Gin

When I walk into play practice after school Monday, I give Chase’s green “grass” a scowl. I saw him at lunch earlier and should have scowled then, but he acted like he didn’t even know me.

I know there’s nothing between us, but I’d gotten used to his nightly texts. When we passed in the hallway, he’d started give me a look that felt loaded with secret meaning.

But then he ignored me all weekend. Not one text. It’s stupid for me to be acting like a scorned girlfriend—I knew when I saw him give Sophie a rose Friday morning that Chase was never really into me.

Would I have really wanted him to text me in the middle of the night Friday, drunk, after having sex with Sophie?

No. I’m constantly fighting the knowledge that the fantasy Chase I’ve had a crush on since hitting puberty doesn’t really exist. He’s slept with so many girls that he for sure qualifies as a man whore.

I’m uptight; he’s outgoing. I have two friends, and he has two hundred. I’m an artist, and he’s an athlete. I hate Roper High School and everything it stands for, and he’s pretty much the poster boy for it.

I tell my painting crew to come up with a plan for a streetlamp and get started on it, then I put in my earbuds and get lost in the wall of lockers I’m painting on a sheet of plywood.

It’s nice that this project requires no creativity. Once I’ve gotten the style down for one locker, I just repeat it and work my way down the line. It lets me stay lost in the thoughts in my head.

I’ll never be like Chase. I may not be an experienced sex goddess, but when I do have sex, it’ll mean something. People treat sex like entertainment, and I don’t get it. It’s the most intimate thing you can do with another person.

Given all the girls Chase has slept with, sex can’t be much more than a transaction for him. Not that I ever wanted to sleep with him, I just wanted him to notice me. Talk to me. And he did, so I got what I wanted. It’s time to move on.

I’m on the second to last locker when a tap on my shoulder makes me turn around, taking out an earbud as I do.

“Hi, boss,” Chase says from behind me. “Need to me paint you some more grass?”

My mouth falls open with surprise as I look up at him.

Words, Gin. Say some words.

“Uh…yeah. I mean…what are you doing here?”

A corner of his mouth turns up slightly in a grin. “I’m your volunteer, remember?”

“Yeah, but today too?”

He nods. “Every day. You said you’re behind, so what can I do?”

“Um…” I shake my head, trying to think. “I need to assemble some sets, if you want to help with that.”

“Sure.”

“Okay, just let me finish this, and then we’ll do it.”

I look away from him, trying to appear indifferent. My heart is racing, but he doesn’t know that.

“Hey,” he says in a soft tone, leaning in to speak in my ear. “I’m sorry I’ve been quiet. I had some thinking to do.”

“Don’t you mean fucking?” I turn to look up at him, my brows arched.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t go Friday night.”

“Why not?”

He looks over at the freshmen painting their lamppost, who are all trying to appear immersed in their work.

“Can we talk about this when we’re alone?” Chase asks me.

“Yeah, sure.”

He has the damp hair and soapy scent again, and it’s impossible not to be distracted by it. When I’m running low on paint, he pours more into my tray for me, but other than that, he stands next to me in silence until people start filing out of play practice.

“Do you know where the shop room is?” I ask him.

“Yeah.”

I walk over to the wall and take a key from a peg there. “This is the key. Can you go in there and get us some hammers and nails?”

“Sure. What size nails?”

I give him a blank look, then hold out my thumb and index finger to show him the length I think we’ll need to build the sets. He grins and takes the key.

My crew of underclassmen all leave while he’s gone. Everyone else is heading out too, when Madison approaches me, a confused look on her face.

“What’s Chase doing hanging out with you?”

“We’re not hanging out, we’re building sets.”

“Yeah, but…why?”

“For the play. So you guys aren’t standing on an empty stage.”

She gives me an exasperated sigh and puts a hand on her hip. “You know what I mean. Why is he helping you?”

“I guess you’d have to ask him that.” I shrug and put my earbud back in, dismissing her.

