And Beth found herself spilling. About the silliest things: the snappy comments her grandmother had used to wake Beth when she forgot to set the alarm, the mystery dessert Grandma had packed when they had picnicked down by the river, the way she used to stun the braggarts at the tavern by correcting them when they misquoted rodeo stats.
Salva listened. Politely. Though Beth couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. It was the strangest thing, but he actually seemed to want to hear.
No one else did. Her mother always took offense. Like Beth’s missing her grandmother was some kind of personal attack. And Ni—Beth could tell when her friend was uncomfortable. Death wasn’t something a whole lot of people wanted to talk about.
Not that Salva was talking, just asking a few questions as, one by one, he opened all the pockets on the backpack and fixed the zippers. He didn’t return the pack until Beth stopped spilling memories.
Then he glanced at his wristwatch, an action that made her look at the clock: 6:35 P.M. She’d talked all the way through a normal tutoring session! “So,” he said, his eyes back on her face, “next Monday? Same time? Same place?”
Beth hesitated, then nodded slowly. She wanted to forgive him. Because he had listened. Today. But he had still ignored her advice about the poetry analysis. “Why do you want my help if you’re going to disregard it?” she asked.
His gaze remained unreadable. “That essay about your grandmother—that took guts to write. I couldn’t.”
He couldn’t what?
“What did she die of?” he asked.
“Cancer.”
The wince on his face was so sharp Beth finally read the emotion. Pain.
Oh God, she was an idiot.
She’d totally forgotten about his mother.
7
HOMECOMING
God had probably, Beth told herself, given her a brain so she could avoid spending the last Friday night in October freezing her ass off on the bleachers. Her eyes hinged on the number 8, the blue print on the gold jersey still visible under the lights of the football field. Barely. The fog had begun to sink early in the homecoming game. Her legs and arms were numb beneath her grandmother’s chiffon vintage dress, and huddling closer to Nalani did nothing to decrease the chill.
Ni was watching number 12, Luka, who had finally gotten up the guts to ask her out a week ago, which meant she had a date to the dance after the game and, therefore, was compelled to watch him play.
So why am I here?
Nalani had pleaded with her best friend to come, and, despite Beth’s apathy toward football, a few hours of sipping hot chocolate above the stands in Ni’s parents’ Blazer had seemed like a reasonable request. But it had been too foggy to see from the bluff, and Ni, afraid she might miss Luka’s touchdowns, had insisted both she and her friend move down to the stands, where they could watch their breath fog.
Which really was going too far.
No rule in the bond of friendship had demanded Beth exit that warm Blazer to freeze.
Though she had. To be honest, the choice had nothing to do with Nalani. And everything to do with Beth’s own sick compulsion to watch that distant number 8 hurl a ball.
Her teeth chattered. “What time…is the dance?” she asked.
“Oh, about ten o’clock,” Ni replied, hugging herself despite a thick burgundy sweater. “Whenever the game is over and the guys are ready. You’re coming, aren’t you?” She glanced at her friend. “You’re already dressed.”
Beth shook her head. She didn’t know why she had put on the thin gown. Except that everyone thought of the game as a celebration. It had seemed like a good excuse to wear her grandmother’s dress—at least that had been Beth’s line of thinking this afternoon when she had gone home to a pile of dirty laundry. And a clothes dryer that required three separate starts to complete a load. “I don’t like school dances,” she said. If you don’t have a date, you just watch everyone else dance. And pray you get asked once or twice.
Beth was incapable of asking a guy to dance.
Besides, I’m busy mooning over the one I most definitely cannot have.
She should have turned Salva down flat that first day. Then she wouldn’t have caved later. And if she hadn’t spent every Monday study session with him for the past month and half, she wouldn’t be freezing now.
Three years she’d been trying to convince herself that her middle-school crush hadn’t been real. That he was just a superficial image on whom she’d pinned all the romantic qualities in her eighth-grade mind.
But he wasn’t.
