Page 40 of Most Valuable Player
So we go.
Mason sways in my passenger seat as we head down the road. We come upon the fast-food chain just as the trees start thickening along the street perimeter, and when the glowing sign emerges from behind a cluster of pine trees, Mason gasps. “We’re going to Burger King?” he asks hopefully.
How many times must I tell him we’re visiting patty royalty before it sticks? “Try not to act drunk,” I plead. “If the cops show up because some sixteen-year-old is toasted at the local BK—”
“Seventeen,” Mason interrupts, scoffing. “Why does everyone think I’m so young? I’m very mature. The rest of me just hasn’t caught up yet.”
I don’t have the mental fortitude to try to unpack why he’s saying that, so I don’t respond.
When we stroll inside, Mason shields his face against the fluorescent lighting. I seat him at a table, where he promptly rests his face in his arms. Then I pop over to the counter and order him a veggie burger and fries, as well as a cheese Whopper for myself. Because I’m a growing boy and deserve it.
As I wait for the food, I eye Mason. One might think he’s asleep, but there’s a tremor in his outline, like he’s crying. When the baggie arrives, I return to his side and twist my knuckle between his shoulders. “Come on,” I say. “Back to the beach.”
Mason curls his arms tighter around his face.
“I said I’d kiss you if you ate, remember?”
The moment he lifts his head, eyes pink and puffy and rimmed with exhaustion, I jam the straw of the water cup between his lips. He chokes in protest, then begins to drink, obediently rising to his feet when I clasp his elbow and tug.
As night falls deeper over Elwood, so does an early-autumn chill, and as we leave the parking lot, I see raised bumps flecking his wrists. He didn’t bring a jacket or come prepared for the cold, which seems unlike him.
I shouldn’t care. If something happened to make him cut loose, how is it my business? But he feels different from the person I’ve been forced to be around. Is this the guy who’s been hiding behind thatsweet, feigned smile and dry voice? Someone a little angrier, more combative, more frustrated, more tired and impatient and…
Genuine?
I’m so deep in my thoughts that I don’t realize we’re at the beach again until a cold rush of water swills around my ankles. I’m standing at the brink of the midnight-black lake, which scintillates beneath the stars and moon as the water returns to its undisturbed state. Mason scarfs down his veggie burger, looking out emotionlessly across the yawning expanse. Every movement causes the pale blue gemstone around his neck to glitter. I don’t remember him wearing that at the game. Maybe it was tucked beneath his jersey?
When he’s done, I take his wrapper and hand him his fries. He goes to town on them like he’s discovering potatoes for the first time. “Didn’t you order food?” he mutters. “You could eat it instead of staring at me.”
Oh.“Who’s staring?” I squawk, plunging my hand into the bag to grab my own meat.
Mason smirks and continues shoveling fries into his mouth.
Eventually, I stuff the baggie in a trash can half-buried in the sand, then return to Mason’s side. Music still thrums along the beach from Bluetooth speakers, and the firepits are still crowded with high schoolers who were at the game, their chatter and laughter echoing along the lake. “What are you hoping to get out of tonight?” I ask.
I avoid staring as he licks the salt off his fingers. “I told you,” he says flatly. “To get drunk and kiss someone.”
“Then, what are you hoping to forget? Or who? Your parents?” I don’t understand that situation, since he hasn’t clarified the circumstances, but I think I can paint a semi-accurate picture.
Mason sucks down the rest of his water, then jingles the remaining ice. “Hey,” he says. “It was just my face, right?”
“Huh?”
“The reason you asked me out. It was because of my face.” Mason’s attention shifts to his ankles, which are plunged in the cold, murky water. His shoes, socks, and phone are bundled on the sand behind us.
“Yeah,” I admit, because I literally told him so last week.
“And now…knowing what you know about me…would you still ask me out?” he mumbles.
I’m not sure where this is coming from. “Should I ignore the fact that you want to run me over with a tank while I consider my answer?” I ask skeptically.
Mason’s mouth twitches upward. I’ve amused him about something again. “You’re really not as confident as you pretend, are you, Cameron?” he whispers.
Embarrassment surges through me, which is becoming entirely too common around him. “The hell?” I demand. “I’m the most egotistical piece of shit this side of Elwood. You can’t take that away from me because you’re cranky.”
Mason throws a hand over his mouth and laughs. The sound is warming and cute, standing in sharp contrast to the dulled parts of himself he’s had on display. “You didn’t answer me. Would you ask me out, now that you know me better?”
I consider it, putting aside my biases, from the fact that he rejected me by verbally sucker punching my manhood to the fact that I’m his least favorite person. I do love his face a concerning amount. The way his features are so soft and well-balanced, the visually pleasing contrast of his black hair against his ivory skin. Then there’s that annoying-ass smile.
