Page 33 of Hit the Ground
“Come on. There’s room for you right here.”
She flashed me a small, tentative smile and made her way up. I scooted over for her, giving her the end seat. As she sat down beside me, I caught the faintest hint of cinnamon.
“Do you bake?”
Startled by my question, her head jerked. “I…oh, no, not really. Why?”
I took a long whiff of the air around her. “You always smell like cinnamon.”
She brought her hand up to the side of her neck, a little furrow forming between her brows.
“It’s my perfume.” She crinkled her nose. “I like flowers, but I don’t want to smell like one.”
I let myself have another whiff. “You smell like Christmas.”
Her laugh was light and breezy. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
I grunted. “My favorite time of year.”
“Mine too,” she said quietly. Then she shifted slightly away from me but slid her eyes back my way. “Thank you for the plant. You didn’t have to do that.”
“You’re welcome.” I lowered my chin and voice. “Felt it was the least I could do.”
“It really wasn’t necessary.” She lifted her hand, her thumb extended. “It’s brown, by the way. The plant’s still alive, but I can’t guarantee how long it will stay that way.”
It was my turn to laugh. “My grandmother swore that kind of plant is impossible to kill.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like a challenge if I ever heard one.”
Before I could think of a comeback, the overhead speakers let out a loud squeal, putting an end to our conversation.
“Attention, teams and spectators,” the announcer boomed, his voice echoing off the gym walls. “We’re about to begin the first round of obstacle course runs. Team sign-ups one through five, please bring your robots to the starting lanes.”
Down on the floor, Jesse and his teammates scrambled to gather their equipment. I sat forward, bracing my forearms on my knees, eyes locked on my boy as he carried their little robot to the starting line. His face was set with determination, his mouth moving as he spoke to his friend beside him.
“He looks so confident,” Alice murmured, as if to herself.
I glanced at her. Her elbows were pressed together in her lap, hands clasped tight, eyes bright with excitement as she watched the kids prepare.
She hadn’t shown up to humor Jesse. She was into this.
“Yeah,” I said. “He is. He’s always been that way.”
She shook her head. “He’s such a cool kid.”
“He sure is,” I agreed, pleased she’d said it. “The coolest.”
The buzzer sounded, and Jesse’s robot shot forward, weaving through the first set of cones like it was nothing. His team cheered from behind the taped-off lane, and I joined in, giving a short, sharp whistle.
Alice laughed. “That’s some whistle. Is that how you get your cattle to follow you?”
“Sometimes. I have to use all the tricks I have up my sleeve.” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Jesse’s robot as it pivoted perfectly around a corner.
“Well, it certainly carries,” she said. “He heard you. Look at that smile.”
She was right. Jesse glanced up into the bleachers, his grin wide as he pumped his fist at his team. My heart thumped hard in my chest.
The robot reached the final stretch, and Alice practically bounced with excitement. I should’ve been watching my son cross the finish line, but my gaze kept flicking sideways, catching the glow on Alice’s face, the way her curls swayed with every small movement. She looked so alive, eyes shining, cinnamon drifting around every time she shifted.
