grips his shirt over his shoulder, and we rock a little because that keeps us from crying. After simultaneously slapping each other’s back, the secret bro way of signaling it’s time to stop hugging, we pull apart and back away from one another.
“You should probably get back to study hall. She’ll red card you for the game because she’s mean like that,” I say to him.
He nods with a short sniff, toughening up his posture to enter the same way he left.
“No more shit on the court, okay?” I hold out my hand for him to take, and he does so without hesitation.
“Nothing but the good kind of trouble.” He shoots me a brief crooked smile. That’s what Coach refers to us as when we’re on the court together. We’re trouble for the other team. Too much to guard, too fast to catch.
I wait for Hayden to leave first, sticking around in the bathroom until the period ends and I can head to the gym and dress out for the game. I’m going to have to talk to Abby first, if I can get her alone. I have to make her world right while also making things right with Hayden, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to do what needs to be done. She makes me forget the line.
20
Abby
I’m leaving.
Wednesday.
The moment school breaks for the long holiday, my mom and I are locking up the house and driving up to Toronto for what will be months. I’m leaving, just when things are happening. Just when things feel right.
I’m leaving.
I got the call this morning, and there’s not a way to say no when producers who took a chance on you for their big budget movie say they need you a month earlier than expected. Leaving will give us space from my dad, too. He’s renting a house about four miles away and about four times the size of ours. He’s doing it to show off, and it’s gross. It’s also an irresponsible thing to do with his money, which does not bode well for him being involved in my finances at all.
Now that I’m eighteen, I’m allowed to file suits of my own, and I intend to break my company into pieces and give him the worthless part while forming a new one with only my mom and me. He doesn’t know it’s coming, and he’ll be really ugly about it, but I’ll be in Toronto, with my mom. And he doesn’t have a passport.
This all leads back to this moment. The one I’m about to have.
I’m leaving, and I have to tell Tory.
He texted me to wait outside the locker room at four. It’s about five minutes past and I feel a bit foolish, and a bit like a predator who hangs around boys locker rooms to catch peeks of their asses. I’ve seen two so far, and I will never be able to erase those visual assaults from my eyes.
I’m about to text him to catch me later, a little thankful that maybe I can put this talk off a little longer, when the door pops open again. I look up briefly, trying to avoid seeing something I don’t want to see, but it’s Tory jogging up the steps and out to me.
He scans the area around us before bending forward, leaning his palms on the concrete bench I’m sitting on, and holding my lips with a soft kiss. I tilt up as he hovers above me for a few seconds, his mouth lingering, sucking in my top lip just a little then letting go. He leans back to sit next to me, kicking one leg over the bench to straddle it while I sit in front of him.
“You sticking around for our game?” His eyes crinkle, a hopeful expression.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say.
“Good, good.” He nods, his tight-lipped grin pushing into his cheeks.
I’m leaving. I am leaving.
He looks down at the concrete between us, tapping his fingertips manically while he chews at the inside of his cheek.
“What’s going on?” I reach up and touch his cheek, and he lifts his eyes, giving me a half smile that doesn’t stick around long. He keeps his gaze on me, though, all kinds of worries and thoughts rushing behind it.
Tory reaches up and cups my face, pulling me in for another kiss, once again chaste, the same fated feelings attached. His hands fall back to the bench, gripping the sides as he sits up tall and holds on as