Page 41 of Most Valuable Player
That aside, would I ask him out based on his personality?
I don’t even have time to deliberate. The final, lingering spark of life remaining in Mason’s eyes flickers out, leaving his gaze hollowand cold. “I know,” he whispers. “I’m boring. I can’t carry a conversation. The only reason people stand to be around me is because they like my aesthetic. So don’t say it. I know.”
His candor stuns me. Mason kicks his foot, causing water to arc through the air and glitter like diamonds beneath the moonlight before they melt into the lake.
I don’t think my answer matters. If it’s no, I’m confirming his assumptions. If it’s yes, he won’t believe me. I can feel the weight of this twisting, tangled ball of self-deprecation weighing him down, spreading its sharp tendrils into every fragment of his character. Shaving away all the intricacies of who he is.
I know how it works. Been there, done that. Yet I have a sinking feeling his demons are more gnarled and deeply embedded than mine. Mine sunk their claws into me in late elementary school, and only loosened their clutches when we moved somewhere I could scrub myself clean. Even still, I can feel the shadows of the puncture wounds they left behind.
But Mason…This aching atmosphere around him…
He’s been living with this pain far longer.
I’m starting to understand Mason Gray. He’s not just the cute, elusive water boy everyone wants to linger around because of his mysterious atmosphere and pretty appearance. He’s a painstakingly crafted shell of a person who’s been battered and worn down to his most basic functions, thoughts, and feelings. There’s only one crack in his armor. His smile.
That’s why he’s always hiding it.
I’m not sure what to say. I guess he doesn’t care, because suddenly, he’s grabbing my shirt, dragging me in to kiss me. “Stop,” I say darkly, and I snag his wrists, but he curls his grip tighter around the fabric. His proximity mixed with my reluctance sends a signal of panicreeling through my skull. Mason’s hands are someone else’s. I’m not on the beach, I’m in a bedroom. There’s a persuasive, cool voice in my ear.
You want to prove the rumors wrong, right…? Or do you take after your mom after all?
Everyone thinks you’re disgusting.
How can your dad stand it? His wife and son both being dirty, rotten—
“Fuckoffof me!” I growl, and my hands fly out, pushing. Too late do I realize that I’m not in eighth grade. I’m much bigger than the boy I used to be; I’m at a beach party, and the person I’ve just shoved is a drunk, emotionally stunted Mason Gray.
Of course he falls. He can’t even stand without swaying. I feel like I’ve just rammed a fragile glass flower off its pedestal.
Mason shatters when he hits the water. He lands flat on his back, and the lake splashes up around him, soaking through his clothes and wetting my pants. While I stare in horrified dismay, he looks around with jaded, dead eyes, like he’s not sure how he got down there. This section of the beach quiets, the conversations dissolving as people turn to see the damning image of me standing there, arms extended, and Mason sitting in the shallow edge of the lake.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter out. “I didn’t mean…”
Nausea roils through me as Mason struggles to stand but only gets one leg under him before he collapses onto his knees, further drenching himself. He stares vacantly at his hands anchored in the sopping sand.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, and I kneel in the water, allowing it to consume my jeans up to my thighs as I offer my hands. “I shouldn’t have—”
“My fault,” Mason whispers. “It always is. So you shouldn’t apologize.”
His lips pale the longer he sits in the water, his clothes clingingpitifully to his frame. Slowly, I wrap my fingers around his wrists and lift, unrooting him from the beach. I rise equally as slowly, waiting for him to properly plant his feet.
“Let’s go,” I say, tugging him toward the bundle of belongings behind him. He scoops them up, shaken like a wet puppy. I’ve probably ruined his night enough, but I don’t feel like I should leave him alone. “I’m taking you home.”
He doesn’t argue. He looks like he’s on autopilot, expressionless as he shivers from remnants of lake water.
That’s how I end up driving Mason Gray home.
It’s a long journey with nothing to break the silence but the soft hum of my engine. I put his seat warmer on, but Mason hugs his arms the entire time, shaking in his damp clothes.
I have so many things I want to ask. Or say. But we’re not close enough for any of them to leave my mouth. Still, it takes all my strength not to blurt something, because I know what it’s like to feel so fucking alone you might as well disappear.
Maybe I don’t need to ask anything. Maybe I just need to tell him that if he disappeared…
I would notice.
As we pull into his driveway, his body language changes. He closes in on himself and his eyes flit around the subdivision, picking apart every shadow like he’s anticipating we might be jumped. Instinctively, I prepare myself to clock a bitch, but the street is quiet and vacant.
“Well…here we are,” I say awkwardly as I guide him to his door. “Will you be okay?”
