Chapter Text
Ilya flops down onto the plastic lunch table seat. We learned not to sit on the part directly under the sun. It will roast your buns off. I lay my lunch box flat on the table and begin to unzip it. I know to take the apple out first, then the ham sandwich, and then open my juice box.
“What?” I ask Ilya, as he eyeballs my ham sandwich. He will probably steal a bite or try to bargain with me for some. His cafeteria pizza looks like over baked, concrete crust today.
“Nothing. Just wondering if you got any spare change.” He says with a sly smile, licking his lips at my food.
I hand some over. Ilya opens his mouth to talk again. “I can’t believe how fast he was..zooming right over and the hat trick!” Ilya’s arms are flailing around, almost knocking over his milk carton.
“It was so awesome. I need to try that one in practice!”
I nod. Today I picked the crust off my sandwich and I’m eating it first. “Shane, you are being quiet.” Ilya says through a mouthful of ham. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve. I look at Ilya. I still don’t really feel like talking that much. He’s already looking at me. It feels a bit intense; like he’s calculating what I’m thinking when his eyes dart between my eyebrows and shoulders.
I continue nibbling on the crust. Hayden barrels onwards, giving his input about the recent game too.
I feel kind of strange. I can hear this conversation normally. I watched the same game this weekend, the Metros vs the Raiders with a super close score. My mom was sideline coaching, even though she says it’s bad to do that. Dad and I shared a bowl of popcorn on the couch.
But I keep staring at the bug on the fence, and it feels like there’s an elephant sitting on my chest. Marlow asked me if I was ready for captain tryouts this morning. I blinked and said of course. He sneered at me because he’s always big and intimidating and likes to get his way, which means winning and being captain. He’s like his older brother.
I checked that my stick and gear were in my bag three times this morning. I wore the longer left foot white sock, and shorter right foot sock for good measure. I zone back into the conversation. Ilya is done with his entire lunch. Sometimes I wonder when he’ll be so hungry, he’ll bite through the cardboard that holds the cafeteria food.
He interrupts Hayden. “Okay Shane, let’s go to the courts.” Ilya says, sweeping up his napkin and trash onto the tray. “Hey wait for me, I’m not done eating yet!” Hayden protests. “We have to save a court so we can play. Otherwise everyone else will make us take the one in the corner with the crooked net.” Ilya replies, standing up.
My body feels a bit on autopilot. I pack up my sandwich, I ate half of it and all the apple. I throw the core away. My fingers feel sticky.
“Ok. See you there in five minutes.” Hayden says, cramming most of his lunch into his mouth in one bite.
“Let’s go.” Ilya remarks, tugging my wrist. I blink a few times. I’m here but I can’t take a full breath. I can take breaths that are little and kind of normal but not the full thing. Ilya leads me towards the courts but then pulls me towards the shed where all the spare dodgeballs and basketballs are kept. “What's wrong?” he asks, eyes scrutinizing me once more.
“Nothing.” I say. I put my lunch box down on the floor with HOLLANDER written on top near the handle. “Yeah right. Come here.” Ilya beckons me, squeezing in the crack between the fencing and the shed.
Normally I would drag my feet and say we are not supposed to go back here because then the teachers will blow whistles at us. But he’s already disappeared and I cannot let him get into trouble alone.
We crawl past vines and inch our way to a crack in the fence where we can stick our arms through. “Look. Do you see the river?” Ilya asks. I close my eyes and listen for it. I hear it now, and my shoulders relax. I hear Ilya taking a deep breath. "Lets take a deep breath Shane," he says. I copy him. Now we inhale a big breath of air together and then I match his pace in the slow exhale. Our breathing is synched. I feel the fog lift from thinking too much about the Captain tryouts later.
He pokes my hand, interrupting how I was rubbing my thumb finger around my middle finger cuticle. The acknowledgement lingers in how he stares at me.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” Ilya asks me, his hand still very close to mine.
The cuticle skin and bitten nails are worse on my right hand than my left hand. I think it’s because I’m right handed. It’s only a few nails chewed down this time. They make jagged grooves that feel good when I run it along my lips.
I tug my hand back. I don’t want Ilya to think I’m disgusting.
“I can’t help it.” I tell him, looking away. Most times I’m biting my nails before I even realize. Like my body instinctually does it before my mind can catch up.
“It's okay. Don't be nervous about Captain tryouts Shane. You're super fast." Ilya says. I shuffle my feet in the dirt. "But not as fast as me." He says with a smirk, pretending to play hockey in front of me.
We hear excited footsteps rustle inside the shed. My eyes snap towards the metal wall meeting my back in alarm. Ilya laughs a little and gets up to sneak out before we are spotted hiding from the teachers. He fakes humming a tune and tests the basketballs out before grabbing one.
I feel less on edge now. Like I can run around and play basketball before we have to go back into the classroom.
Pick. Pick. Pick. I cannot stop scratching at my cuticles. And running them along my lips. Mom says I need to stop. She says if I do not stop I will have to sit in a chair and talk to a doctor about it.
She only noticed because one day my hangnail ripped and there was blood bubbling down my thumb. I tried to wipe the blood off on my pants which just made it stain there. I felt embarrassed because all of a sudden there was blood coming out and I didn’t even know it. She gave Dad that look where her forehead wrinkles curl up a little too much. That’s when adults are upset.
She said it was okay and I put a Cars 2 bandaid over it, the one with Mater the tow truck wrapped around my finger.
I promised her I would quit picking. Miss Marten claps her hands together and announces it’s reading out loud time for science. I hear a few groans of complaint from my classmates as they pull the textbook out of their backpack.
My hands reach into the deepest pocket of my red backpack and I flip to the chapter about bees. All of our class numbers are in a cup of popsicle sticks and if she pulls yours out, you have to read out loud. She calls on 12 to read first. That’s Hayden’s number. His desk is so messy Miss Marten called him Hurricane Hayden.
The textbook bounces on my lap a little bit so I move it to the top of my desk. The girl next to me scratches a paper below the book with her colored pencils, hiding it so Miss Marten can’t see. I’m following along with the words until I realize I’m picking at my cuticle again. It is red and itches a bit.
When I want to pick, I am supposed to lie my fingers flat on my knees like I am giving myself a high-five. And I can tap my fingers, one by one to a song I like. Mom and I practiced it together.
Miss Martin continues about grasshoppers and bee hives. I roll my eraser back and forth between my fingers again because I cannot pick at it.
I feel something nudging my foot. I must’ve accidentally bumped into someone else’s shoe underneath the table. I tuck my feet under my chair and follow the read-along.
Then I feel another nudge, this one a little harder on my foot. My head jerks up. Ilya’s eyes bore into mine. He slides me a paper folded in half. I do not want to get in trouble for sharing notes. I glare at him. He raises an eyebrow at me, his gaze shooting over to Miss Martin. She is explaining why queen bees lay eggs. Her attention is raptly on the projector, not our side of the classroom.
If I don’t pick the paper up, Ilya will probably do something worse like throw it towards me and then we’ll both get in trouble. I snatch it up quickly. The girl next to me is sometimes a snitch.
My hands tuck the paper on my lap and I pretend to hunch over my textbook. Below, I’m sneaking glances at the crinkled note. I sniffle a laugh. It’s Hayden’s face drawn on a bee body with a bee butt stinger.
I can’t help but let a small smile escape as I look at Ilya. He’s grinning.