The Season of Shay and Dane by Lucy Lacefield Read Free Book Online Page A

the front door slam shut while I was on the phone.
    I decide it’s worth it
to go to the kitchen and heat something up. My stomach’s been growling since before
I left practice.

8
     
     
    shay
    I’m not letting myself
admit that I took a little extra time getting ready this morning, or that I was
restless sleeping last night. I’ll chalk it up to the fact that this is the
first day back after spring break.
    It’s 6:55 and there are
other people already here tying up a few last minute things before their first
students arrive.
    I look around my room—everything
ready to go. It’ll stay this organized for about one more hour, before the
undergraduates are unleashed upon it. Oh well, we’re halfway through the
semester, by now some of them are beginning to understand this is the last haul
to pass the course and become a little more serious about their effort, and that
proves to give me somewhat of a break commanding them.
    I look at the time on
my watch; three minutes have passed. If I’m going to do this I better get going
to the front door. I take a slow breath in, not to relieving. I can feel I’m
slightly trembling just inhaling.
    “Okay, now or never,” I
say softly into the air.
    I leave the door
unlocked, walking out of my room—with a back thought—stepping back in to grab
my satchel. How obvious would I be standing there looking aloof at the bench—no
bag. I grab it and rush down the corridor to the stairwell to get to the front
door.
    As I’m getting nearer
the entrance I find myself going a little faster not to miss him right at the stroke
of seven—if he did happen to come. And then I begin to realize how much I’ve
been fantasizing about something that is more of an anomaly than a real
possibility and the feeling of disappointment starts to set in. But I make
myself a promise to follow through no matter what, urging my footsteps to keep
going and get outside. The bench can’t be seen from just standing at the doors.
I’ll have to actually walk down the steps that are overcome on both sides with
giant, decades old shrubbery, to even get a look.
    Oh my God!
    Now what?
    His back is to me—he
hasn’t seen me yet—I could fast go back inside!
    Too late.
     
     
    dane
    I begin to count the
empty buses as they go past to collect students. I’m sure the coffee is getting
cold by now. I can’t throw it away, it’s my only excuse to be sitting here on
this bench— an offering —an excuse.
    What’ve I got to
lose—it won’t be the first time I’ve looked ridiculous in front of a girl. I’ll
just tell her that I thought the least I could do was replace her coffee and
see how she’s doing—any bruising? What am I saying—she’s not one of my
teammates! Jesus! Why am I so nervous?
    I twist my wrist to
look at my watch out of the sun’s glare. 7:00—ish. It could be a minute or two
fast or slow. If it’s slow I may have already missed her by now; it was about
this time that I clobbered her yesterday. For that matter I don’t even know if
she would show up here the very next day, what with classes Monday, Wednesday,
Friday and Tuesday, Thursday, most of them. Being here’s a roll of the dice.
    . . . I’ll risk it.
    Not even my dreams
could escape the thought of her. I tossed and turned all night, getting up once
to saunter into the kitchen and get a glass of water. They came one after the
other. . .  she was there in the stands waving the school colors as I crossed
the finish line. . . and with Kate laughing at my mishaps, as I took joy in
seeing them smile together. . . I saw her sitting with me on the porch swing back
in Kansas 50 years from now—looking the very same way. . . and I saw her in my
bed, softly breathing, asleep in my arms.
    I sit the coffee on the
sidewalk beside the bench. My hand’s started to sweat a little, maybe from just
clinging to it for the walk here, or from my nerves that seem to be running way
too high. Anyway, if she does finally let me touch her hand and