“Why would he?” I ask, throwing Diet Coke cans into the recycling bin.
the recycling bin.
Carter shrugs, but he looks sad. “He thinks I’m not getting enough sleep.”
I nod, understanding completely. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in casa de Carter, where protein shakes and stomach crunches start the day, and pushups and being in bed by 10:00 p.m. end it.
Is that why Carter got drunk last night? Did he need a release or something?
“That’s cool,” I say, not wanting to push Carter into talking if he doesn’t want to.
“Are you sure you’re not secretly meeting up with that hot freshman from last night?” Henry says, a smile stretching across his face.
“No,” Carter blurts out. “Shouldn’t have done that…I mean, I’m not even into Stacey.” He seems seriously torn up. “She’s a nice girl.”
“I get it,” Henry says, slapping a hand on Carter’s back. “After practice on Monday, let’s go to the batting cages, okay?”
“Cool,” Carter says, knocking fists with Henry and me before heading upstairs.
So now it’s just me and Henry. I flop down on the couch and grab the remote, ful y expecting him to leave in a few seconds. I’m sure he’s got gobs of nameless chicks waiting for him.
Flipping through the channels, I stop on ESPN as Henry sits down on the sofa cushion next to me. He slumps down and closes his eyes, and even though he was acting normal a couple of minutes ago, I can feel sadness radiating off him like steam rising from hot asphalt in summertime.
“Can I stay over?” Henry asks final y.
“Sure. You’re not going out?” I’m surprised, and glad, when he says he’d rather stay in than go out with the cheerleader du jour. I feel better when I know he’s safe and not out doing anything crazy or reckless, like driving his truck at eighty miles an hour through a mud pit.
“Not tonight.” He looks over at me and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re not going out either?” he asks.
“What could I possibly have to do? JJ and Carter just ditched us. You’re al I have left,” I say, laughing.
“What about Ty?”
I feel myself blushing, my face ripening up like a strawberry. “Eh…I dunno. He’s coming to the game with us tomorrow.”
“Oh real y?” He sighs, picks up the remote, and starts flipping through the channels.
“Henry—what’s up? Please talk to me.”
“Nothing’s up.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“Can we go to sleep now? I’m tired.”
I have nothing better to do, so I might as wel get a good night’s sleep. I’ve gotta try to make myself pretty for Ty tomorrow, and if I only get a couple hours of sleep, I’m sure I’l look like a gremlin. So I stand, put out both hands, and pul Henry up from the couch, and we go upstairs to my room. He takes off his shirt and jeans and puts on a pair of my mesh shorts as I change into sweatpants and a T-shirt. In my bathroom, we brush our teeth together, then drop our toothbrushes into the holder.
Just as I head to bed, he picks up the tiny canister of shea butter from the counter and flips the lid off. Takes a whiff of it. “Yum. So that’s why you’ve been smel ing better lately,” he says, his chest fil ing with laughter. Ripping it out of his hand, I say, “Give me that,” but he snatches it away again. He takes some of the shea butter and slathers it on his hands and arms, smiling and smel ing himself. I rol my eyes and head to bed. I yank the covers back and crawl in, and Henry lies down next to me, reeking of shea butter. “Ugh. You smel ,” I say. “Turn around. We have to sleep head-totoe. Mom’s orders.”
toe. Mom’s orders.”
“We can’t tonight. I heard a rumor that you have athlete’s foot, and I can’t risk getting it in my nose.”
Laughing, I hit him with a pil ow. “If you don’t behave, you’l have to go sleep in Mike’s room.”
“No!” Henry blurts. He quickly scoots around and moves to the other end of the bed.
“Are you stil scared of Mike’s room?” I say, giggling. He fal s face first onto the pil ow I just threw at him. In a muffled voice he replies, “No, I’d rather just stay with you.”
“I bet you’re stil scared of his room because of your whale dream.”
“We’re not talking about that spooky whale. That haunted house thing was so f**ked up.”
“Dude—it wasn’t a haunted house. It was a church Hal oween bazaar.”
Henry laughs. “Whatever it was, it was f**ked up.”
It’s been nine years since Carter invited us to that Hal oween bazaar at his church. Instead of creepy people in Freddy Krueger masks chasing us with chain saws, or people reenacting Blair Witch shit, al the booths were Bible-themed. The church had converted this long dark hal way into a replica of the inside of a whale’s stomach, so people could experience what it was like for Jonah after he was swal owed.
Walking down that almost pitch-black hal way, I felt the wal s and found they had hung plastic bags covered in Jel -O and Spam to simulate whale innards. A soundtrack of whale songs and crashing waves played over a cheap stereo, and pudding-fil ed water bal oons littered the floor. Miniature internal organs?
I thought it was the lamest thing ever.
