Page 27 of Attractive Forces
Brewer’s words from yesterday creep into my mind. How he thinks Jake has a crush on me. I haven’t had much of a chance to think about that concept because I’ve been swamped with self-loathing and dread about asking Jen to the ball.
But I’m definitely thinking about it now. According to Brewer, Jake was looking at me all the time at the lake. With anyone else, I’d entertain the possibility it’s a hero-worship thing because of my status as the rugby captain. But Jake has this quiet self-assurance that doesn’t fit with that. Besides, I think Jake knows me well enough now that the potential for him to put me on a pedestal just because I’m good at throwing and kicking a rugby ball has passed.
I finally answer him. “I don’t know. It seems everyone thinks I’ve got things under control. And I don’t. There’s so much I’m still trying to figure out.”
“You do a good job of faking being in control,” he comments.
“I guess that means everyone is faking it.”
Jake huffs out a laugh. “That would be funny, right? The idea that everyone, even celebrities and world leaders, is faking their confidence.”
“Yeah.”
“I think society can get too wrapped up in having the picture-perfect life,” Jake says. “And we tend to only see what’s happening on the surface. Maybe with you, people don’t look past the rugby captain thing. And I get why that can be hard because you are so much more than that.”
“Are you saying I have hidden depths, Stenton?” I make my tone jokey.
“Oh, I think you have more depth than the Kermadec trench,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“The deepest ocean trench in the world.”
“I’m taking that’s a science-nerd way of giving me a compliment?”
“It’s definitely a compliment.”
We hold each other’s gaze for a few heartbeats.
Jake breaks it, looking down at the textbook. “Right, let’s get back to organic chemistry.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
We do a few more problems that I manage to stumble my way through to Jake’s satisfaction. I feel I’ve generated enough study credit to glance hopefully at his closet.
“Basketball time?”
“You’re like a kid waiting for recess.” Jake rolls his eyes with a grin. “Okay, let’s go shoot some hoops.”
The days are getting so short now that it’s almost twilight when we make it down to the hoop. Long shadows fall across the concrete.
We soon get into a rhythm, the ball pounding against the concrete.
Jake’s game has definitely improved, and I have to work harder to get past him.
He’s guarding me, and I deliberately step forward, brushing my leg against his, our chests colliding.
A blush slides up Jake’s cheeks as he steps back. I shoot the ball over his head, but I don’t follow its trajectory because I’m too busy watching Jake.
His cheeks turning pink causes me to be simultaneously thrilled and petrified.
Thrilled because there’s a chance Brewer is right. Petrified because I might be tempted to do something about it.
9
Jake
So yeah, in the end, I resort to Google.
