Catching Jordan

Catching Jordan - Section 8

a debate

Ty:

Damn, he’s fine.

Damn, he’s a good quarterback.

Damn, he’s nice and sweet.

Damn, he’s a good kisser.

Damn, he’s buff.

Damn, he’s great to his family.

Damn, now that I know about Henry,

I’m not sure Ty and I are right for each other.

Henry:

I love the way his curls f  lop around and hang across his forehead.

I love how he never just lets me win. I have to earn it.

I love how he touches me just because.

I love his loyalty.

I love how when we sleep head-to-toe,

he always finds a reason to sleep head-to-head instead.

I love his unconditional support.

I love his spontaneity and crazy sense of humor.

I love his stupid dances.

I love…him.

#

carter

the count? 6 days until alabama

Ten thirty a.m.

In the potting shed, sitting up against a bag of fertilizer.

I just can’t go to school today. I write in my journal:

Love hurts worse than getting slammed by a 250-pound linebacker

After playing war in silence yesterday afternoon, and except for saying, “I don’t want anything to change,” Henry didn’t give an excuse for why he didn’t kiss me. In his defense, I didn’t ask again either. I just sat there hoping he’d change his mind.

Since I never skip, Mom came in to check on me this morning.

“Is it your father?” she asked. “Because he feels horrible about how he behaved at dinner the other night.”

I shook my head.

“Is it Ty?”

“No,” I replied, burying my face in the pillow like Henry does. Remembering what Mike said yesterday, I blurted out, “Oh yeah, Mom, I’m dating Ty now, I guess.”

She smiled and clasped her hands together. “Good. Your father and I like him very much. Come downstairs for some breakfast if you feel better.”

I still don’t feel better.

My cell rings. Before checking the caller ID, I try to guess who it might be. It’s either Ty or Henry. Please be Henry. Please be Henry. I look at the screen. It’s Carter.

“Yo,” I say.

“Woods, what the hell are you doing?” he says. “Get your ass to school or Coach won’t let you come to practice this afternoon.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

Carter doesn’t respond. We’re great friends, but like with JJ, we don’t spend a lot of time talking about hopes and dreams and puppy dogs and shit. We’re just good friends who hang out, eat, and play ball together.