I drop the suitcase I just pul ed out of the closet.
“Henry?” I say, gasping. “I’m not going anywhere with Henry.”
“Yes—you are. Henry has worked too hard and too long on getting into Michigan to blow it now. He deserves this. And you and I are going to support him.”
I nod and avert my eyes, which are starting to tear up again.
Dad sighs. “Why can’t you and Henry work through whatever has been going on since September?”
“You should talk to him about this, Dad. Not me. I’ve been ready to work through it for weeks and weeks.”
Dad shuts the door, comes back in, and picks up the footbal , twirling it in his hands. “What happened exactly?”
“What? You don’t know?”
“Nope.”
“Honest to God?”
“Honest to God.”
I touch the plastic footbal charm. “Did you know that Henry liked me? As, um, more than a friend?”
“Sure. Who didn’t?”
“Me.”
“Well, we al thought you weren’t interested.”
This conversation with Dad is going far better than I ever could’ve imagined. Who is this strange Donovan Woods impersonator? “When I found out that Henry likes me, wel liked me, as more than a friend, I went to him. I told him I was up for it. For trying…you know…to have a relationship?”
Dad nods.
“He said we couldn’t date, but that we would stil be friends. But he got weird anyway. He got mad about Ty and said some mean things. He never stopped to think about how much he was hurting me.”
“What did he say about Ty?”
I can’t tel Dad about how Ty didn’t want me and Henry sharing a bed, so I say, “I told Henry that I couldn’t do something with him because I was going to hang out with Ty. Then he said al this crap about Ty trying to control everything, and that I let everyone control me, which is probably true, but Henry just went nuts, Dad.”
“Sounds like Henry was jealous. His pride was hurt. So he acted like an ass. Every guy does that from time So he acted like an ass. Every guy does that from time to time.”
“I get that. But I’ve been trying to make up, but he doesn’t even return my cal s.”
Dad twirls the bal again. “So do you stil like him?”
“I loved the old Henry. I barely know this new Henry.”
“So it sounds like even if you went to him and told him how much you love him, it wouldn’t matter, right?”
“Right. ’Cause I already tried. Doesn’t that suck?”
Dad smiles. “A wise man once said, ‘Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.’”
“Who the hel said that? Gandhi?”
Dad laughs. “Charlie Brown.”
“I thought comics were supposed to be funny.”
Dad tosses the bal to me. “One thing I learned a long time ago is that even if you think you’re meant to be with someone, that doesn’t necessarily mean you get to be with them.”
Sighing, I laugh. “You’re depressing too, Dad.”
Thinking of Mom, I say, “Does that mean you, uh, didn’t marry the person you wanted to be with?”
“Of course I married the right girl. It just took a while to get her attention. Why the hel would a woman like your mom be interested in a jerk like me?”
I smirk. “There is that.”
Dad picks up a picture of me and Henry from the shelf, a picture taken at Lake Jordan when we were thirteen. In the photo, I’m grinning at a trout I’ve just caught. And Henry’s smiling at me.
“For what it’s worth,” Dad says, running his fingers over the picture, “I’ve never seen anyone run faster than Henry after you hurt your knee last week.”
Trips
We pul up in front of Henry’s trailer, and Dad goes inside. A few minutes later, he comes out pul ing a struggling Henry by an elbow and stuffs him in the back of the Audi.
“Yo, Woods.” With dark circles under his eyes, Henry seems miserable.
“Hi, Henry.”
“How’s the knee?”
“Better, thanks.”
And that’s al we say the entire way to the airport. Dad has chartered a private jet to Ann Arbor so he doesn’t have to “deal with the masses” on a commercial flight. On the plane, Dad makes us play a game of Monopoly with him and I kick ass, buying up Park Place, Boardwalk, and al those green properties that are worth a shitload. After Henry lands on Boardwalk, where I’ve just built a hotel, he has to mortgage his lame purple and orange properties. I giggle maniacal y. Henry shakes his head at me and pouts. But now that we’re actual y playing a game together, I’ve seen smiles trickle across his face a few times.
After checking into the hotel, where Dad has reserved three rooms for us, he tel s us we’re going out to dinner with the University of Michigan head coach. I throw my suitcase on the bed, unzip the bag, and pul out this new dress Carrie and Marie helped me buy, this black sweater skirt thing with short sleeves, and pair it with black boots. I want to look pretty for Henry because tonight is important for him, so I also put on some mascara and lip gloss.
I’m brushing my hair as my phone rings. I check the cal er ID. Ty. I pul a deep breath and answer.
“Hey, Woods,” he says.
I clear my throat. “Hey. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” His voice sounds fine. Upbeat. “What are you doing?” he asks, so I tel him about the impromptu trip to Michigan, which surprises him.
“What about Alabama?”
