Page 9 of So Long, Honey
“Didn’t you win that award last year?” I flipped the binder back to the first assignment and tapped the title. “For being really good at baseball?”
“Most Valuable Player,” he chuckled, but it was hollow and unexpected. “They would give those out to anyone. It’s just a pat on the back.”
“But they gave it to you,” I said.
“Only because I scored a home run in the last inning with loaded bases, winning us the game,” he made it sound so easy, so carefree, and it wasn’t the Ryan that he projected to everyone else.
“Oh,” I swallowed, trying to devise a plan on the fly. “So you’re saying you’re average?”
This time, Ryan laughed genuinely and shook his head gently before looking up at me. “I’m far from average, Mouse. I’m god damn incredible.”
“So you should have a story to tell,” I poked back at his inflated ego, how easily it had been to find it beneath his concrete walls. “You talk more than any boy I’ve ever met.”
“You talk to a lot of boys, Rae?” He asked, sliding his face into his palm as he watched me. I hated how much I loved the attention.
“I’m not a shut-in, Ryan,” I said and watched him swallow tightly at the sound of his name on my lips. Even more so, I hated how much I enjoyed making him squirm.
“That I don’t believe. I’ve never seen you at a single party,” he said, completely distracted from his work.
“You’re supposed to be writing a memory,” I said, tapping the paper.
“Tell me the last fun thing you did, and I’ll write,” He challenged me.
I stared him down, trying to figure out a reasonable answer he would deem appropriately fun enough to start his paper. Why I was even buckling to his bargaining was beyond me.
“Last semester, the yearbook club threw a wrap party,” I said.
“What did you do?” Ryan asked.
“Uh—we went bowling.” I shrugged.
“You went bowling?” He laughed so hard he nearly fell from his chair. “Rae, that’s not fun. That’s organized torture.”
“It was fun…” I said with a small grumble. “I scored a perfect game.”
He set down his pencil and leaned forward on the desk with a bark of laughter. “How do you even score a perfect game in bowling? You gotta explain this to me!”
“I’m sorry that it wasn’t getting drunk in Landry’s backyard and throwing up in a bush!” I covered my face with my hands and sighed. “That was the last fun thing I did. Now, do your work.”
“Not until you tell me how you scored a perfect score,” he said with that perfectly lopsided grin. “And for the record, I haven’t puked in a bush since junior year!”
“So talented,” I mocked him.
“Says the bowling Queen of the Wild West,” Ryan scoffed.
“You score all strikes. Across the board, there’s no science to it.” I shrugged and threw his pencil at him. “Work.”
“There’s no way you bowl perfect strikes. That’s impossible,” he laughed.
“It’s very possible, and I can do it. It’s just math.”
“You are so very serious right now,” Ryan’s tongue darted out over his bottom lip, and he nodded, seemingly impressed. “You’ll have to show me one day, Mouse.”
“No. Do your work. I have to be home for dinner in half an hour.” I said tightly.
“Can I walk you home?” He asked me, ignoring my order to finish his work.
“No,” I said.