Henry? Wel , Henry freaked out. He must have some deep fear of whales or something because he clutched my elbow and whimpered. Whimpered. I didn’t make fun of him—I just covered his hand with mine and pul ed him through the whale’s stomach. Instead of three days, we were in there for about thirty seconds. Later that night, Henry slept over at our house. He had always stayed in Mike’s room, but in the middle of the night, Henry sneaked into my bed because he’d had a horrible dream he’d been eaten by a whale. He’s stayed in my room ever since. “You’re definitely stil scared of Mike’s room.”
He looks up from the pil ow and grins. “Please let me stay. I promise I’l behave.”
“Fine,” I say, but as soon as we’re lying down headto-toe, he shoves his socked feet right in my face.
My alarm clock wakes me up at 9:00 a.m. I move to turn it off and realize that Henry’s arm is draped across my stomach. How did he get turned around in my bed?
“Henry, getoffame,” I mutter, pushing him away so I can hit the snooze button. Then I rol back over onto my pil ow, and he moves back in closer and drapes an arm across me again. He nuzzles up against my neck. I’m starting to get more and more worried about him. I run my hand through his curls for a few minutes until I absolutely have to get up. Climbing out of bed, I pul the covers up over him. It’s obvious he’s too down and out to go to the game today, so I don’t even bother trying to rouse him.
After a quick shower, I pul on some black underwear I found in my dresser, courtesy of Mom. Walking out of the bathroom, I spend about thirty seconds in my closet. Though I hate wearing anything involving a skirt, I have to dress up if I want to sit in the owner’s box, so I put on a simple black dress and slip on some silver flats.
Before I leave, I sit down on my bed and pat Henry’s head. He barely opens his eyes, gives me a slight smile and buries his face in the pil ow again.
“I’l cal you after the game,” I say. “Stay as long as you want.”
“Thanks, Woods. Have fun with Ty,” he says into the pil ow. “Show him that underwear you’re wearing—it’l make him wild.”
I smack Henry on the shoulder. Considering we’ve been hanging out since we were seven, I’m sure he’s seen me in my underwear a bunch of times, but he’s never mentioned them before. “Why were you watching me change?” I exclaim.
“Uh, ’cause I’m a guy?” He flips the pil ow and slaps it, fluffing it. Then he rol s over and closes his eyes again.
nachos grande
the count? 16 days until alabama
When I get to JJ’s trailer, I honk my horn about ten times. I told Ty to meet me at JJ’s because I don’t want him to see where I live yet. Judging by the fact that Ty doesn’t have a car and doesn’t want Henry to see where he lives, I don’t want him to see my house and think I’m some stuck-up snob.
JJ comes running down the rotting wooden steps, his extra weight flopping al over the place underneath a white, button-down shirt and tie. “We’re coming. Stop your honking.”
Walking behind JJ, Ty looks cute in his own buttondown shirt, tie, and khaki pants. He cleans up wel . He hops into the backseat and JJ sits up front next to me.
“You know, some people have manners and ring the doorbel ,” JJ says.
Ignoring JJ, I say, “Hey, Ty.”
“Hey,” he replies. Through the rearview mirror, I watch as he looks at me and takes a deep breath. He pushes his sandy hair off his forehead.
“Carter?” JJ asks.
“It’s his grandmother’s 70th birthday,” I reply.
“Henry?” JJ asks.
“Asleep in my bed.”
“What?” Ty exclaims.
“It’s no big deal, dude,” JJ says. “He sleeps there more than he does at his own place.”
“Oh,” Ty says as he fiddles with the buttons that open my truck’s sunroof, opening it up and closing it a few times.
Somehow I’m able to drive my truck to Nashvil e without crashing it. Every time I glance at Ty in the mirror, I get distracted and start thinking about how great he looks in a tie.
An hour later, we walk into the owner’s box. Mom’s already here, boozing and schmoozing with the Titans’
owner, but when she sees me come in with Ty and JJ, she comes over.
“Hel o, sweetie,” she says, giving me a kiss on the cheek. Then she turns to JJ and kisses him too. Grinning broadly, JJ says, “Hey, Mrs. Woods. You’re looking beautiful, as usual.” I rol my eyes. JJ’s such a flirt. No wonder al those sil y cheerleaders swoon over him regardless of the fact that he’s as big as a sumo wrestler.
“Thank you, JJ,” Mom replies. “And who’s this?” she asks, gesturing at Ty.
Ty stretches out a hand. “I’m Ty Green. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ty,” Mom says, smiling at me and Ty. My face must be as red as a stop sign.
“Great job in the game on Friday night. It was like Jordan was the opening act and you were the headliner.”
“Gee, thanks Mom,” I say, laughing. I’m not mad—
she’s just trying to make Ty feel comfortable here at Titan rich-people central.
Mom winks at me and continues, “Ty, I can tel you have a great future ahead of you. Come on, you should meet Mr. Taylor, the owner.” She puts a hand on Ty’s back and leads him away.
Over his shoulder, he glances back at me and gulps. I take the opportunity to breathe and grab a bottled water. It’s official: I’m into him.
JJ pul s me aside. “What the hel ’s up with you, Woods?”