Page 40 of Catch and Cradle

The years before the diagnosis were much harder. That’s when teachers would call me unfocused and lacking in initiative on all my report cards. That’s when I’d find myself in detention for acting up and not understand what I’d done wrong. That’s when kids would look over and see my completely blank test at the end of an hour. They’d whisper things about me.

Ethan said some of those same things loud and clear when he broke up with me.

“The thing about economics,” I continue, forcing myself to abandon that train of thought, “is that it’s actually really...active. You have to learn all the terms and stuff, of course, but once you do, it’s way more about looking at the way things move and interact in this big picture in your head. It’s like a sport. When I have to write an essay, I pretend I’m being a sports commentator.”

Now it’s me looking down at my cup while my cheeks get hot.

“Wow, I can’t believe I just told you that. I am a dork.”

“You’re not a dork!” Becca gives me a light jab with her elbow. “I mean, you are, but not about that. That’s really cool.”

My ribcage is tingling from the touch. She actually makes me tingle.

“Thanks.”

I take another sip of my drink and realize I’ve gotten to the bottom of the cup. Becca’s about finished too. I should have gone slower. I could sit here with her for hours. The building’s awning keeps us out of the sun’s glare, and the early afternoon heat is just strong enough to make the iced drinks worth it.

Not that I need an excuse to drink an iced coffee. Even winter can’t keep me away from ice-cold caffeine.

“Damn, I’m finished already. They make such good mochas. You should get one next time.”

I feel her tense up beside me, and I freeze too when I realize what I’ve just said.

What it could mean.

Next time.

“I guess we should probably talk about what we’re supposed to do now.”

I might be imagining it because it’s what I’m hoping for, but I hear the hesitation in her voice, like she doesn’t want to spoil this moment with reality any more than I do.

“Probably,” I echo.

“This was...really nice. Getting coffee. I don’t really talk with people like this a lot. I mean, I hang out with the team, but...”

I know what she means. When she shows up for team parties, there’s this aura around her, like she’s presiding rather than participating. I guess it makes sense for a captain, but I see now what I’ve always suspected: she’s lonely. Even with the team she thinks of as a family, she feels alone.

“Becca, I know you don’t want to mess things up with the team, and I respect that. I agree it’s not a risk we can take.” I pause for a second and go on when she doesn’t reply. “I just think that going to practices and games while pretending we don’t know each other any better than we did a couple weeks ago is not going to be...convincing. I don’t want things to get weird because we’re trying so hard to not make them weird, you know? So maybe we, uh, don’t have to try that hard. We could stop all the rest of it and just, like, get coffee together sometimes? Hang out? This sounds really cliché, but I do want to be your friend.”

I expect her to call me out on my bullshit plan, because to be honest, it is kind of a bullshit plan. The static sparking between us every time our arms accidentally brush is proof of that.

It’s true, though. I want to be her friend. I want more conversations like this, even if that’s all we have, and it’ll be much easier to keep things from getting weird with the team if we’re acting like two people developing a friendship, not two people who made out at a party and then swore to never speak again.

“I do want to try those other specialty lattes...”

My head jerks up in surprise. I was sure she was going to shoot me down.

“You do?”

“I think you’re right. We can’t just decide to avoid each other for the whole year. It will impact the team, and that’s the whole point of not getting involved with teammates in the first place.”

I fight to keep my shoulders from drooping. Of course she’s only thinking of the team. I shouldn’t have expected more.

“And...” She taps on her cup again, her eyes trained to her lap. “I want to be your friend too. I really do.”

My heart jumps into my throat. I have the urge to jump up and do a ‘becoming friends with Becca’ dance, but some part of my brain has the decency to remind me to be cool.

“Right. Cool. Yes. Let’s do it.”