The Crush Collision Page 8

  I nod slowly. “Not a bad choice.”

  Seth pushes aside the Batman comic. “What position do you play?”

  “Running back.”

  “You run fast, then? How fast do you run?”

  I chuckle. “I don’t know, kid.”

  “I always wanted to learn how to play football, but I was never allowed,” he says.

  “Yeah, it can be dangerous. You ever thrown?”

  He shakes his head.

  I hold up a finger. I remember Haley telling me there were toys and balls in one of the rec room closets, so I go down the hall. After a few minutes of digging, I find it. An old pigskin. It’s worn, kinda lopsided, but it’s a ball. I go back to Seth. “Let’s go, then.”

  I follow Seth outside, and he yells at some of the other kids. “We’re gonna throw a football!”

  I see Haley, then, across the yard from me. A couple of the kids who were with the other volunteer rush over to where we are. I have one ball and four kids, but we’ll make it work. I shrug at Haley.

  “Who has ever thrown a football?”

  No one raises their hand. I guess we’re starting at the beginning.

  Chapter Eleven

  Haley

  I really have no idea why Jake texted me to hang out. And I didn’t know what he meant by getting my clothes ruined, so I threw on some shorts and a CHS football T-shirt. His truck roars outside my house. I take a final look. Shake it off, Haley, and rush off to the driveway.

  Jake smiles when he sees me, and it makes my heart flutter. Stop it, Haley. Except I don’t really want to.

  “Hey,” I say into the rolled-down window.

  It’s too hot out here. It’s one of those days where summer is hanging on by its claws like Mufasa in The Lion King, trying to give its best shot, one last hoorah, before it’s gone. Good riddance.

  “You gonna get in?” he asks, humor in his voice.

  Right. I scoot in and sit on the bench seat. In the small cabin of the truck, I feel closer than I’ve ever been to him. I don’t really know what to do with my hands.

  “Where are we going, exactly?” I ask.

  He shakes his head as he puts the truck in reverse. “I said no questions,” he responds. “This is only going to work if you trust me. Do you?”

  I look at him, his eyes serious and dark on me. “Yes,” I say.

  “That could be your first mistake,” he says.

  “Shut up. It’s not.”

  He huffs and then shakes his head. “Okay then.” Jake turns the music up. Old-school country blares through the speakers, and we speed down the road away from my house.

  Thirty minutes later, he stops the car and gives me a mischievous smile. “Come on then.”

  “Where are we, exactly?”

  “Come on,” he yells back in response.

  I sigh and slam the door, running after him to catch up. We’re parked at the bottom of this huge ravine with a tall bridge spanning over it. I’ve never been here, but I think it’s somewhere in Haymont. If Culler is a small town, Haymont is miniscule.

  “We need to climb up,” he says, leading the way up the side of the ravine. It’s got a walking trail, more or less, but my head is yelling out warnings because I already know, what he brought me here for.

  “Jake.”

  “What?”

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  He stops walking and looks back at me. “You picked me to teach you about risks. I thought we’d start big. Go big or go home. Be in it to win it.”

  “I don’t know if big is the right way.”

  “It is, because if you can do this, then you can do anything.” He leans in so his lips are closer to my ear. It gives me chill bumps. “Just be in the moment.”

  “Neither of us can be in the moment if we jump off this bridge and die.”

  “We won’t die.”

  “We could get massively injured.”

  I think of Jamie, and I wonder if he does, too. His jaw is taut, squared, eyes almost daring. It doesn’t feel like it’s all about me anymore. Maybe some of this is about whatever he’s going through.

  Jake takes a step forward and puts his hands on my shoulders. “If you want to be risky, you can’t worry about the consequences.”

  “But…”

  “If you worry about the consequences, you won’t do anything. You want to spend your whole life not doing? If so, we can go back to the truck and go home. If you want to be your own person, then climb up this hill and get on that bridge and let go.”

  I stare at him, not really sure what to do.

  “The choice is yours.”

  “How do I know what to do?”

  “Ask yourself what you have to lose, and if losing it is worth it.”

  I search his face for more thoughts, for hesitations or worry, and it’s unreadable. He’s waiting for me to decide for both of us. I look at the hill, at the bridge, and back at his too-perfect face. We could go home right now and preserve all our limbs. I could go back to my life as Chris’s sister and Abby’s best friend and see what new adventures come with whatever college I do or don’t get into.

  Wordlessly, I move past him up the hill. After a few feet, he hasn’t moved from his spot, so I call back, “Are you coming or not?”

  He sprints after me.

  The whole trip up the side of the hill, I think about my brother. What would he say if he was here? Would he do this, or would he try to stop me? I shake that off. Why is he always the first person I think of? I want to do this. Jake brought me here to teach me something, and I want to learn whatever it is. I don’t want to be afraid of forging my own path.

  Chris would lose his mind if he knew I was doing this. Especially without him here, with Jake instead. He wouldn’t approve of any of it. It’s ironic, really. How many times has he done the same, though: climbed this trail and took a leap? My brother’s opinion can’t matter so much to me. I’m my own person. At least I’m trying to be.

