Page 49 of Most Valuable Player
Is it weird to fall in love with your babysitter??
Journal #3—March 28
I keep forgetting to write in this annoying thing. We told my parents about our relationship after my fourteenth birthday (HAPPY BELATED BDAY ME). Mom seems happy, which is nice because she’s always such a huge fucking grump.
Dad looked weird about it and kept asking questions like how long we’ve been dating and if we’ve kissed. We lied about some of it (THE SCANDAL), but it’s for the best. Dad doesn’t get that we’re the same age at heart.
We went to the aquarium for Valentine’s Day because I love sharks. He let me go on and on and held my hand the whole time. Though, he doesn’t get why I like them so much since we’re not near the ocean. I told him I want to be a marine biologist, but he says I should find something in Elwood. Apparently marine biologists work sixteen to twenty hours a day (THE AUDACITY) and always get sent to the hospital because of violent sea life. Guess that’s the kind of stuff they don’t tell you in the online research. Fucking thanks for the heads-up, Google.
He brought me back to his house because his parents were gone and he kissed me so long I could barely breathe. I told him I love him. Maybe he’ll say it back soon!
Chapter Fifteen
Mason
Elwood High barely wins their next game. It’s only because Darius has the linebackers on fire, keeping the other team from running the ball. In the first half of the game, Cameron paces the sidelines, dressed in his loose jersey, the rain slicking his highlighted hair against his forehead, his clenched pearly whites displaying his frustration.
Periodically, I walk over and tap my clipboard against his head. He looks ready to rip it from my palms like he did during the previous game. But then he makes eye contact with me, and the sight of my calm amusement takes him down a few notches.
The second half is a little different.
It’s strange. It’s almost as if Cameron has designated himself a certain amount of time to loudly bitch and moan, and when he feels he’s been dramatic enough, he stops paying attention. Several times I catch him leaned back on the bench, dazedly watching the clouds swirl by overhead. Or staring into the stands on the opposite side of the field, like he’s trying to see if he recognizes anyone. Once, I even catch him twirling and pulling up strands of fake grass beneath his feet, like a toddler who’s forgotten where he is.
It would be easy to chalk up his behavior to him being an egotistical quarterback who only cares about his team when he’s on the field. But the more he talks about football, the more I’m starting to feel like he doesn’t really…
Care?
I don’t think he dislikes football. In fact, he seems to have fun on the field, and it’s clear he loves camaraderie. But I don’t think he holds as much passion for the sport as he pretends to.
I wonder if he’s noticed himself.
His gradesareimproving. Steadily. Mr.Barnett has been keeping an eye on his transcript. I’m happy for him, because it’s clear he’d much rather be in the thick of the action. And…I don’t know. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I think, maybe, I don’t mind studying with him. In fact, it’s possible I’ll even miss it. When it’s over.
I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that he spent the night in bed with me because I got drunk and begged him to stay. I don’t think it’s because he’s started to care about me or anything. It’s probably more like he’s a better person than I thought. It’s the same reason the football guys all pretend like I’m a staple of the team. They’re nice.
But then, why did I wake in the middle of the night to feel him stroking my hair, even though he knew I was asleep?
In the days since, the weather has begun to reflect that coziness I’ve been waiting for. After the game we barely squeak by, I remember I’m supposed to be “getting out there” this semester, so I tag along with the footballers to the haunted corn maze slash cider mill. The sky sags with frigid gray rain clouds, yet pops of color wash the town as the tree leaves shift from green to crimson, pumpkin orange, and canary yellow. I sit atop a grated picnic table beside the looming corn maze, watching the first-string players toss a football around.
As I wrap my plaid flannel jacket tighter, my gaze wanders to Cameron. He’s in a riveting battle against bumblebees that have taken an interest in his hot cider.
“Fuck!” he roars, sprinting in circles. “Oh my God they’re going to sting me, ohGod—”
“Put the cup down, Morelli,” Darius pleads. “They want your drink.”
“Protect this with your life!” Cameron cries out, and suddenly, he’s thrusting the cup of hot cider into my gloved hands. He flings himself into the muddy grass and rolls around like he’s on fire. This is followed by three bees who hover around the rim of his glass eagerly. Sighing, I place it at the end of the grated table, and the bees follow it, leaving us behind to drown themselves.
Cameron’s head pops up, and he glares at me. “I told you to protect it!”
“Get another cup.”
“You going to pay, water boy?” He scrapes his way to his feet, dirtying his pants, expression twisted with bitterness. I think he’s going to try to insult me, but Anup comes sprinting over and slides up onto the picnic table, bumping my thigh with his.
“Sweet baby Mason!” he cries out, throwing his lanky arm around my shoulders and squeezing—a sensation I’m familiar with at this point. I can’t help but notice the way Cameron’s face flashes with annoyance, to which Anup grins wider and slides even closer to me, so he’s inches away. “Will you go into the haunted maze with us?”
He gestures to the obscenely tall corn, which people have been disappearing into and then emerging from, frazzled and shaken or laughing hysterically.
“I’m not going in there!” Cameron croaks. “I have a phobia of tall corn.”
