As idiotic as this assignment is, I can’t help but smile at their exchange. Henry is the funniest guy I know, the funniest person I’ve ever met. Only he would pretend to take this assignment so seriously. I jog up into the metal bleachers, taking two steps at a time until I reach Mom and Henry.
“Why, Jordan, you didn’t tel me I was going to be a grandmother,” Mom says, flashing a smile at Henry.
“I didn’t know either,” I say. “Henry hid the pregnancy from me. Do you mind watching that creepy thing during practice, Mom?”
Henry grabs his chest. “That creepy thing is our son, Woods.”
“I don’t mind,” Mom says. She nods at something over my shoulder. “Looks like Coach Mil er wants you two down there.”
“Thanks, Mom!” Henry says. It seems that Jerry Rice has put Henry back in a good mood again. He throws an arm around me as we walk back toward the field.
“So, what did Ty want?”
“To thank me for taking him to the game yesterday.”
“That’s it?” he whispers.
“No…”
“I’m your wife, you can talk to me, Woods.”
“Yesterday, when I dropped him off at home, he, like, um, leaned in for a kiss?”
“And?”
“So, I, uh, told him I had to go.”
“You didn’t kiss?”
“Nope.”
Henry grabs my elbow, stopping us from going farther. “Why’d you do that? Don’t you like him?”
“Yeah…I was scared, I guess. I dunno.” I stare down at a piece of gum that’s melted onto the metal bleachers.
“De-nied,” Henry says. “God, I can’t even imagine leaning in for a kiss and getting rejected. Ty must feel like shit today.”
Shrugging, I grunt.
“So did he try to kiss you again just now? Or talk to you about the non-kiss?”
“No—he wanted to know if we’re together,” I say, laughing loudly and using my thumb to point from Henry back to me.
“You and me?”
“You and me?”
“Yeah, he wanted to know if you and I are dating. I told him we’re best friends.”
“Yeah, he definitely wants you.”
I glance at Henry sideways. His face is blank, like no smile or anything. “You think?” I whisper.
“I know.”
Henry looks from my face back to the field, and his eyes pop open wide. I turn to see why he’s gaping: JJ
and Carter are messing around, trying to shove a scrawny wide receiver into Jerry Rice’s strol er.
“JJ!” Henry yel s, “You can’t fit a freshman in that strol er.”
Later that night, after a couple hours at the batting cages with Carter and JJ, Henry and I are in my basement having a mad foosbal tournament. It’s best three out of five games. I’ve won two; he’s won one. In the current game, game four, I’m kicking his ass. Jerry Rice, with his creepy eyes wide open, is sleeping quietly in his strol er. Monday Night Football is blaring on the big-screen television in the corner. We’re watching the Jets/Dolphins game and rooting for the Dolphins, of course.
“Can I stay over tonight?” Henry asks. Light from the television bathes his blond curls, making them shimmer.
“Course.”
“I figure it’l be easier for us to take care of Jerry Rice that way,” he says. “We can alternate the middle of the night feedings.” He twirls the bar, hitting the tiny white bal into my goal.
“Why are you taking this so seriously? We could leave Jerry Rice in my truck overnight so we wouldn’t have to hear him cry.”
“I want a good grade.”
“You did total y botch that corn bread assignment.” I hit the bal toward Henry’s goal, and his little wooden goalie blocks it. “I can’t believe you got an F in corn bread.”
“Most people can make it through life without having to be good at making corn bread. Being a parent is different.”
“Yeah,” I say, knowing how much my dad can suck sometimes. Henry and I are both lucky to have such great moms. At least Henry’s dad isn’t an asshole—
he’s just never home. Like my dad, Mr. Henry hasn’t been to one of our footbal games in forever.
I slam the bal into Henry’s goal, winning the game. I throw my hands above my head and strut around the room, victorious. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I make fake crowd noises. “And Woods wins it al !”
“Quiet! You’re going to wake the baby,” Henry says with a laugh. He flops down on one of the leather sofas and picks up his glass of lemonade. I pour myself another glass, then grab a few chocolate-chip cookies, sit down, and prop myself up against him. He wraps an arm around me, leans over, and grabs a cookie from my hand with his teeth.
“Thief!”
“Pig!”
The middle of the night rols around, and Jerry Rice is screaming. Henry’s bare feet are in my face, so I knock them out of the way as I sit up. Jumping out of bed, I grab the stupid dol from its strol er and force the lead rod into its mouth. Then I plop back down on the bed. It turns out that you can’t just leave the key in its mouth. You have to, like, hold the fake baby at the same time or it wil keep crying.
I sit back against my headboard and hold the dol in my arms. If I didn’t have the fake baby right now, I’d total y be writing in my journal about Henry.