“Trevor,” I call, breathless.
He turns. “Oh, hi, Addison.”
“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to watch the rest of the game?”
“I … no, actually.”
“Why not?”
He takes a swig from his soda. “I just feel a little stiff. Thought a walk would help.”
“That’s a good excuse, but what’s the real reason?”
He smiles. “Did you inherit some of your father’s lie-detector genes?”
“Maybe,” I say, even though the only bit of Discernment I have has to do with manipulating time. The reason I know he’s lying is because he’s not acting like himself. He’s been even quieter than normal all night, which isn’t saying a lot, because he’s pretty quiet all the time.
“I guess even though I’m usually good at not thinking about ‘would’ve-beens,’ I’m having a hard time tonight. I’ll blame it on the team we’re playing.”
“Let’s just blame everything on them.”
“Sounds good.”
I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He just quietly drinks his soda. I know the would’ve-been that he’s having a hard time not thinking about—his injury. But I wonder if there’s more to it. “What are you thinking about?”
He rubs his shoulder. “The doctor says I can throw again next week, but I realize I’m never going to play competitively again.”
I nod.
He takes another long drink from his soda, finishing it off. He seems to be stalling, maybe waiting for me to leave, but I don’t want to. I want him to talk. I want to be here for him. “It’s not that I’m not strong enough,” he finally says.
“Of course not,” I agree too quickly, then laugh a little. Technically I shouldn’t know that, but I just happened to have seen him with his shirt off and took plenty of time appreciating the evidence of his statement.
“I am.”
“I know. I just agreed.”
“But you’re laughing. You don’t think I am.” He looks at the soda can he’s holding, turns it sideways, and then crushes it between his hands.
I laugh harder. “Was that meant as proof?”
He smiles. “Yes, actually.”
“You totally got that out of Ninja Wars Two. I remember that. Naoto’s eyes are like bugging out of his head while he crushes a soda can.” I bite my lip to stop my laughing. “You’re such a nerd.”
“You’re the one who remembered the comic. You can’t call me a nerd.”
“Total nerd.”
He grabs me by the wrist, pulls me toward him, and somehow lifts me up and is holding me off the ground, his arms wrapped around my thighs, before I can blink.
My heart is immediately in my throat. “Okay, that’s much better proof of your strength,” I say, patting his shoulders. “I believe you. You can put me down now.”
He doesn’t move. His face is serious again. “It’s not that I’m not strong enough to play. It’s just that specific motion.”
“Throwing?” My hands are gripping his shoulders, their solidness further proof of his claim.
“Yeah.”
So a Paranormal precisely targeted his throwing muscles? It’s hard for me to believe someone would do that on purpose. But what else could it be? I have to find out who. Trevor loosens his hold, and I slide gently to the ground. A little light-headed, I take a few wobbly steps back.
“Tonight, watching Duke play, was hard.” He pauses for a long moment, and I don’t want to push him into continuing, so I hold my tongue. “Do you ever feel like you do something or are something for so long that it defines you?”
If only he knew. “Yes. I know exactly how that feels.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Sometimes I feel like I’m slowly floating away. I’m constantly looking for something to grab on to so I don’t lose myself.” Mostly because without my ability to define me, I’m not sure who I am or how others see me.
He nods like he understands exactly what I’m talking about. “I know I was only a junior last year, but I had my whole future planned. Now I feel like I’m still trying to hold on to what I was, even though the thing that made me that person is gone. And everyone else seems to be hanging on to that person too … man, are you sure you want a future best friend who is such a whiner? Just ignore me. I’ll be back to pretending tomorrow.”
His thumb is hooked in the front pocket of his jeans, and I have an overwhelming desire to hold his hand. To comfort him. But I know I can’t. He has Stephanie for that. I’m supposed to punch him on the shoulder and tell him to buck up or something. I settle for a speech. “Whining is definitely something best friends are allowed to do in front of each other—it’s in the handbook. And you don’t have to pretend with me, Trevor. You are more than a football player to me. I didn’t even know that version of you. I only know who you are now—a great friend, easy to talk to and be around, an amazing artist, an awesome brother … a total nerd.” I smile. “And that’s just what I’ve learned in the last few weeks.”
The distant lights from the stadium mask half his face in shadows. “Thanks, Addison. And for the record, whatever you left behind, whatever has you feeling like you’re floating here, doesn’t define you either.”