The Romeo Club

Two days later, I stood next to my parents beneath an umbrella at the cemetery as Mrs. Foster was laid to rest. Rain spattered against the headstones, while the wind whipped through the trees. It was like the sky was crying too.

The ceremony ended with everyone singing Amazing Grace. Tears streaked down my face, and I dabbed at them with my tissue. Everyone lined up to give their condolences to the family. Mom and Dad walked ahead of me, followed by Drake. When it was my turn, I hugged Carver. He held me tight.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I-I might stop by later.”

“I’ll be home,” I said, giving him one last squeeze.

By the time we got back to my house, the rain had let up to a light drizzle. So I went inside, took off my dress clothes, and threw on my jogging pants and sweatshirt. Once changed, I snatched my soccer ball from the closet and took the dog out into the backyard.

At first, he looked at his house then glanced up at me. I knelt beside him and he rested his head against me. “Your Mama was buried today, boy. She won’t be coming back. But I’ll help take care of you.”

With one last scratch behind his ears, I rolled my ball into the rain soaked grass and raced after it. At first, Jimbo lay on the ground and watched me.

Trey walked across the wet grass, hands shoved into his pockets. His gaze met mine. “Do you have a minute?”

My pulse roared in my ears. “Um—yeah. Wh-what’s going on?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes focused on my soccer ball. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for how I’ve been acting lately. I’ve been a total dick to you, and well, I’m sorry. It’s just, I was so mad at you.” He chewed his bottom lip. “The truth is, I miss hanging out with you. And I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Trey, I … ”

A car door sounded from next door and Jimbo’s ears perked up. A moment later, Carver appeared.

Trey followed my gaze, his jaw tightened. “I should probably head back home. Maybe I’ll catch you later.” He hurried away before I could tell him I accepted his apology.

Carver watched Trey’s quick retreat. “Am I interrupting?”

“No. You’re fine.”

He bent down to pet Jimbo, who’d loped to his side. “Hey boy, I hope you’re being good.”

“He is.” I dribbled the ball over to him.

Carver’s puffy eyes met mine. He unbuttoned his suit coat and set it on the picnic table. Next, he slipped off his dress shoes and socks, then rolled up his shirt sleeves. He glanced at me, and I knew exactly what he needed and wanted.

I passed him the ball with the outside of my foot. Like me, soccer was home for him. As he ran down my makeshift field, I tore after him. It took me a minute, but I caught up to him. He flipped the ball up with his feet, and juggled it on his knees. Then he was off again.

This time, I cut him off and played defense. I watched the ball for a second, then shifted my eyes to his hips. In seventh grade, he’d taught me to watch what direction a player’s hips went, because that’d be the direction they took the ball.

A second later, I made a play for the ball, and stole it. I caught it on the top of my shoe and juggled it. Another move he’d taught me. I dribbled back the other way, but Carver easily caught up. Back and forth we went. Sometimes, I’d get a shot off into my goal, other times it was him. After several times back and forth, Jimbo decided to join us. He ran alongside whoever had the ball, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

As we weaved down the field, I saw the tears running down Carver’s face. But we didn’t stop or talk. We just played. We left everything on the field. Our hurt. Our tears. Our fears. It was just us and the ball.

When darkness set in, we were both covered in sweat and mud. Carver took one more shot, which of course, went in. Without a word, we headed over to the picnic table and plopped down on top of it.

I stripped my sweatshirt off, and used the sleeve of it to wipe my brow.

“I remember when I taught you to play,” he said at last. “You used to always come into my yard with your ball and try to copy my moves.”

I laughed. “Yeah, and you always tried to send me home.”

His lips twitched at the memory. “But my mom yelled at me for doing that, and then she made me teach you how to play.” He toyed with the buttons on the sleeve of his shirt. “That day she said, ‘Someday, you’ll be glad you helped her … she’s not gonna be a little girl forever. Just you remember that.” His voice cracked.

I quirked an eyebrow at him and stared at the mud splatters on his dress pants. “She was a wise woman.”

He reached over and ruffled my damp hair. “Yeah, she was. But seriously, Del, I don’t know how I would’ve made it through this week without you.”

My cheeks warmed as I glanced at him. “You would’ve managed.” A door shut from the other side of my yard, and I saw Trey taking the trash out. He looked in our direction and gave an awkward wave.

This was the second time, I’d seen him today. What was going on with him?

Carver waved back. “Do you want me to go so you two can hang out or something?”