I tel him it’s probably not the right school for me, which surprises him more. “Dad thinks Michigan State might be a good fit for me.”
“That’s great,” Ty says. “Text me after you meet the coach—I want to know how it goes. Michigan State’s a great program.”
I smile at my reflection in the mirror. “So what’s up?”
“Your brother cal ed and asked if I want to come to a party tomorrow night in Knoxvil e. You know, after his game against LSU?”
“Yeah.”
“And I just wanted to see if that’s okay with you. I mean, that I’m hanging out with your bro—”
“Definitely,” I say, stil smiling.
“We’re friends, right?”
“I hope so.”
“There might be girls at the party. I, um—” Ty pauses to cough.
I had wondered, if I found out Ty was dating someone else, if my heart would lurch, but it’s stil .
“Have a great time. We’re cool.”
I’m glad he’s wil ing to have fun, to let go, even if it’s only one night. Maybe he’l relax a bit.
I chat with Ty for a few more minutes, arguing over who’l win in Sunday’s Colts-Texans matchup, and I tel him to hang close to my brother at the party and to steer clear of Jake Reynolds and al his possibly STDridden minions. Someone knocks on the door, so I grab my coat and Someone knocks on the door, so I grab my coat and wal et, and step out into the hal , finding Henry standing there in a suit and blue tie, which brings out the aqua flecks in his green eyes. I’ve never seen him so dressed up before.
Smiling, I say, “Damn, Henry, you clean up wel .”
He smiles back at me. “I know, right?”
I rol my eyes. “Ready to go?”
“Yup.” Henry ushers me toward the elevator. From the corner of my eye, I see him looking me up and down. “You look real y pretty.”
Outside the hotel, we hop into Dad’s town car and head to some fancy French restaurant where I won’t know what anything on the menu is. Too bad Carter’s not here.
The restaurant is dark and romantic and ful of flowers, and I find myself wishing it was just me and Henry here, huddled over wine and champagne and crêpes or some shit like that. As we walk beneath beautiful chandeliers, alongside a wal made up of mirrors, my hand moves without permission, linking with Henry’s.
“Thanks, Woods,” he says, taking a deep breath. He keeps holding my hand as we approach our table, where two men are waiting for us. They introduce themselves as the head and offensive coaches for the University of Michigan. After introductions, we sit down and I have a fit trying to decide what to order because it’s al in French.
Fol owing a bunch of smal talk about the university and the Titans and how Mom and Mike are doing, the head coach takes a sip of wine and says, “So, Henry…
my recruiter liked what he saw in Tennessee, and I love your speed, but you’l have to work extra hard on finishing your routes.” What the coach means is some wide receivers get lazy if they know the bal isn’t coming to them, so they won’t run hard or try to fake out a cornerback. This is a dead giveaway to the defensive back that this wil be a running play or the bal wil be thrown to a different wide receiver. Crazy. I’d never even noticed that about Henry. This coach must’ve watched the tapes closely. And I have a lot to learn.
“Yes, sir,” Henry says. “Is there anything else I should do to improve my game?”
“Just keep working on your speed and your explosiveness, and I think you’l fit right in here.”
I squeeze Henry’s hand under the table as a smile edges on the sides of his lips.
The next day, a car takes me, Dad, and Henry out to East Lansing—home of the Michigan State Spartans. Dad told me not to wear a dress, but my sweats and knee brace and cleats, which makes me excited. I might get to throw a bal around with some col ege guys today!
Again, I did my homework last night—Googling on my laptop—so when we arrive, I recognize the head coach and the athletic director, who are waiting to greet us when we pul up outside the stadium. I expect it’s because the great Donovan Woods is with us, so it surprises me when Coach Bryson shakes my hand first.
“We’re so happy you agreed to come take a look at our program,” the coach says, staring in my eyes. “I’ve enjoyed watching your tapes. You’ve got a lot of style on the field, Woods.” Judging by his smile and firm handshake, he seems genuine. I think he actual y wants me here, unlike crazy Coach Thompson at Alabama.
Coach Bryson and the athletic director shake hands with Dad and Henry too, and then we’re off to see the inside of Spartan Stadium. Another good sign? I don’t have to see al sorts of lame things like where to buy shampoo and where to see a piano recital; we go straight to the field, where a bunch of guys are standing around. I count at least thirty players.
They have a game versus Notre Dame today, their biggest game of the year, so I’m glad half of the team has time for me. I’m sure it’s al because of Dad, but regardless, it makes me feel pretty damned good. The stadium is just as beautiful as Alabama’s. Maybe even more so. I take a knee and run my hand over the natural grass, digging my fingers into the blades, then gaze up at the bleachers. The place is so huge, I bet you could see it from space. I love the cool weather; it would be fun to play a bunch of games in snow.
“What do you think?” Coach Bryson asks, kneeling down next to me.