the back room. Olivia is right on my tail, her eyes flickering between my face and knee. Helena pulls a box from the small refrigerator and places it on the edge of a counter.
“Here, put this under your leg, in case it drips.” Helena hands me a towel.
“Mystery concoction?” I pat the other side of the table and Olivia sits. Her eyes glaze over and I hope she doesn’t feel guilty like she did this to me.
“Yes, seaweed with some anti-inflammatory oils.” Helena soaks a giant roll of the plant in a metal bowl.
Olivia doesn’t say anything as Helena wraps the leaves around my knee and sets the timer for twenty minutes. When she leaves, I turn to face Olivia and her eyes are swimming with tears.
“Hey, stop. I’m okay.” I wipe under her eye as a tear escapes. “Why are you crying?”
“I feel so bad. I should have taken it easy. You’re still new and it was obvious that you were hurt at one point.” She shakes her head, the tears still threatening. “I should have known with your scars. I didn’t ask the questions I should have.”
“I’ll be fine.” Before I can catch myself, I wrap my arm around her small shoulders and tug her into my side. My chin rests on the crown of her head. I love how she fits against me. The overwhelming scent of pineapple nearly makes me drool. Something else fills the air, sweet like cake, and I wonder if she tastes as good. After a few seconds, she shakes her head and pulls away.
“My old studio was so small and no one took it seriously like Helena does. Especially when it came to rehab. I know you’re athletic, but I shouldn’t have assumed. You know, considering your scars look like more than just a pulled ligament.” She sighs, wiping under her eyes. “I’m sorry, and I know I need to stop saying that, but I am.”
I know it’s another dick move to try and use her vulnerability to gain some insight, but, Jesus Christ, I hate walking on glass every time we talk. Even when we had coffee, the topic of her life was totally off the table after my stellar idea to tell her I hate small talk. It was a major turn on to listen to her talk about baseball for an hour, but I still want to know her. Talking about music, food, and sports shouldn’t be our entire friendship.
“It’s my own fault. I wasn’t truthful when I was filling out that damn paperwork. I have no one to blame but myself for not letting you know the extent of it. Why do you think you did something?” I shift as the gelatinous goop on my knee hardens; it feels better already. “I’m not mad at you or anything.”
She rolls her eyes and stands. “I’m just used to being blamed, I guess. Little sister syndrome.” Her eyes don’t meet mine when she says this, but the moment they do, I know she’s lying.
There’s something about Olivia that reminds me so much of Cam when we were little. When he moved to the States from Brazil, no one in my class wanted anything to do with him. He was different because he didn’t talk like we did and he always had weird things to eat at lunch. Not to mention, he was two feet taller than all of us on a good day.
But like with Olivia, I had some weird connection to him. So I blew all my chances of being the most popular eight-year-old and told him I thought Leonardo was the best Ninja Turtle, even if I was scared shitless he’d pummel my face in. We became best friends instantly, and by the time we graduated, he was more popular than I was.
My grandmother always said I was some kind of tribal healer in a former life because I always latch on to people to help them. Olivia is no different, and she is a thousand times better to look at than Cam’s usually busted mug and his nasty cauliflower ears. The weirdest part of all of this is I think she can help me more than anyone. I’m going to take every chance I can to prove myself right, even if I have no idea how.
***
The dilapidated field at the edge of campus barely constitutes a diamond, but
“Here, put this under your leg, in case it drips.” Helena hands me a towel.
“Mystery concoction?” I pat the other side of the table and Olivia sits. Her eyes glaze over and I hope she doesn’t feel guilty like she did this to me.
“Yes, seaweed with some anti-inflammatory oils.” Helena soaks a giant roll of the plant in a metal bowl.
Olivia doesn’t say anything as Helena wraps the leaves around my knee and sets the timer for twenty minutes. When she leaves, I turn to face Olivia and her eyes are swimming with tears.
“Hey, stop. I’m okay.” I wipe under her eye as a tear escapes. “Why are you crying?”
“I feel so bad. I should have taken it easy. You’re still new and it was obvious that you were hurt at one point.” She shakes her head, the tears still threatening. “I should have known with your scars. I didn’t ask the questions I should have.”
“I’ll be fine.” Before I can catch myself, I wrap my arm around her small shoulders and tug her into my side. My chin rests on the crown of her head. I love how she fits against me. The overwhelming scent of pineapple nearly makes me drool. Something else fills the air, sweet like cake, and I wonder if she tastes as good. After a few seconds, she shakes her head and pulls away.
“My old studio was so small and no one took it seriously like Helena does. Especially when it came to rehab. I know you’re athletic, but I shouldn’t have assumed. You know, considering your scars look like more than just a pulled ligament.” She sighs, wiping under her eyes. “I’m sorry, and I know I need to stop saying that, but I am.”
I know it’s another dick move to try and use her vulnerability to gain some insight, but, Jesus Christ, I hate walking on glass every time we talk. Even when we had coffee, the topic of her life was totally off the table after my stellar idea to tell her I hate small talk. It was a major turn on to listen to her talk about baseball for an hour, but I still want to know her. Talking about music, food, and sports shouldn’t be our entire friendship.
“It’s my own fault. I wasn’t truthful when I was filling out that damn paperwork. I have no one to blame but myself for not letting you know the extent of it. Why do you think you did something?” I shift as the gelatinous goop on my knee hardens; it feels better already. “I’m not mad at you or anything.”
She rolls her eyes and stands. “I’m just used to being blamed, I guess. Little sister syndrome.” Her eyes don’t meet mine when she says this, but the moment they do, I know she’s lying.
There’s something about Olivia that reminds me so much of Cam when we were little. When he moved to the States from Brazil, no one in my class wanted anything to do with him. He was different because he didn’t talk like we did and he always had weird things to eat at lunch. Not to mention, he was two feet taller than all of us on a good day.
But like with Olivia, I had some weird connection to him. So I blew all my chances of being the most popular eight-year-old and told him I thought Leonardo was the best Ninja Turtle, even if I was scared shitless he’d pummel my face in. We became best friends instantly, and by the time we graduated, he was more popular than I was.
My grandmother always said I was some kind of tribal healer in a former life because I always latch on to people to help them. Olivia is no different, and she is a thousand times better to look at than Cam’s usually busted mug and his nasty cauliflower ears. The weirdest part of all of this is I think she can help me more than anyone. I’m going to take every chance I can to prove myself right, even if I have no idea how.
***
The dilapidated field at the edge of campus barely constitutes a diamond, but
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