What a Tryst: Chapter 3: Part 1

By the time I’d finished my homework Sunday night, I was ready to pass out. As I tried sleeping my mind kept going back to the baseball game, and the trip to that bakery with Savanna. I’d been tossing and turning for hours before Sarah’s knock startled me out of bed. I may have jumped up with slightly too much enthusiasm.

“You look energetic,” Sarah said with a raised eyebrow.

That’s rich, I thought, and you look like an amazon that’s never heard of a brush, but I wasn’t going to come right out with that. “You look like you just woke up.”

“Pfft,” she looked around my room, then looked back at me. “You really do need to paint or do something with this room. It’s so boring.”

I messed with my bedhead until it rested less lopsided. “I did just move here. I’m not too focused on painting my walls, or putting up posters.”

Sarah sighed and rested her hands behind her head. “I’d die if my room was this bland. But I guess you’re kind of bland so it kind of matches,” she smiled.

The words came out without thought. “I guess an amazon would feel out of place in such a bland room, if they were accustomed to the bright and wonderful colors of the rainforest, and all the quirky creatures that live there.” And that was when she’d slapped me.

Morning dew soaked my knee as I caught her first pitch. Now the stringing in my glove matched the red mark on my face. I tossed the ball back.

“Why’d you get into baseball?” I asked as she pitched again; a curveball that hooked late. I adjusted my mitt in time to catch it.

“My dad,” Sarah said as she stretched her arms. “Been playing catch since I was five.”

The sun had started its slow climb over the cityscape in the distance. I watched as the beams leaked through the clouds and between the buildings. “When did you start pitching exercises?”

“Serious ones?” she tossed the ball to me, not really a pitch.

I got to my feet and passed it back to her, “Yeah.”

“When I turned seven or so. He started having me lift really light weights. Then there was this arm stretcher thing he got for me when I turned eight.”

We continued to pass the ball back and forth as we talked about our experiences with baseball. Hers were more exciting, but it was nice being caught up in the nostalgia of the moment.

I held the ball, and imagined how many hours Sarah had spent with it in her hands; countless hours, starting from the age of five. Crazy.

“Where’s your dad now?”

Even though she lowered her head the instant I asked, I caught the worry that crossed her face.

“The hospital,” she said, her head still down. “That’s why I’m staying here for now, ‘til he gets better.”

I felt bad for asking. It was one of those things you wished you could take back. I tossed the ball back to her and crouched down again. We wordlessly settled back into the rhythm of catch, I tried to focus on the stinging in my hand.

“We’re going to be late,” I said, pointing to my watch.

Sarah’s face showed no hint of giving a damn. “I always miss homeroom, and usually I’m late for first period. Let’s keep playing for a little longer.”

Part of me wanted to. I’d missed playing baseball, and it was nice having someone to relate to; I’d made an unexpected connection--I could relate to Sarah; part of me knew I couldn’t just blow off going to class to play catch though.

“I have to get going. We can play more after school,” I said.

She pouted and dropped the ball.

We missed the bus, and walking with Sarah was almost as bad as getting lost by myself. She’d stop whenever she saw something that caught her attention. For example, anyone who had a dog; or any window we walked by that had something even remotely interesting to her in it. If I tried going ahead of her, I’d most likely end up lost. Her attention-deficit compulsions were slowly getting the better of me, and I found myself joining in whenever she dawdled. When we finally reached school, homeroom was over and first period had started.

By the time last period rolled around, I felt like skipping. I wasn’t sure if it was Sarah’s nonchalant attitude toward school, but I wanted to find an empty room and study.

On my way to climb down the stairs of the third floor, I caught a glimpse of blonde hair  through a window. The lights were off, though, and normally if a class was being held, they were kept on. Curiously, I opened the door.

The girl on the other side of the door gave a little gasp; clearly she had not been expecting visitors. At first, with the lights being low, it was difficult to see who it was. After a second my eyes adjusted and there was Alice, glaring at me.

