Page 87 of Most Valuable Player
And maybe he doesn’t hate it.
He won’t defend me for not wanting to go to the banquet, though. I’ve tried bringing it up to Mom, but whenever I suggest ditching it, her face tightens and her lips thin until they nearly disappear. “They’re family friends celebrating a massive accomplishment,” she says shortly. “You’re going, or you’re grounded.”
At least she’s not threatening to kick me out, but her definition of “grounding” is extreme. Once, she removed my bedroom door, confiscated my phone, called me in sick at school, and forced me to lie atop my bed contemplating what I’d done. She ordered Dad to obey her “nobody talks to Mason for three days” rule.
If I have to go, hopefully I’ll find the courage to officially end things.
With Cameron maintaining steady grades, he carries Elwood into the playoffs. After every home game, there’s some kind of party—a bonfire, team dinner, evening on Lake Evergreen. Maybe I’m imagining it, but the guys seem a little warmer than usual. Toward him, specifically.
Cameron always made himself the butt of jokes due to his immature behavior and loud personality. Now that he’s toned back some of the more exaggerated parts, it feels like his friendships are becoming more authentic. He can hold conversations with them that don’t devolve into jokes. He’s not flaunting himself around like he’s the best thing since wireless earbuds. He’s still kind of clueless at times and occasionally braggy about his skills, but he’s more…
Himself.
Though Cameron and I considered keeping quiet, everyone catches on that something’s going on between us. Especially since Cameron makes no effort to stop outwardly flirting with me, and I’m maybe kind of into it.
“Hey, Mason,” Darius says from the sidelines when I’m watching Cameron and the offense drill down the field, tapping my clipboard against my chin. I’ve never been invested in football—at least until I realized how much it meant for Cameron’s future, and I’ve been tragically devoted to watching the scoreboard ever since. Even if he hasn’t quite realized yet that he’s not as into it as he thinks. “Are you and Morelli going out?”
The question jolts through my body like lightning, causing my hairs to stand up. “What?” I squeak, instinctively lifting my clipboard higher over my face. “Why would you ask that?”
“Sorry—it’s none of my business.” He’s speaking softly, but his deep voice carries through the sidelines, perking the other boys’ ears. “You two just seem closer than normal. You’re still studying, you showup to parties together, and Jody swore he saw you walking into the aquarium holding hands.”
Images from that afternoon tear through my head—me standing before giant water tanks, rattling off my latent fish knowledge from when I was obsessed with sea life in my younger years. I held Cameron’s hand, my stomach tingling whenever he asked me additional questions to test my knowledge, like he cared about what I had to say. And then after a nice dinner at my favorite vegan restaurant, retreating to Cameron’s house because his mom was in the OR and his dad was out with a drinking buddy. Where I promptly pushed him onto the living room love seat and gave my first hickey.
“I don’t…We’re not…” I cough on my sentence. We decided not to tell anyone because we didn’t want to undergo interrogation. I don’t want people placing bets to see how long I can hold Cameron down before he abandons me or whispering about whether we’re compatible.
“You’re not?” A knowing grin furls across Darius’s face, and he leans over me. I have to resist the urge to hide my entire face behind my clipboard. “Because the team’s been picking up vibes. You know?”
“Vibes?” is all I can choke out.
“Yeah. Like, you’re actually smiling at him. You’re constantly whispering to each other on the sidelines like you’re hiding a love affair. He’s been different lately, less cocky and bitchy than normal, and we’ve been figuring that it’s something to do with you. And the way you two keep looking at each other?” Darius shakes his head, eyes twinkling with exasperation. “Fucking hell, I keep feeling like I’m interrupting something.”
I think my entire body turns red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But then we win, and everyone screams because we make itanother round into the playoffs, and suddenly Cameron’s sprinting toward me and tearing his helmet off and swallowing me in a deep, sweaty, desperate kiss. I must get caught up in the moment, because I forget Darius is standingright thereuntil he says:
“Right. Not a clue.”
Oops.
Just like that, we’re out to our peers, and the whispers and gossip are about what I expect because Cameron is the school’s most interesting person right now. But being able to kiss me in the hallways and hold my hand to classes makes him particularly cute and eager, so I don’t regret that moment.
Liam never wanted to flaunt me around. He was afraid people would think our relationship was strange—or that’s what he claimed. Looking back, I guess it’s probably more like he didn’t want to deal with unnecessary questions or legal trouble. He was shy of eighteen when he asked me out. I never thought of it as strange because of how mature he made me feel. Regardless, when we were on dates or wandering around, he’d sometimes wrench away when he noticed people staring. This paired with Dad’s unease about our relationship made for a glaring red flag. At the time, though, I didn’t understand the significance of the color.
Cameron isn’t ashamed of me or our relationship. The fact that he wants to show me off feels good. Which sounds objectifying, but whatever, I don’t care, because the mere thought makes me tingly.
I’m supposed to be content. This is my happily ever after, right? My prince has saved me from my demons and a cursed ring, and we’re together,working. I feel protected. Cared for. Happy. But there’s one final hurdle.
I don’t owe Liam anything. Cameron has spent hours poking holes into my insistence that I should unblock him to explain myself, orconsider staying acquaintances so Mom can maintain her “connection” to an affluent family that keeps pulling away because of her lack of social status.
“He’s a groomer and abuser,” Cameron says, over and over, though the words still hit my brain in this jarring way I can’t fully accept. “He was a whole-ass adult when he made you dependent on him. Heknewwhat he was doing.”
I usually have a rebuttal, because Liam wasn’t all bad. He justwasn’t. “He wouldn’t have sex with me until I turned sixteen,” I point out, or sometimes I say, “Four and a half years isn’t weird. There are several couples who have ten- or twenty-year age gaps.”
To which he starts showing mearticles. I never took Cameron to be a research guy, and I’m so impressed that it takes a while for what he’s showing me to really sink in. And maybe he’s not wrong. In fact, when he pulls up one paper about emotional abuse, the sight of it drops my stomach. I’ve read it.
I sent it to my dad months ago.
Over the last couple of years, I’ve tried convincing my parents to go to marriage counseling. Dad doesn’t want to deal with the stress, though, and Mom thinks their relationship is fine—only that Dad should work on himself so she has no reason to be upset. It’s starting to feel familiar.