God knew he was attractive.
Though she could have gotten past that.
She couldn’t get past the fact that he could analyze Tolstoy. At least he could when she challenged him into it.
And he cared about people. He’d taken five minutes in the middle of last week’s study session to call the food bank and start organizing a Christmas donation effort—even though it was only the end of October.
“Oh, come on, Beth!” Ni touched the filmy fabric on her best friend’s short sleeves. “You really should come to the dance. You look beautiful.”
No one looked beautiful at this temperature. “You’ll be with Luka all night,” Beth responded. “You won’t even realize I’m not there.” The truth. Though she chastised herself, knowing the words had the flavor of jealousy.
Nalani didn’t appear to notice, instead latching onto the mention of her new boyfriend. “Did you know he’s liked me since last year?”
Beth feigned astonishment, though truthfully, who in the entire school had not noted the running back trailing her best friend?
No verbal response required, Ni launched into a long-winded adoration fest.
And allowed Beth to watch the game. Or rather watch number 8, who motioned for his teammates to huddle, disappeared in their midst, and emerged to take his position. Then the ball launched like a bullet out of his perfect hands.
And into the arms of number 12.
Both Beth and Nalani leaped to their feet, screaming and making enough fog to bury the bleachers.
“Whoooeee!” Pepe yelled, his voice echoing in the steaming locker room. “On to state. On to state.” He started the chant over the roar of the final shower.
“On to state. On to state.” The deep voices of the team swelled the room. Feet pounded the floor, and several guys jumped off the tops of benches.
Salva pulled on a clean shirt, then picked up his helmet and ran it against the lockers. “Woohoo!” he added to the chant.
“Watch out!” Tosa, half dressed, signaled from across the room, then sprinted over the cement and leaped four feet to chest-butt Pepe.
Shouts erupted and the celebration continued, with Pepe, still in his underwear, as the master of ceremonies.
Salva tied his shoes, slapped on the cologne he usually reserved for mass, and tightened his wristwatch. “Hey!” he shouted, around the antics of his best friend, at Luka. “You going to the after-game party at Linette’s?” Rumor had it this party was parent-sponsored, which meant high-quality snacks had been purchased with parental knowledge before her dad and stepmom had left town.
“Nah, I’m going to the dance,” said the fully dressed running back, closing his duffel bag.
Pepe laughed. “Wonder who with.” He reached out toward the shorter guy’s chest and flipped up Luka’s tie.
Miss Color-Coded Notes. The running back had been doing his sprints in the air all week. Salva had forgotten. “You could come by after,” he said. “It’ll probably still be going on.”
“I’m guessin’ he might have plans after,” Pepe crowed, beating his bare chest.
Luka ignored the comment, hefted the duffel bag, and vacated the locker room.
Wise. Which showed he really did have brains.
“How ’bout you, Tos?” Pepe elbowed Tosa, who was now tying on his shoe. “You and the hostess have any plans?”
“Knock it off, Real,” Salva said, rolling his R a
nd putting an end to that line of discussion. “Get your ass changed, or we’re never gonna get there.”
That didn’t shut Pepe up, but it did get him to switch topics. And to stick one leg into his jeans. “D’you tell your dad you were going to Linette’s?” he asked Salva.
Hell, no. My father thinks gorgeous blondes are the devil incarnate. “I told him I’m spending the night with Tosa.”
“Yeah, and what’d you tell yours, Tos?”
“I told my parents I’m going to the dance. What’d you tell your mom?” Tosa flipped the question.
“I told her I was going to the party.”
“And she was fine with that?”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” Pepe pulled up his jeans and zipped them. By now the rest of the locker room had emptied out. “Tonight, I can do whatever the hell I want. It’s my birthday.”
Pepe’s mom was as white as they came. You’d never have known it to look at Salva’s best friend, but you could sure as heck tell by the way he acted. He got away with murder.
“You are so stinkin’ spoiled, man,” Tosa said.
