practice for two hours every afternoon, and then come home and do homework. Iâm exhausted just thinking about your schedule. Are you sure you donât miss life with Señor Lopez?â
I groaned. âAbsolutely not!â I may have only spent three hours a day with Señor Lopez, but every one of them was like enduring slow water torture. My teachers here were, for the most part, gifted educators. I enjoyed listening to them and engaging in discussions with my classmates. Life had settled into a routine the past few weeks that both started and ended with Blake, and although I was often tired and hungry from the double workouts, I wouldnât have had it any other way. Blake was making progress, too. She seemed more relaxed and less sad. She was speaking up in class and I had even coaxed her out of the hot sun and into the cafeteria at lunch. She refused to sit with anyone other than Callie McClure and me, but it was a start.
âUh, Mom?â I asked, my mouth muffled by the food I was still chewing. She frowned at my bad manners. âI was thinking about maybe asking Blake over to watch a movie or something after the football game Friday night.â
Mom inhaled quickly, turning her sharp eyes to study my face.
âI know what youâre thinking. I am being careful. Iâm not sending any signals that Iâm interested in anything other than being her friend. Iâm careful to spend time with other people at school so she doesnât get the wrong idea. Iâm just trying to be there for her, you know?â I wanted to listen to her and help her sort through things and make her laugh. My goal was to persuade her to slowly rejoin the world around her. It seemed to be working. I didnât think she had a clue that I was seriously attracted to her.
âMateo, have you wondered why youâre so committed to helping her? Is this a project that your compassionate heart just canât pass by, or is there more to it than that?â Mom watched me carefully, waiting for my answer.
I averted my face for a minute, throwing Doodles a piece of sandwich meat. How did I answer that? I knew I couldnât tell her that I thought about Blake all of the time, that when she looked sad, I felt sad. That when she laughed a genuine laugh, I grinned like an idiot. That I constantly fought the desire to hold her hand or touch her hair. That I had memorized the curve of her lips. That I didnât like when practice ended and I knew it would be twelve hours before I saw her again, even if I did spend seven or eight of those sleeping.
âDonât worry about my heart. Itâll be fine.â Mom frowned. She didnât sound convinced, but she answered my original request with a cheerful voice.
âWell then, I think it would be a great idea to ask her over Friday. I would like to meet her, if thatâs okay. Oh, I forgot to show you something.â She moved over to the desk in the corner of the kitchen, removing something from the drawer.
âPlease tell me this is a bad joke.â It was a button, a large obnoxious button, with my face on it. Ribbons were attached to the bottom of it, and glitter in the schoolâs colors spelled out my name and football jersey number.
Mom laughed. No, she cackled. She was really enjoying this. âNot only do I get to see a son of mine play football, but what a bonus! Iâve tried for years to embarrass you. Youâre so laid back that almost nothing gets you. But finally, victory! Now I donât feel like such a failure as a mom.â She pinned the button on her shirt. âI think Iâll wear it every day during football season. Who says itâs just for games?â
âFine, do what you like. Youâre the one who looks ridiculous. And thanks for letting Blake come over.â
âMateo, you⦠ow!â She was removing the button and had stuck her finger. Served her right. She started again, her voice now
I groaned. âAbsolutely not!â I may have only spent three hours a day with Señor Lopez, but every one of them was like enduring slow water torture. My teachers here were, for the most part, gifted educators. I enjoyed listening to them and engaging in discussions with my classmates. Life had settled into a routine the past few weeks that both started and ended with Blake, and although I was often tired and hungry from the double workouts, I wouldnât have had it any other way. Blake was making progress, too. She seemed more relaxed and less sad. She was speaking up in class and I had even coaxed her out of the hot sun and into the cafeteria at lunch. She refused to sit with anyone other than Callie McClure and me, but it was a start.
âUh, Mom?â I asked, my mouth muffled by the food I was still chewing. She frowned at my bad manners. âI was thinking about maybe asking Blake over to watch a movie or something after the football game Friday night.â
Mom inhaled quickly, turning her sharp eyes to study my face.
âI know what youâre thinking. I am being careful. Iâm not sending any signals that Iâm interested in anything other than being her friend. Iâm careful to spend time with other people at school so she doesnât get the wrong idea. Iâm just trying to be there for her, you know?â I wanted to listen to her and help her sort through things and make her laugh. My goal was to persuade her to slowly rejoin the world around her. It seemed to be working. I didnât think she had a clue that I was seriously attracted to her.
âMateo, have you wondered why youâre so committed to helping her? Is this a project that your compassionate heart just canât pass by, or is there more to it than that?â Mom watched me carefully, waiting for my answer.
I averted my face for a minute, throwing Doodles a piece of sandwich meat. How did I answer that? I knew I couldnât tell her that I thought about Blake all of the time, that when she looked sad, I felt sad. That when she laughed a genuine laugh, I grinned like an idiot. That I constantly fought the desire to hold her hand or touch her hair. That I had memorized the curve of her lips. That I didnât like when practice ended and I knew it would be twelve hours before I saw her again, even if I did spend seven or eight of those sleeping.
âDonât worry about my heart. Itâll be fine.â Mom frowned. She didnât sound convinced, but she answered my original request with a cheerful voice.
âWell then, I think it would be a great idea to ask her over Friday. I would like to meet her, if thatâs okay. Oh, I forgot to show you something.â She moved over to the desk in the corner of the kitchen, removing something from the drawer.
âPlease tell me this is a bad joke.â It was a button, a large obnoxious button, with my face on it. Ribbons were attached to the bottom of it, and glitter in the schoolâs colors spelled out my name and football jersey number.
Mom laughed. No, she cackled. She was really enjoying this. âNot only do I get to see a son of mine play football, but what a bonus! Iâve tried for years to embarrass you. Youâre so laid back that almost nothing gets you. But finally, victory! Now I donât feel like such a failure as a mom.â She pinned the button on her shirt. âI think Iâll wear it every day during football season. Who says itâs just for games?â
âFine, do what you like. Youâre the one who looks ridiculous. And thanks for letting Blake come over.â
âMateo, you⦠ow!â She was removing the button and had stuck her finger. Served her right. She started again, her voice now
Similar Books
