Tanner looks confused as he pops open his meal. “No, why?”
Rawley ignores me, instead turning the TV to some drama, one that apparently Archie likes.
“Arch, get out here and eat. I put your show on!”
On screen, a man in fatigues appears, a gun at his side. He salutes another man, a civilian of sorts, I guess? And a moment later— “gnarly,” Tanner chides around a mouthful of food as the soldier blows the head off the other man. The head, CGI as all hell but still creepy, rolls down a ravine where a wolf claims it, running off with it by the tongue.
“This is Archie’s favorite show?” I ask, expecting a joke. But when he runs out, not even noticing I’m there because his focus is immediately on the screen, I realize, it’s no joke.
Rawley, mid bite, looks at me. “Don’t tell mom he watched this.”
I don’t have time to process that the boys are asking me to keep a secret, because Tanner thumps his fist into my thigh. “Thanks for the food, Coach.” He bites into his chicken tenders, spotting the other bag, the small one I didn’t pass to Rawley. “What’s in the bag?”
A commercial flashes across the screen, and it’s then that Archie turns, Reuben in his hands, and spots me. “Hiya, Coach,” he offers.
I lift a hand and say hello, impressed by the amount of Russian dressing already on his face after just a few bites. He smiles, then turns, and falls entranced by the psoriasis ad.
I pass Tanner the bag. “It’s your new jersey. The replacement. Your mom said–”
“Oh shit, Coach, that reminds me. Thanks for fixing my jersey. It looks so dope.” He extends his hand, and I clap mine to his. “I appreciate it.”
I’m not surprised by Tanner’s manners. I’ve alwaysknown Tanner Colt to be a good kid. One of the best to come through my classroom and field. But in contrast with so many other students I’ve come into contact with, it does always blow me away a little. His maturity for his age is astounding, and I have to think that Clara June is the reason for that.
“He almost cried,” Rawley teases, and I notice that it’s just a light jest—not the mean, bullying way teenage brothers usually fight. There’s a certain respect there, one they have for one another, and maybe they don’t even know that’s what it is yet, but I can see it.
“For real,” Tanner says, shoving way too many french fries into his mouth.
“I brought you this, too,” I tell him, pulling the empty shadow box from the bag. “Thought you could put the original in it, and hang it. That way when you’re a famous football player, you have your first varsity jersey to show MTVCribswhen they come visit your mansion.”
At that, Tanner and Rawley both erupt into laughter. So much laughter that Rawley wipes at his eye, and I think for a split second, damn, I’m funny.
“Cribs? That’s like, retro TV, Coach,” Tanner finally says, shaking his head.
I shrug. “You get the idea.”
He smiles, their laughter fading as they refocus on food. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.”
“Cribs,” Rawley laughs. “Yeah, I’ll watch him onCribs, just as soon asThree’s Companyis over.”
“Totally different decades, not even the same thing,” I counter, but the boys just laugh. And I do, too.
Then I spot a glass perfume bottle, the liquid inside no longer a tame amber or pale pink, the way perfume is typically colored. This perfume is… dark blue? With… “What's floating in that bottle?” I ask, a little bit of fear in my voice because— “Did it move?” I bend down, staring at the bottle, gold letters in cursive telling me it’s something called J’Adore. Something inside that bottle definitely moves.
Archie turns, abandoning the violent TV drama to face me. His little blue eyes narrow, prodding me like a bayonet. “You didn’t see nothin’,” he warns, his voice fierce as it can be for five years old.
Rawley presses a fist to his lips to prevent his laughter from spilling over.
Tanner nudges me. “You heard the man.”
I raise my hands and show Archie my palms in complicit innocence. “I didn’t see anything.”
A smile spreads across his face. “Thanks!” and with that, he’s back to TV and sauerkraut.
“Worms,” Tanner offers quietly, and I glance back at the bottle of what used to be perfume and nod, seeing it now.
“Do I want to know what the blue is?” I ask, but it’s rhetorical because I find myself shaking my head. “Anyway, if you need help with that shadow box, I can help you. Otherwise, how’s the independent study going? How’s your history paper on the revolutionary war going?”
Tanner nods to the stack of papers on the coffee table. The coffee table that, like the floor, must surely exist as objects cannot hover and float, and yet I’m not certain of its existence because I only believe in things I can see. I snatch the packet and sift through the papers as he updates me on the progress.