I finish up the lockers, and I’m at the backstage sink washing out brushes when Chase returns, two hammers in one hand and a plastic container of nails in the other.

“So?” I look over at him.

“So?”

“So what were you thinking about all weekend?”

His expression turns from relaxed to serious, and he runs a hand through his hair.

“A lot of things. I realized that you’re right about…stuff. And also that you’re way too good for me.”

It feels like every ounce of blood in my body rushes to my head at once. “What? Too good for me? You, I mean?”

He nods and walks closer to the sink, speaking in a low tone even though we’re alone.

“I get it, Gin. Why you said no. Why you were right to. And I admire you for it.”

I switch off the water faucet. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“It wasn’t completely sudden. I’d started to…wonder, I guess.”

“Did something happen to Sophie Friday night?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, I wasn’t there.”

I tear off a paper towel and dry my hands. “Chase, are you okay? And what do you mean about me being too good for you? Aren’t we just friends?”

He sets the hammer and nails down on a table and leans back against its edge.

“I hope we’re friends, but I don’t feel like I even deserve that at this point.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m everything you said I was. Captain of a team of guys who…” He cringes and looks away. “I’m ashamed of what I’ve done. What we’ve all done on my watch.”

I’m so floored by his turnaround that I’m not even sure what to say. I let a few seconds pass before I speak again.

“So then…what are you going to do?”

He scrubs his hands over his face. “That’s what I spent the weekend thinking about. And I don’t know. I can’t do it anymore, I know that.”

“Can’t do what?”

“The Sweet Sixteen. I’ll never give out another rose, and I’ll never go to that party again.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. I just look at him. It’s one of the few times that a response doesn’t fly out of my mouth before I even think about it. Chase has left me stunned speechless.

“Well…that’s a big decision,” I finally manage. “You may want to sleep on it a few more nights.”

“No, I’m sure. It’s the right decision, don’t you think?”

“I do, but…it won’t be easy.”

“I know that. And, Gin, I also decided I’m not playing any more games. Not with anyone, not ever. So I’m telling you straight up that I like you—a lot. Not just as a friend. But like I said, you’re way out of my league.”

I laugh at that. “I’m out of your league?”

Chase nods seriously. “You’re smart and brave and compassionate. I’m none of those things.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe you’re a work in progress.”

He scoffs and smiles. “I’ve got a long way to go, then.”

“You still look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“It’s a lot to process.”

“And you aren’t going to tell me what prompted this epiphany?”

“I’ll tell you that it started with you. And that without you, it never would have happened.”

Again, I’m floored. Chase doesn’t just see me now; he’s actually listening to me too. It’s an overwhelming, heady sensation.

“So I have an idea,” I say. “Why don’t we leave the set building for another day, and instead we can go to my house and have dinner with my mom. I think she’s making lasagna tonight.”

“You don’t have to teach swim lessons tonight?”

“No. I mean, if you’re not hungry or you already have—"

“I’m starving, and I’d love to.”

I tuck my hair behind both ears and smile. “Good. She makes great lasagna. And, Chase, I’m not too good to be your friend.”

“Would you have liked me as more? If I wasn’t such an irredeemable douchebag?”

“I don’t know.”

His face falls, and I feel like this may be the funniest, most ironic moment of my life.

“Maybe,” I say, shrugging. “Probably.”

He takes a step closer, turning an ear toward me. “Keep going…”

I roll my eyes. “You know the answer to this. Yes. Obviously, yes.”

“I didn’t know. You’re pretty tough to read.”

“Well…now you know.” I walk over to my backpack and pick it up from the ground, sliding it on. “Ready to go, douchebag?”

“Ah, shit. You’re gonna start calling me that now, aren’t you?”

“I’m sure you’ve been called worse. And if not, you’re gonna be soon.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “Don’t remind me. Tonight, let’s just hang out and eat lasagna.”

I turn off the stage lights, and we leave the darkened theater together.