”
“Me too,” Tina said. She stopped walking as if struck by something she forgot on the bus. But she turned to me instead. “You know why I didn’t tell you that we haven’t had sex yet?”
That was not the question I’d been expecting her to ask. “Because you feel sorry for me since my outlook for having sex is whatever they put on a weather map when there’s somehow no weather at all?”
“Don’t joke,” Tina said. “It was a serious question. And I didn’t tell you because I wanted to see if you’d ask. Like, the way I ask you about Joe, or see what you thought of Jeff last night.”
“I don’t know . . . ,” I began, but trailed off. “Jeff was nice. We didn’t talk long.”
“Yeah, you didn’t talk long, but he told Todd that in that time, you covered a lot of ground. Like if we’re really in love, or if we just love our high-stakes secret romance. Jesus, Susan.”
“I know you’re in love. I think I was jealous, or felt bad because I didn’t know more about you guys,” I said. “But I have always wondered, how it works for you.”
Tina held up a hand. “I don’t mind that you’ve wondered. But you’ve never even asked me about that, Susan.”
I didn’t have any answer for that. I couldn’t look her in the eyes.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure if you know what friendship is.”
“What?” I was tired and sore, but Tina’s comment sent a defensive charge through my body. “What are you even talking about? I’ve been friends with you since ninth grade. And Candace since kindergarten.”
Tina cocked her head to the side. “And as soon as she started dating a guy you think is a dork, you started avoiding her.”
“I’m not avoiding her,” I said. “She’s got her football girlfriends.”
“I get it, and that sucks. But you’re acting like a brat—like you’re trying to push her away.”
Tina opened the car door and got in. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to give me a ride anymore, but after a moment she reached across and threw the passenger door open. “Don’t be an idiot,” she said. “Get in.”
“It’s not like Candace asks about soccer,” I said. As my body hit the