  Eventually the ground evens out to the road, and we’re standing on the bridge. The truck is tiny from here, and the sky seems closer but farther away.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I wanted risks.”

  “You wanna go first or after me?”

  I look down at the water, and it’s too far away. I can’t do this. What am I thinking? I should not have looked down.

  But Jake’s hand is on my shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I look at the boy I’ve grown up with and liked for longer than I can say. I don’t know what made him want to be here with me, but here he is. I nod. “I want to close my eyes.”

  “You can’t close your eyes and run at the same time,” he says, and then before I know what’s happened, his hand is in mine. “We’ll do it together.”

  I nod slightly, and my heart races, either from the adrenaline of his hand in mine or from the situation. I don’t have time to think about it before he tells me to run. We start from the other side of the bridge, his hand tight in mine, and despite my best effort to take it in, my eyes close. I squeeze his hand harder as the wind rushes through my hair.

  “Jump!”

  My feet aren’t on the ground anymore, and we are floating through the air. A scream erupts from my throat as the wind moves upward. I grip Jake’s hand more, faintly hearing his screams, too. It’s a rush of everything and nothing as my heart pounds in my chest. It’s too fast to think, freefalling in the air. Anticipation builds, waiting for the drop, but I scream it out and instead I enjoy it as I fall.

  My body hits the cool water, and somewhere along the way, my hand is my own again. The gravity pulls me down, and water pushes me upward. I break the surface with a gasp and a laugh. That was amazing.

  “You good?” Jake asks.

  My head is spinning, and I scream. “That was awesome!”

  “I knew you’d like it. You need to let go more, Other Howell.”

  “Like you do?”

  He chuckles. “Maybe
not that much.”

  I lean back in the water, which feels so good in the heat. I just jumped off a bridge. Jake’s body is dangerously close to mine. This, his skin brushing mine under the water, the way he held my hand when we jumped, it’s even better than the party. There’s an energy pulsing through the water that almost dares me to kiss him. I could let go, let it take control, take the biggest risk yet. Or is it a risk? Like, I know in my head this is only a crush I have on him, but sometimes, like now, like while we watched The Breakfast Club, it feels like more. Like it could be more anyway. Like one day, we could collide and something truly memorable could happen.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “About risks. How to know when it’s worth it, even if you have nothing to lose.”

  “Ah. Ask yourself WWJD: What Would Jake Do?”

  I laugh, because he’s not wrong. What would Jake do if he was me? He wouldn’t care about what anyone thought of him.

  I smile. “Want to go again?”

  “For real?” he asks, and I nod. “Then hell yes.”

  We race each other out of the water to the top of the hill. This time, I’m going to keep my eyes open.

  After, we’re soaked to the bone from a couple jumps and a day in the water. The sun is getting lower in the sky, but it hasn’t set yet. It’s been like a dream day here with him.

  “I’m starving,” I say to Jake.

  “You’re in luck, then. Follow me,” he says, getting out of the water.

  At his truck, Jake hands me a towel, and then he lowers the tailgate. I see the red cooler under the toolbox. He moves toward it and takes a seat on the tailgate. “I brought snacks.”

  “You’ve thought of everything.”

  “Nah,” he says. “I definitely did not think of everything.” He opens the lid and passes me a sandwich. “PB&J.” I smile. When we were kids, Chris and him and me and Jamie would have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at the pool. We used to live at the pool, back before football was life for them, when summers were the best time of the year. The long-awaited reprieve from life.

  “Thank you,” I say. He hands me a water, too.

  He shrugs. “It’s a snack.”

  I take a bite, and it’s either delicious or I’m that hungry. Jake Lexington made me a sandwich. There’s something sweet about that.

  A few seconds later, he says, “I’m proud of you. I didn’t think you’d do it.”

  “You didn’t?”

  Jake smirks and shakes his head. “Remember that one time in middle school at the talent show. You were supposed to do a dance. You got onstage all dressed up in this outfit, and the song started and then you…did absolutely nothing.”

  I will never forget that. We were going to sing and dance to the song from The Breakfast Club, which we watched at a sleepover at Chanel Newman’s house. Abby liked it because Chanel did. I liked it because something about the movie and the song spoke to me in a new way. It’s been my favorite ever since then. We had the whole thing choreographed and planned out. It was pretty cute, until I chickened out.

  “I got scared with all those people looking at me.”

  Jake bumps my leg with his foot. “And then you ran off the stage.”

  I left Abby to do it alone, and she tried for a whole minute before running off the stage, too. “Why are you reminding me of this horrendous moment? I’m not even a good dancer. I had zero coordination.”

  He points at me. “It’s not about the dancing. It’s about taking the risk, it’s about sharing something within yourself because you want to. Sometimes, you’re still that girl. Worried about what people will say, too afraid to put yourself out there.”

  “I just jumped off a bridge with you!”

  He smirks. “That’s my point.”

  “I don’t get it,” I say.

  “I mean, you’re not afraid, not really, but it’s what you put out there. It’s like you’re happy being Other Howell.”

  It’s silent between us, but his eyes are still on me. I’m hyperaware of the moment: his body warm against mine, hip to knee. The way his hair has curled up where it’s dried. The scent of peanut butter in the air between us. Wind rustling through the trees as a breeze settles. He reaches over and pushes my own curl behind my ear. His fingers give me chills against the cooling air.

