choice.”
Her eyes focused behind me for a moment on the painting of the storm. Her voice was soft. “ La luna brilla debajo del oceano .”
“What did you say?”
We were sitting close together in the darkening room, faces lit by the flickering light from the television screen. She was staring at the painting, her eyes dark with an emotion I couldn’t quite read.
Then she looked back at me, and the haunted look I’d glimpsed faded away. She smiled and knocked her bottle against mine. “I said the moon shines beneath the ocean. Go Bears!”
The game was already half over when we turned it on, but the score was only 7-3, Packers. As one might expect of an NFC
Central showdown, it was a defensive battle. We cheered the players on rowdily, kicked back on the comfortable couch with our feet up on the coffee table. Whenever someone scored or made an impressive play, we slapped hands and Jess whistled between her teeth. She tried to teach me how but to no avail.
52 Kate Christie
At the start of the fourth quarter, Jess glanced at her watch.
“You didn’t have anything planned tonight, did you? I mean, no one’s expecting you?”
Was she asking if I had a girlfriend? “Not a one,” I said.
“What about you?”
“No way.” She laughed a little and looked back at the TV.
“Not me.”
Undercurrents in the conversation. Again, if it had been anyone other than Jess Maxwell, I would have thought there was something more going on. But for some reason, I didn’t want to be into her, as Holly had put it. There was something untouchable about Jess, something good and pure in the friendship growing between us. I didn’t want to ruin it by making a pass at her.
Anyway, she was probably straight. I would have heard if she wasn’t. Wouldn’t I?
It was after nine when the game finally ended. The Bears scraped by with a victory, thanks to a field goal in overtime.
“Have you ever thought about trying to play soccer after school?” Jess asked me. The postgame show had started, but neither of us moved from our places on the couch.
“I wish. Unfortunately, I’m not that good,” I said, and stretched, arching my back, arms over my head. “I’m pretty sure I’d like to coach, though. That’s part of why I want to be a teacher. That, and summers off would be pretty sweet. What about you? Any plans to join the pro tour?”
She frowned a little, hugging a cream-colored pillow to her chest. She even had throw pillows. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Seriously? If anyone at SDU could go pro, it’s you.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. Still frowning.
But I didn’t notice. I was too caught up in the thought of Jess playing the Acura Classic at nearby La Costa, the Sony Ericsson WTA tour, the U.S. Open even, eventually.
“Why not? God, I’d kill for the chance to play pro. You have so much talent, Jess.”
She shook her head again. “No, I don’t. I’m just lucky. It’s not real.”
Beautiful Game 53
Was she serious? “It’s not luck. I’ve seen you play. You’re really good. You’re the real thing.”
“No, I’m not. You don’t know. I was never this good before, back in high school. It’s not real.” Her knuckles whitened as she nearly mangled the pillow.
“What do you mean?” I kept my voice soft, hoping she wasn’t about to shut down again. Talking to Jess felt a little like walking into an unfamiliar body of water at night, aware that the bottom might drop off at any moment.
“Nothing.” Staring at the painting of the storm again, she relinquished her grip on the pillow. “Forget it. I just don’t want to live my whole life like that. It’s okay for now. It’s college. But I want a life someday. I want a normal life, you know?”
I nodded like I understood what she was talking about.
The theme song from M.A.S.H. blared out from the television just then, breaking the relative quiet. I looked up to see the credits roll
Her eyes focused behind me for a moment on the painting of the storm. Her voice was soft. “ La luna brilla debajo del oceano .”
“What did you say?”
We were sitting close together in the darkening room, faces lit by the flickering light from the television screen. She was staring at the painting, her eyes dark with an emotion I couldn’t quite read.
Then she looked back at me, and the haunted look I’d glimpsed faded away. She smiled and knocked her bottle against mine. “I said the moon shines beneath the ocean. Go Bears!”
The game was already half over when we turned it on, but the score was only 7-3, Packers. As one might expect of an NFC
Central showdown, it was a defensive battle. We cheered the players on rowdily, kicked back on the comfortable couch with our feet up on the coffee table. Whenever someone scored or made an impressive play, we slapped hands and Jess whistled between her teeth. She tried to teach me how but to no avail.
52 Kate Christie
At the start of the fourth quarter, Jess glanced at her watch.
“You didn’t have anything planned tonight, did you? I mean, no one’s expecting you?”
Was she asking if I had a girlfriend? “Not a one,” I said.
“What about you?”
“No way.” She laughed a little and looked back at the TV.
“Not me.”
Undercurrents in the conversation. Again, if it had been anyone other than Jess Maxwell, I would have thought there was something more going on. But for some reason, I didn’t want to be into her, as Holly had put it. There was something untouchable about Jess, something good and pure in the friendship growing between us. I didn’t want to ruin it by making a pass at her.
Anyway, she was probably straight. I would have heard if she wasn’t. Wouldn’t I?
It was after nine when the game finally ended. The Bears scraped by with a victory, thanks to a field goal in overtime.
“Have you ever thought about trying to play soccer after school?” Jess asked me. The postgame show had started, but neither of us moved from our places on the couch.
“I wish. Unfortunately, I’m not that good,” I said, and stretched, arching my back, arms over my head. “I’m pretty sure I’d like to coach, though. That’s part of why I want to be a teacher. That, and summers off would be pretty sweet. What about you? Any plans to join the pro tour?”
She frowned a little, hugging a cream-colored pillow to her chest. She even had throw pillows. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Seriously? If anyone at SDU could go pro, it’s you.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. Still frowning.
But I didn’t notice. I was too caught up in the thought of Jess playing the Acura Classic at nearby La Costa, the Sony Ericsson WTA tour, the U.S. Open even, eventually.
“Why not? God, I’d kill for the chance to play pro. You have so much talent, Jess.”
She shook her head again. “No, I don’t. I’m just lucky. It’s not real.”
Beautiful Game 53
Was she serious? “It’s not luck. I’ve seen you play. You’re really good. You’re the real thing.”
“No, I’m not. You don’t know. I was never this good before, back in high school. It’s not real.” Her knuckles whitened as she nearly mangled the pillow.
“What do you mean?” I kept my voice soft, hoping she wasn’t about to shut down again. Talking to Jess felt a little like walking into an unfamiliar body of water at night, aware that the bottom might drop off at any moment.
“Nothing.” Staring at the painting of the storm again, she relinquished her grip on the pillow. “Forget it. I just don’t want to live my whole life like that. It’s okay for now. It’s college. But I want a life someday. I want a normal life, you know?”
I nodded like I understood what she was talking about.
The theme song from M.A.S.H. blared out from the television just then, breaking the relative quiet. I looked up to see the credits roll
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