Page 15 of Keeper
Steeling myself, I reply, “I’d really like to, Poppy. You wouldn’t be sitting alone then. My sister will be there, and I’m sure she would love to see you. You could finally meet my niece.” I pause, feeling a bit uncomfortable and then rush out, “Our seats are separate from the WAGs in the upper tier boxes. Vi has always refused to sit anywhere but first row at the halfway line, so it’s a much better experience watching the game.”
Poppy frowns as she ponders my verbal diarrhea. It was way more information than she needed to know, but I realised that I want her in those seats. I want her to see me play. It’s…important to me.
“I’m surprised Vi hasn’t come by actually,” she says, interrupting my internal reverie. “I’d have figured she’d be in here rearranging your cupboards by now.”
I laugh. “She and Hayden spent the last week out in Essex with his family. They are as obsessed with the baby as we are.”
Her smile is genuine. “That’s really nice. Well, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d love a ticket. Cheers, Book.”
“Don’t mention it.” I move toward the door and then pause, looking back over my shoulder. “And hey, if you want a Bethnal kit, there are loads hanging in my wardrobe. Help yourself.” She frowns and gazes nervously at my bedroom door. “Don’t look like that. They’re clean…Most of ‘em.” We both laugh and it feels really fucking nice.
Still smiling, I turn to leave and she adds, “Hey, good luck…I erm…want to say break a leg, but that has a much different connotation in sports than it does in theatre. So I’ll simply say have fast hands.” She wiggles her fingers up in front of her with a laugh.
My smile grows. “I’m told my hands are the best in the league.”
Her smile falters. “I believe it.”
With that parting exchange that travelled right to my fucking dick, I stride out of our flat, trying desperately to erase the rude images I have of Poppy and that nipple ring I can’t ask her about.
Tower Park is packed with people milling about in green and white, many with heaping cups of beer spilling onto the pavement of the communal areas as they wait to file in to their seats. I’m grateful Booker offered up a shirt because I’d be sticking out in anything else.
I’m a bit embarrassed to admit the length of time I spent sniffing all the options in his wardrobe, and it wasn’t because I thought they were dirty. Booker has always had an intoxicating smell about him. It’s like the scent of the woods after a light rain—clean and elemental. His wardrobe is bathed in that same fragrance, hanging there like an unmitigated longing.
Not longing. Just memories. Memories of a dear friend. Get it together, Poppy. You’re wearing his shirt, not walking around in his bloody boxers!
I decided to come to his match today as a peace offering. As a way to mend fences after our awkward first encounter. What happened between us was a massive mistake. We were simply caught up in the moment after not seeing each other for so many years. Nothing has changed.
You’re still you. He’s still him. This isn’t the beginning of a love story. You tried that once and it ended horribly. Booker Harris is not the guy for you.
18 Years Old
“I passed my A-Levels with flying colours, and now the world is my oyster!” I sing to myself as I get dressed for the party at Giles Windsor’s house tonight. Normally, I wouldn’t be caught dead at a party with kids from my school. It’s a stuffy private institution for privileged kids, and none of them have any imagination.
However, Booker Harris will be there.
And that’s why tonight is so important.
Booker is my best friend. From the day I met him on that fallen tree in the woods behind our houses, I knew he was someone special. He never looked at me sideways when I sang at the top of my lungs on my makeshift tree stage. He simply hunkered down beside me and built a fort, pausing to answer all my random questions about the world.
He even indulged myGrimm’s Fairy Talesobsession. On my eleventh birthday, I had an aunt gift me the complete collection of folk stories. I was always too afraid to read them by myself, though, so Booker sat out on our tree with me while I read. Sometimes he’d even ask me to read aloud.
The stories terrified me, but I loved the incredible contrast of magical tales with gruesome twists. My entire life, I’ve always felt like I, too, am an odd juxtaposition. I have a horrible raspy voice, but I love to sing. I’m klutzy, yet I feel like I was born to dance. My mother calls me flighty, but when I look at other people, I feel like I’m incredibly down-to-earth. None of that makes sense. None of that fits the moulds of society. It all has the makings for a horrible identity crisis!
But Booker always told me to never stop chasing butterflies. He was the one who gave me the strength to tell my parents I was going to take a year off of school to find myself.
When I’m with Booker, I feel completely free. That’s why I have to talk to him tonight. I have to tell him the truth…
…That I am in love with him.
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I fell for Booker Harris. I compare my love to the giant Himalayan lily I read about in school. For most of its life, it’s a mess of glossy leaves. But after seven years, it shoots up to almost ten feet tall and produces beautiful trumpet-shaped flowers that are simply magical. And they had been there all along, waiting for the perfect time to bloom.
That is how my feelings for Booker came about. One day, I woke up and allowed myself to bloom. I thought the flowers might fade, but they haven’t. They are still madly, completely, and irrationally in full bloom.
So my plan is to tell him tonight before the party. I haven’t seen much of him lately because he’s been so busy with football. But with big life decisions coming up for me, I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to march into his bedroom and tell him that we belong together.
Dressed in a long black dress with my hair in a bun on top of my head, I make my way through the park, feeling foolish for wearing these heels out here. But I need to look my best so Booker will see me as more than his good buddy, Poppy, who normally doesn’t think much about what she wears. I want him to see me as a beautiful woman.
As I approach the halfway point between our houses, our tipped over tree comes into view. My heart flutters when I see someone sitting over there. Could it be Booker? How perfect if it is. What better place to profess my love for him than by our tree that first introduced us!
