Playing Hurt - By Holly Schindler Page 0,45

that letting the same thought run through your mind over and over doesn’t turn your soul as smooth. Too bad it does the exact opposite. For more than a week now, I’ve been thinking of long yellow hair and the peachy-sweet smell of Chelsea’s skin. And all it’s done is made me feel rough and splintered inside.

“All about the rhythm, see?” I tell her as I use my paddle to push through the water on one side of the boat while she works the other. “Just think of Brandon and his bass.”

“If I try to row like Brandon plays, I’ll wind up breaking both our hips,” Chelsea jokes.

The smile on my face makes me feel a little calmer deep down.

“Look,” I say, deciding to tackle the damn elephant already. “Last night, I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “Totally my fault. I just—fell onto you. Accident.”

“Right,” I say.

We both know this is a horrendous lie. A ridiculous lie. But at least the whole subject has been picked up and put aside. So I lay my paddle down in the bottom of the boat and say, “You take over. Paddle once on one side, once on the other. I’m just going to enjoy the scenery.” I turn my back on her, looking out across the green fringe of pines, the white ripple of light down the river.

“What is this?” Chelsea asks. “Your own personal gondola ride?”

“You’re the one who needs exercise, not me. Hey, what’s that?” I ask, holding a hand to my ear. “It’s the ghost of your former self,” I tease. “Wants you to get your flabby butt in gear.”

She lifts the paddle up in the air, tossing a spray of water on me. A giggle burbles out of her chest. I turn, dip my hand into the river, and send a spray right back at her. She squeals, her voice bouncing down the riverbank like the squawk of a bird. Like something wild and free that has never known sadness. Hunger, maybe. Physical pain occasionally. But never sadness.

She raises her hands to protect herself from my splash. The world turns slow motion as her paddle starts slipping deeper into the Rainy. “Chelse,” I say. “Chelse, watch—”

But she doesn’t listen. She’s still holding her hands up, waiting for the next spray of water. I reach for her paddle, but by the time my hand arrives, all I wind up grabbing is my own fist.

The paddle dips down beneath the water and is gone. All that remains is the circle of a ripple—the kind of thing that appears after a fish has eaten the bug on the water’s surface.

We both gasp, but when we look at each other, our laughter spills over. Thank God—laughter.

“It doesn’t have to be all serious, does it?” Chelsea asks.

Chelsea

full-court press

It’s really good to see him smile. The kind of good that zings through me. I’m the one who put that smile on his face. Clint’s shoulders relax; his chest is no longer like the armor knights wore in the Dark Ages. And in that moment, he doesn’t seem so far away, so unobtainable.

“Good thing we’re not too far from the shore,” Clint says. “Water’s pretty shallow here.” Still, he pulls his compass from his pocket and places it in the bottom of the canoe before easing himself out, rocking the boat slightly. The river barely reaches his waist. Holding his arms out above the water’s surface, he wades across the Rainy and grabs the paddle, easy as fishing a pebble from a bowl of tap water.

But before he can reach the boat again, I’ve already eased myself out, too. The surface of the river circles my body like lips around a straw.

“What’re you doing?” he says, his easy smile now flickering, threatening to go out completely. He tosses the paddle into the canoe, grabs my wrist. “You know how slippery this river rock can be?” he scolds, shaking his head.

My body starts acting on instinct, as though this is a play I’ve practiced hundreds of times in preparation for game day. Only I’ve never reached for a man when he shakes his head. I’ve never pressed forward, searched for a hole in his defense, charged for the goal, sought to win a heart that was held just beyond my reach.

Gabe’s heart was given to me. It was a necklace I took from the box and held to the light, staring at for a moment before deciding it really was something I’d like to wear.

I’ve got my