Page 61 of Just Friends Forever
“But are you a swinger?” he asks.
I raise a brow. Is he asking me what I think he’s asking me?
“The type that actually swings on swings.” He points behind me, and I turn.
There’s a tall chain-link fence with a wide-open field behind it and a swing set beyond that. It’s a school.
“Come on,” he says, leading the way.
Breath finally slowing, I walk beside him.
“Exactly how many fences will we be climbing tonight?” I ask, even though I’m thoroughly enjoying this adventure. I haven’t done anything like this since… well, since I stopped hanging out with Troy.
He only smiles and starts scaling the diamond-shaped links. Not wanting to be left behind, I follow suit, and soon it’s a race to the top.
“You have smaller shoes,” he says when I win. “It’s not fair.”
I climb over the top and head down, sending Troy into a hurry to catch up. We descend in silence, but when we’re still six feet from the ground, Troy lets go. His feet land with a thud on the grass.
He puts his hands on his hips like he’s a superhero. As I finish my more careful descent, he breaks into the Carlton dance.
I smack him on the arm. “Last one to the swings is a freeze-dried egg.”
It’s me. I’m the freeze-dried egg. I can’t keep up with Troy. I work out consistently, but Curtis’s personal trainer had me doing stuff that wouldn’t “bulk me up” too much. I listened back then, afraid of becoming… I don’t even know what? Strong? Such a dumb thing to fear. Now I’m determined to do every one of Troy’s workouts with him.
Troy stops shy of the swings and puts out a hand. “Ladies first,” he says, the joy of victory stretching his smile wide. It’s amazing how long I was able to see that smile and not feel what it makes me feel now—like it might be able to power my entire world.
But I’ll have to find another power source.
I sit in the swing, and Troy starts pushing me, his hands pressing against the small of my back. I use my feet to counter the force, turning back to look at him. “I don’t trust you pushing me for a second.”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “Sheesh. No good deed goes unpunished.”
I immediately regret telling him to stop. “Does almost killing someone count as a good deed?”
“We’ve talked about this, Stevie. It was a normal underdog.”
“It really wasn’t.”
“Come on, then, underdog expert. Show me how it’s done.” He sits down in his swing and waits patiently.
I stop my gentle swinging, but I’m not actually sure I can push Troy hard enough to do an underdog. He’s a big boy. A big, beautiful, perfect boy.
I’m determined, though, so I go behind him and pull the swing back as far as I can. Using all my “toned but not bulky” force, I shove him forward. It’s like trying to push an anchor, and even from behind, I can see he’s smiling by the way his cheeks lift.
I don’t give up. I push and pull and push until he gets some momentum. He has mercy on me and uses his legs to help out. When he finally has enough speed and height, I brace myself, ready to show him how to properly give an underdog.
I wait until he reaches the back apex of his swinging arc, then I put my hands on his lower back and rush forward, pushing his body, then ducking my head and running to the side.
I glance up and catch sight of him flying, his face full of terror as he’s propelled toward the ground. His feet hit first, and he tumbles forward, emitting a few grunts as he rolls.
My eyes wide, I hurry over, falling to my knees by his side. “Oh, my gosh, are you okay?”
He moans softly, and I lean over him, afraid to move him but needing to see he’s not really hurt. His eyes are clenched shut, and I put a gentle hand on his arm. “Troy, are you all right?”
He moans again. Suddenly, one of his eyes peeks through a cracked lid, and his mouth pulls up at the side.
I let out a relieved breath. “Are you kidding me right now?”
