"Are you sitting in the shade, enjoying several toppings on your funnel cake?"
"Ah, I knew I forgot to do something before I got on this Ferris wheel."
"Oh," I say. Maybe it's a sigh. I move toward the patio doors, a beer in my hand. "You're really on it right now?"
"I really am. The view isn't quite as good as I'd hoped."
That stings. Mateo could have almost any view he wants, and mixed with alcohol, his comment makes me bitter tonight. "Guess you're in for a real disappointment when you reach the funhouse maze."
"I'm not sure I want to get lost alone," he says, and that's definitely a sigh.
"Even if I want to believe that's some sort of sideways invitationfrom a man who hasn’t seen me since a soccer banquet in February, I can't run into you at the fair today. I'm in New York with Harper and some friends."
"So, you have those now?"
It's borderline cruel, that question, and more my style than his, but it has me turning to look around anyway. Harper and the other kids are upstairs playing video games. Everyone else is spread out around the family room and kitchen, louder and more fake than Mateo's been a day in his life. I'd easily agree to catch a game with half of them, but we wouldn't talk much. What would we even say when we're not bullshitting a crowd?
"You know I don't," I answer, stepping further away from people who don't notice. "Even the one I thought was different—"
I don't know how to finish my sentence, and Mateo fills the silence. "I am different."
"But you don't want to spend time with me."
There's noise then—the distant clatter of metal and the mumbled thanks signaling the end of his ride—and Mateo returns with a derisive laugh. "You can tell me you're arrogant and selfish all you want, but I don't believe for a second you're that stupid."
"It's been almost a year, unless you think sharing a sideline brings friends closer together."
"Almost a year, but I'veneverstopped wanting to spend time with you, and I'veneverstopped being your friend," he hisses. "We get too comfortable when we’re together. It’s too easy to be near you, which makes it so damnhardto stay apart. And I know you’re willing to keep trying, but I can’t keep being the one to stop us. I’m not that strong."
“There are things we can do—”
“And we could get away with it,” Mateo finishes. “We could stop waiting and sneak around and cross all those lines.We could stop lying to each other and only lie to the rest of the world. But it wouldn't be fair to Harper. It wouldn't be fair to Sophie and Kai, who'd almost certainly have to cover for us at some point. And it sure as hell wouldn't be fair tous. We deserve an actual chance at this, and Harper's almost done with her sophomore year. We're almost halfway there.”
I think I was going to suggest ways we could be actual friends, without sneaking around, but I’m too tired to make those promises. I gulp at my beer before I pout for nobody.
"So the next two years will be spent on the phone?"
"I don't want them to be."
"But?"
"I don't know," he says.
There's more fight to pick, if fighting is what we've been doing at all. I could apologize for being the way I am and try to explain that this is why nameless encounters have always suited me best. I could plead for a chance at friendship and swear that I can stop us, too. But Mateo won't talk all night, and Taylor's sister approaches me now, swapping my empty bottle for a full one right after she takes a sip and winks.
I wink back, then squeeze my eyes shut. "We'll be home next week, so I'll text you then."
"I'll have more free time once the school year's over. And I'm guessing you'll be all over the L.A. games until their playoff run is up."
Maybe I should be excited by the implication that he's caught any of my on-air appearances, but I only hear the excuses he's making. Taylor's sister scrapes her fingernails over my chest, and I think I'm wanted and wanted and wanted.
My goodbye to Mateo is barely a breath. When he's gone, I glance toward the family room, and whatever everyone's busy with there.Swallowing more beer is a challenge around the lump in my throat, but I manage eventually when I'm just drunk enough to smile.
"Hey, there's that pretty face," she coos. Her name might be Bailey, but I'm not sure I care when she curls a hand around my side. "You didn't look happy during that call."
Indignation flares, but she's probably right. "It's over now."
"Good, then come down to the basement. My friend and I are bored, and she'll like your pretty face a lot."