“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’.” Pepe slowly dragged his arms into his cotton shirt. “Wait till you see the present I got from my grandparents.”
Tosa met Salva’s eyes.
They shared a mutual loathing, and appreciation, for Pepe’s grandparents’ gifts. As a matter of principle, it was disgusting how much Pepe got for nothing. He’d always had it easy, skipping out of his chores, slacking off in school, then reaping everything from brand-name footballs to professional baseball tickets.
But practically speaking, well, one thing you had to give Pepe credit for: he shared.
“What present?” Salva asked.
“Meet me by the street at the end of the bleachers in ten,” his best friend replied. “You’ll find out.”
“Oh, come on,” Tosa said. “We’ve been waiting on your sorry ass.”
“Well, I’ll make it up to you.” Pepe winked.
Again Salva and Tosa exchanged glances. Yeah, they could probably handle this.
The grass along the field’s edges was covered in frost, but there were still a few groupies hanging around, waiting to say “Congratulations.” Salva appreciated the gesture and tried to be polite, even though he thought there was something a little sad about forty-year-old men who had nothing better to do with their nights than hang out at a high-school football field.
The scary thing was he could totally see Tosa and Pepe doing that in twenty years.
But for me, I am going to find something better to do with my life.
It was one thing to play in the final game before the state championships. That was a rush. Salva was a part of the action, and he wouldn’t have given the moment up for anything.
But to spend his future sponging off somebody else’s rush? He could do better. He really had to do better.
“Hey, Luka’s still here.” Tosa pointed.
Sure enough, the running back was over at the end of the bleachers, chatting up Nalani. In the same spot selected for the meeting with Pepe.
“Let’s interrupt.” Tosa yanked Salva by the arm.
Ah, yes, because that is always fun. Of course, with Tosa it usually was.
“Incoming!” The goofy guy proved his rep by bending down and ramming his head toward Luka.
Who reached out with his hands and managed to block, but flew back anyway, propelled by the bigger guy’s momentum. The two wrestled for about half a second.
Tosa might not have the mental reflexes to play first string, but he had no trouble overpowering the shorter running back. Holding Luka’s head down, he straightened his own six-foot-plus frame and spoke to the restrained-guy’s girlfriend. “What’d ya say? Decent entertainment?”
“Congrats, Tosa,” said Nalani. “You played great.”
“Yeah, I sit the bench really well. It’d float off if I wasn’t on it, ya know.”
Nalani laughed.
And Tosa, preening at her reaction, must have loosened his grip because Luka ducked and managed to jump away, then swung his right arm around his girlfriend’s waist and pulled her in front of him.
She didn’t seem to mind being his blocker.
Within seconds, Tosa was showing off for both of them, walking on his hands and spouting his latest comedy act, which Salva had heard about a million times.
A familiar female voice came from behind him. “Y-you played really well, Salva.”
He turned, and stared. Beth. She stepped forward from the edge of the bleachers. Her teeth were chattering and she was shivering, her hair a strange shade of auburn under the lights, her face drained of color except for her brown eyes. She was wearing a long white gauzelike dress. My God. She must be freezing.
He had an instinctive urge to hand over his jacket. Though that would be a total blunder in the social code. You didn’t give a girl your jacket unless you were dating. “Um…thanks,” he said, then feeling like a complete ass, went with the obvious. “You look frozen.”
“It w-wasn’t this cold at five o’clock,” Beth said.
Which probably meant something in her world, but Salva had no idea what.
He shot a glance over at Nalani. It seemed like she’d taken this best friend thing too far, making Beth stand out here freezing while she, herself, was flirting with Luka. Why were they still here? They were all obviously going to the dance.
“I guess the dance’ll be heated,” Salva said loudly, trying to send the message to the happy couple still laughing at Tosa’s comedy act.
“Um…sure,” Beth replied. There were goose bumps all the way up her arms.
This is stupid, he thought, then reached for the zipper at his throat.
