Page 5 of Play With Me
But for Cap, I’d do anything.
I glanced over at Jude, but we were too far away, and it was too dark over here to see anything except his family crowded around him.
My heart clenched. He’d looked like a gallant prince or something when he’d been focused in mock battle with Cap, his arm outstretched behind him like they were fencing. Now he just looked broken.
I pushed my glasses up my nose, trying to get a comfortable position in the bush.
“You know, I had a tree like that in my backyard when I was a kid. Back home in North Carolina, before we moved here.”
Silence.
“I fell out of it.” I realized my mistake the moment I said it. “I don’t mean…it’s not like it’s inherently dangerous to sit in a tree. I just wasn’t as good a climber as you.”
More silence. At least he was listening.
“It wasn’t even the tree’s fault. It was my big brother’s. His name was Christian, and he was much braver than me.” Foolhardy, more like it. But still. I cleared my throat, continuing. “The tree branches were way up over our heads, but Christian stacked two chairs on top of each other to try to get me to climb up myself. ‘You can’t be a scaredy-cat your whole life, Nora!’ he said.”
My chest twisted at the memory. I used to get so mad at Christian for trying to knock the timidity out of me. He’d been a real jerk back then, even though I knew he was trying to help.
“He used to tell me that the only time I ever had any fun was when I was sleeping. I was a sleepwalker. Did you know that? Still am.” I glanced at the tree but saw no movement. Maybe I should have told a sleepwalking story. Jude loved those. He was also better at telling stories than I was, though I’d learned from him that once you had a captive audience, you needed to stay on track and make a point.
Stick to the chairs, Nora.
“It wasn’t very smart of me,” I said, “but I decided to do it just to get Christian to be quiet. The chairs were wobbly, though, and by the time I got onto the top one, they were starting to fall.”
I shuddered. The memory of those chairs giving way still rattled me, even all those years later.
“I yelled at Christian to hold them, but he told me I had to be brave and do it myself. I jumped up and grabbed a branch, but I was never very coordinated, and I didn’t grab on properly. I couldn’t hang on, so I fell out of it. I broke my arm. Can you believe it? My dad was so mad at Christian, but also at me, for listening to him.”
So was I. I don’t know why I’d told that story when it still bothered me so much.
Growing up, I’d always been the quiet kid with her nose stuck in a book. I looked like one too: my childhood photos are characterized by corduroy pants and argyle sweaters, my hair in the same two long braids I wear today.
I watched as the adventurous kids rode skateboards and swung on rope swings. I didn’t do those things myself. Christian was like that. My childhood best friend Callie had been like that, too. She always ran the races and acted in the school plays. Later, she dated the bad boy in town, while I stayed home and covered for her. Now, she was mayor of our hometown.
As an adult, I chose a sensible, quiet career, and had hobbies that kept my feet safely on the ground. The men I dated—who were few and far between—were quiet and timid like me. I never felt much for them, but I knew they wouldn’t break me, either.
The fact was, whenever I took risks, I got into trouble. Just like Christian and the chairs.
So, I didn’t take them. Instead, I lived my quiet life behind flashy people like Callie and Jude, wondering if there was something more for me, but not willing to stick my neck out to see for sure.
Until now.
A crackle sounded in the tree and Cap’s face appeared as he bent down to look at me, maybe to check if I was still there.
“Hey, buddy.” I waved.
His face quickly retreated.
Another wave of guilt threatened to wash over me, but I reminded myself of the mantra I’d been repeating for months, ever since I’d hit submit on the application for the Waldorf Archival College in London. And especially in the last few weeks, when I’d gotten the acceptance & full bursary confirmation email, along with an invitation to start early on their fast-track program, due to my previous schooling and work experience.
No more living in everyone else’s shadow.
I wished I had all the time in the world to sit here with Cap. But I didn’t. Not when I was leaving Quince Valley in a matter of weeks.
“For the record, big guy,” I said. “I think you’re like Christian. And your dad. You’re brave and smart. You’re going to do great things with your life.” His shiny brown hair fell over his eye as he retracted his face back into hiding. He’d be gorgeous too, like a dark-haired version of Jude. He had the same thick lashes, the same high cheekbones and long nose. The same smile.
A sudden wave of sadness washed over me as I looked back at Jude sitting on the ground, his arms resting on his raised knees, head hung low. To my surprise, his dad had sat down next to him, patting his back. If this were a documentary, I’d get that shot. They were lit up by the streetlight a few feet away. Jude was the picture of pain. And soon, I was only going to make it worse. It had been excruciating being around my best friend lately, knowing I had this big hairy secret I couldn’t tell him. One that would break his and his son’s heart.