  “You shouldn’t be happy being secondary. You’re a lot more.”

  Jake’s light brown eyes are focused on me, and I swear they seem to swirl with something I’ve never seen before.

  “Thank you,” I say softly. My voice is almost a whisper, not wanting to break the spell in the air. If anything, I want it to never end. I wish I could close the space between us and the unknown that separates us. I’ve dreamed of kissing Jake Lexington a hundred times over in all my years of crushing on him, but never like this. Never with this feeling that I could finally have it, if I was only bold enough to take it.

  Jake drops his hand. “I’m telling you, until you can stand on that stage with eyes on you and not care about what they think or don’t think, you’ll never have achieved full Jake Lexington status.”

  “Is that something I want?” I joke.

  “In some ways, yes. In other ways, no.”

  “Then I will have something to aspire to.”

  “Indeed,” he says, and he reaches back into the cooler. Out he comes with a beer. I must stare at it a little too long, because he says, “What?”

  “Nothing,” I say.

  He looks at the bottle. My eyes follow, and he sighs. I reach out and touch his wrist, my way of feeling a tiny bit bold, at least. “You can make your own choices, but I will be driving your truck home.”

  “It’s one, I’ll be fine.”

  I shoot him a look. “That is absolutely not a risk I am taking. If you want to drink the beer, give me your keys and drink it.”

  Jake shakes his head at me and smirks. “You’re something else, Other Howell.”

  I cross my arms, and he sighs. “Fine.” Then he puts the beer back. I take that as a small victory.

  We sit in silence, eating as the sun sets. My mind goes back to the other week at the rehab center. “How have you been? You know, since the art closet?”

  He groans. “It’s been fine. Incident-free.”

  “Do you have panic attacks like that often?”

  Jake gives me the side-eye. “You really are like your brother.”

  “How is that?”

  “He doesn’t let up, either.”

  “He loves you.”

  “And what’s your reason?”

  I inhale a small breath of air. “I mean, I care about you, too.”

  “You do?”

  “Jake, you’re part of nearly every memory I have.”

  “Like another brother?” he asks.

  I don’t respond to that because it’s not exactly true. The silence sits awkwardly between us. I want to say something else, to add to it, to explain it away, but I can’t. It would be a lie because no, he’s not a brother to me. And no, I’ve never seen him that way.

  “Ever since the accident it happens sometimes.” I realize that he’s talking about the panic attacks. “When it’s too much with my brother. It feels like I’m back there again, in that truck, watching him die.”

  “He’s not dead.”

  Jake nods. “Sometimes he is.”

  “He’s sitting at your house right now.”

  “Trust me, I know.”

  It hits me then that he blames himself. I start to say something and then change my mind. I need to think on it a little more, so instead I say, “He loves you, too.”

  “Yeah, sometimes that makes it worse. Him, you, Howell—I’m going to let everyone down.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “The keys are in the cupholder.”

  Then he reaches back into the cooler and pulls out that beer. This time, he opens it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jake

  We’re an hour into t
he pre-game Boosters Club meeting, and I’m already done with it. Coach told us about it a couple weeks ago. Before the West Side game tonight, we get to shake hands with washed-up has-been players who will give us money. Then, if we win the West Side game, they’ll give us more money.

  “I know that look,” Howell says.

  “What?” I say to him through my forced smile. The Belles are walking around passing out lemonade and sweet tea, here to make people excited. My eyes settle on Haley. She’s got this big smile on her face, and it almost seems real.

  “We’re almost done,” Howell adds.

  I hate that he can know what I’m thinking like that. He’s not a best friend that I deserve, and yet here he is. Before I can say anything else, Coach Tucker brings a man up to shake Howell’s hand. Coach looks at me under his hat, a death glare, and I strap on a smile. He nods at me. Figures.

  An old man who can barely walk comes up and shakes my hand. He smells like pipe tobacco, which reminds me of my own grandpa. Mom’s dad, who died when I was, like, five, right around the time she left us.

  “Hello, young man,” the old dude says.

  “Hi, sir,” I say to him.

  “What position do you play?” His voice is gravelly and shaky, old and scratchy like a sander.

  “I’m the running back, fullback,” I say, and he nods. “Jake Lexington, sir.”

  “I used to be the quarterback back in my day,” he says. “We’re destined to be friends, I’d reckon, then.” The old man is shaky, so I take a few steps toward one of the benches. I don’t dare presume he wants to sit.

  I take a seat on the bench, and the old man looks at me for a second.

  “Doesn’t that hair get in your way?”

  I chuckle. He’s not the first person to make note of my longer hair. I like it. “Well, sir, I guess it can be, but the chicks dig it.”

  That’s true.

  He chuckles, and it rattles in his throat. “When I was younger they liked the buzz cut. Flat on top, as it were.” He takes a seat next to me. “Hiram Diggs.”

  “No shit,” I say. Hiram Diggs scored the 1960 State Champion touchdown with five seconds left in the game. It was the first time Culler had ever won. He’s a legend.