But darkness closed over his eyes, and a curved female form pressed against his back. “Guess who?” Hot air breathed on his cheek. Char. She slid her hands down the outline of his face, then linked them low around his neck. And propped her chin on his shoulder. When was she going to get the message?
He disconnected the strangling fingers.
She slid forward, her hip glued to his side.
And he pulled away.
Leaving her facing Beth. “What is that you’re wearing?” Char mocked the white dress. “A quinceañera petticoat from the nineties?” He knew the sarcasm was her response to his rejection. She worked so hard to fit in sometimes she got carried away. But he didn’t want her hurting people because of him.
“It was my grandmother’s,” Beth said, pride full in her voice.
Maybe he ought to intervene.
The other girl sneered. “Well, you should tell your grandmother to take it with her to the grave.”
“Shut up, Char,” Salva said. Too late.
Beth’s eyes had widened, and she had stumbled backward.
Around them everyone had frozen: Luka, Nalani. Even Tosa.
A car horn broke the awkward moment. “Hey, what are you dweebs standin’ around out in the cold for?” Pepe yelled.
Char detached herself from the situation and headed toward the voice.
Tosa also shifted in that direction.
Salva’s focus remained on Beth, his mind a verbal blank. He couldn’t afford to apologize for Char, where she might overhear and contradict him. But…
“Beth,” he managed at last, “are you all right?”
“She’s fine.” Nalani pushed herself forward, blocking his view. She crossed her arms over her dark sweater and glared at him as if the encounter with Charla was his fault.
There came a loud rapid-fire honking.
“Oh my God, man!” Tosa was shouting.
Salva’s attention finally turned. And landed on a bright yellow sports car with a lowered convertible hood.
Pepe leaped out over the front driver’s-side door and landed in front of Char. “Care for a ride, my lady?” he said.
Her hand slid to Pepe’s chest as if she had to hold on to him in order to stay upright.
His grip closed arou
nd her fingers, then pulled her toward the passenger’s side.
“Holy Swiss cheese!” Tosa hopped into the back without an escort. “Get out. Just get outta here!” He raised his hands toward the fog. “Your mom’s seriously lettin’ you drive this thing?!”
“What does she have to say about it?” Pepe scoffed. “It was her parents who bought it.”
“Man, I could work three shifts at the machine shop and not be able to afford the insurance on this baby.” Tosa looked up. “Well, Salva, you gonna stand there all night or get in?”
“He’s speechless,” Pepe teased. “His Highness is so blown away by this beauty’s excellence that he’s frozen to that field, and we’ll have to thaw him out next spring.”
Right. Salva glanced back toward Beth. But she had disappeared. Along with Nalani and Luka. No doubt they’d finally headed for the dance.
“Come on, Resendez!” Pepe climbed into the driver’s seat. “Who’s stalling now? The later we show for Linette’s party, the harder time Tosa’s gonna have gaining her attention.”
Tosa didn’t look too concerned. He was pounding the top of the door. “You know how many horses this baby has?”
Salva approached, then looked directly down at him and admitted ignorance. “Nope.”
“We are talkin’ three hundred horsepower, man. Trescientos.”
“Well, move aside.” Salva swung one leg, then the other, over the door and slid down onto the black leather. He closed his eyes and breathed the incredible smell. En el nombre de Dios. Life was unfair, and sometimes that wasn’t a bad thing.
The car screeched away from the curb, wrapped its way around the field, and headed for the party.
It was possible, he realized about an hour later, as the music blared from Linette’s family room stereo, that he might have made an error in judgment—by suggesting Pepe go after Char. Not that Salva wanted her. One thing he was not feeling, as he watched her wind her arms and legs around his best friend, then down one beer after another, was jealousy.
“Hey, Tos.” Salva leaned on the back of the chair where his friend was sprawled, happily losing at poker. “You think maybe you could tell Pepe to ease up a little on the charm? He doesn’t need to get her plastered, you know?”