“Why are you here?” Alice asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Yeah, but I asked first.”

“I didn’t feel like going to last period,” I said. “Just wanted to find a quiet place to study and relax a bit.”

“Second week of class and you’re already skipping,” she tsked. “Not good.”

I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. “You get on Sarah’s case all the time for skipping,” I said. “What if she found out you skipped today?”

“She won’t, if you know what’s good for you,” Alice smiled. “You’re more than welcome to take a seat. Preferably as far away from me as possible.”

“That was the plan to begin with,” I said, taking a desk to her far left. I pulled out my calculus book and opened it up to my bookmark.

“Are you trying to impress me, or something?” Alice asked.

“I like math,” I shrugged. “I wouldn’t try wasting my time impressing you anyway.”

“Well, you’re impressing me with how absurdly boring you can be.”

I turned to the next page and scribbled down the next exercise. “Don’t you have that new book to read?”

“I finished it last night, actually,” she said.

“Check something out from the library.”

“I already read the three I checked out. I can’t go back between classes or I’ll get caught for skipping.”

“That’s not my fault.” Even though these were easy math problems, I wasn’t able to solve many of them. For someone so disinterested, and who wanted me to sit as far away as possible, she sure was talkative.

“It’s sort of your fault.” She pushed her reading glasses to the bridge of her nose. “You interrupted my second reading of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Now I can’t get back into it.”

“It seems we have at least one thing in common. You’ve interrupted my calculus exercises, and I can’t get back into that either.”

“Well, since we’re both unable to focus, maybe it’d be a good time to strike a deal.”

That sounded dangerous. Anything Alice was going to offer could only meant trouble. I ignored her and pretended to do work.

“I have a Snicker’s Bar, and I’m willing to barter.” she said.

I decided to humor her. I put down my pencil and moved to the desk in front of her, sitting backward in the chair so I could face her. I hated these types of desks, where the chair and the desk were fused. “And what do I have that youwant?”

“I have a date with three more books I’m going to check out after this period.” She tapped on her pile, “After I return these three.”

“Alright, makes sense. Do you want me to check out those books for you?”

She laughed. “You think getting the Snicker’s Bar would be that easy?”

I shrugged. “Not really. but I thought it was worth a shot asking.”

“That small of a favor isn’t even worth a bite of this bar,” she inched closer. She smelled like sunflower seeds.

“Why are you being so weird,” I said, backing away from her.

“I was just trying to have some fun,” she said, tapping her fingers together. “Anyway, I need you to pick something up for me on your way home from school today.”

“There was a reason I was late getting to Starbucks that day.”

“I know your sense of direction is awful,” Alice removed her reading glasses and placed them on the desk beside the books. “It’s one of your more memorable characteristics. I’m letting you borrow my phone for Google Maps, though, so you can actually make it back to the house--wonderful it would be if you weren’t there for awhile, I think Gram would be slightly upset if we had to put out a missing files report.”

“It’s a missing persons report,” I corrected. “And this must be serious if you’re risking your phone for it.”

She glared at me. “You’re responsible for the phone. Obviously.”

“Alright, alright. What am I picking up for you?”

“This stuff,” she handed me a piece of paper. “And it’s not for me.”

It was Claire’s handwriting. Most of the list consisted of art supplies. Toward the end there were a few things from the grocery store (loose leaf tea, coffee beans, and some coffee creamer).

“Can’t you just pick this stuff up after the library?”

She shook her head. “Impossible, if I head straight home and curl up in bed immediately after I get there, and don’t move for the rest of the night; which is what’s going to happen in case you weren’t aware.”

Well, doing a favor for Alice meant she’d owe me. Not saying she wouldn’t deny it, but she’d find a way to do it for me without actually admitting to it--like when she bought me the drink at Barnes and Noble. Plus, she picked the perfect candy to tempt me with as temporary payment.

“How far away is the store?” I asked.

The sun beamed through the window, giving a golden glow to Alice’s hair; her mouth curled into a devious smirk as she started to punch something into her phone.