"You’re so boring, Ryne," said Mayo, finishing half a can in one gulp. "Apple juice in a little box? At a football ga?"
I looked at her, eyeing her fifteen-liter cooler. "I don’t drink," I reminded her. "My body doesn’t handle alcohol well, so enjoy your twenty-four cans."
She let out a sigh paired with an eye roll. "What about your little boss?" she called to Nolan. "One cold one?"
"Nolan doesn’t drink," I said, taking his hand. "He’s more of a tea or coffee person. Why do you think he opened a café?"
She looked at him again through the rearview mirror and, with a very specific tone of voice, "So he doesn’t drink?" she asked — in a way I had let slide for the second ti now.
I took his hand, intercepting the can she was holding out.
"Nolan does NOT drink!"
"Easy, girl," she called to . "Let your man make his own decisions — you’re so uptight."
But before I could say anything, Nolan took my fingers gently, undoing my grip with his delicate magic. "Don’t get upset, Ryne," he said calmly, taking the can from my hand. "Just one, to be social."
The air left my lungs in such a profound shortage of oxygen that I swear I could have fainted. With every word, every action, every request. Mayo was winning. Mayo — Mayo was pulling him away from .
"Step on it, babe!" she was shouting, while Nolan obeyed with a recklessness I didn’t recognize in him. Mayo pushed open the sunroof with one hand, rising through it with renewed energy. "Woo, I feel so free, bitches!"
I stayed in my seat, drinking from my little juice box through the straw. I watched Nolan out of the corner of my eye, can in hand, shouting alongside Mayo.
Maybe that was the color he loved. Sothing uncontrolled. Free.
"Nolan," I murmured, seeing no reaction in his eyes. Not a single fragnt of his attention. "What happened to your words?" The windows fogged, while everything stretched and contracted before my eyes. "What happened to the quiet you said you needed."
"Hahaha," I heard a child’s laugh behind . "Throw dirt at the witch."
Like in those monts, I didn’t move, receiving every bit of their rejection.
"So you like burning ants," he called out. "What do you want their fried bodies for? Do you eat them?"
"I — I, I..."
He ca closer, shaking the dirt from my head. "Nobody will ever love you, Clear. You’re a horrible person," he whispered in my ear, walking away as the others prepared more dirt.
"Who is the white witch?" one of them sang. "Clear." "Clear." "Clear." "Who is the bad girl?" "Clear." "Clear." "Clear." "WHO WILL NEVER BE LOVED?" "Clear." "Clear." "Clear." "WHO WILL NEVER BE ACCEPTED?" "Clear." "Clear." "Clear." "Clear." "Clear." "Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Clear. Ryne. Clear. Clear. Clear. Ryne. Clear. Clear. Ryne. Ryne. Ryne. Ryne. Ryne. Ryne. Ryne."
"Ryne!" called Nolan. "Are you okay?"
"Ryne? ? I —" I touched my face, feeling the cold sweat sliding down it. "Where are we?"
"Don’t tell the apple juice got you drunk too," said Mayo, taking my juice box. "I hope this thing isn’t expired. You better not have fernted wine in here."
"What?" I asked again, looking around at the car.
"We’re still in the car, Ryne," Nolan said again. "We’ve arrived at the field. Are you okay to get out, or do you need a hospital? You’re very pale."
"Pale?" I touched my hair, looking at its color. "? No, I’m not — I’m fine." My heart was racing, my pupils were dilating, my thoughts dissolving. "I didn’t sleep well," I lied.
Nolan looked at with that puppy-dog expression that was nothing but concern.
"Don’t make that face," I told him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I’m fine — I just need so air and maybe a little sugar." I turned to reach for my juice.
But Mayo pulled it back. "Hey, this thing might be expired, so stay five steps away from it."
I nodded, stepping out of the car. "Fresh air is enough," I said, looking at the stadium, feeling Vancouver’s cold hit my whole body at once.
"Here, cover yourself." Nolan gave his jacket — probably because he saw my legs trembling. "You’re not from here, so the cold hits you harder."
I took it, smiling as I wrapped it around . Walking into the children’s stadium with a fifteen-liter cooler holding what I think were nineteen cans, but sothing in my heart — even with Nolan covering — was not at peace.
"Want another can, babe?"
That was it.
"Hey, you two go ahead. I’m going to find so ice and a bathroom. The pineapple juice is hitting ." I pointed to so public restrooms. "I’ll catch up in five or less."
Mr. Arrit was waiting for us at the entrance, hat in hand and his grandson’s team scarf wrapped around his neck — which matched nothing he was wearing but which he carried with the sa dignity he carried everything.
Beside him, Tomás. A small twelve-year-old boy, wearing his team’s jersey — the Vancouver Moose — tugging his gloves tight.
This is my mont. I’m alone with Nolan and Mayo is far away. If I win little Tomás over, Nolan will see how good I am with kids and say: Wow, Ryne, you’re amazing. I’ll stop drinking and drive carefully to take care of you and only look at you. Yes. This is the perfect plan.
"You made it," said Mr. Arrit, raising his hand.
"Mr. Arrit! Mr. Arrit!" I greeted him, walking over. "So lovely to see you — and Tomás too." I raised my hand for a high five, and was left hanging. "Don’t you rember ?"
"Why would I care," he answered, stepping back.
Tomás was an average teenager, with the blank expression of soone who has been spoken to against their will. Well — I only really t him when he ca into the café to buy a single loose plastic spoon.
"I don’t think he rembers ," I told Mr. Arrit.
He nodded, placing a hand on his grandson’s back. "Co on, Tomás, don’t be rude to my guests. Say hello."
"Oookay, grandpa," he sighed. "I’m Tomás. Nice to et you."
"Hey there, little guy," Nolan greeted him, extending a fist bump. "I’m Nolan — great to et you." The boy barely accepted it, without even looking him in the eye.
"I’m Ryne," I stepped forward again. "The one who sold you a single loose spoon. I’m Nolan’s girlfriend."
When I said that, the boy seed to perk up. "Girlfriend? You’re way too small for that. He’s like thirty." He pointed at Nolan. "Plus look at him — he’s got like two heads on you. That’s illegal."
"How old do you think Ryne is?"
"I don’t know," he said, looking at the ground. "Thirteen?"
"Why would you think that?"
"My mom always says to eat a lot to grow up big and strong," he said. "You’re small and skinny. You look like you’re my age."
I tried to hold onto my smile, for the sake of my plan. But at that mont I heard little wheels rolling up behind us.
"Thanks for waiting!" Mayo shouted, running in our direction. Tomás’s face said everything as he turned red. "I didn’t an to get here so fast — the orange juice just let everything loose like a waterfall."
"H-h-hi," Tomás greeted her, eyes on his feet.
"Hi there, little guy. You must be Tomás?" she said, extending her hand with that energy of hers. "I’m Mayo. Do you rember ?"
"R-r-rember you?"
"Of course, little one," she laughed. "I was your babysitter twice, six years ago," she inford us — sothing I hadn’t known. "They just fired for throwing a party at your house."
"THAT WAS YOU!" the boy shouted.
Bingo. He’s going to rember her with resentnt and I’ll be the only person he trusts. Well done, Mayo — you ruined it as always.
"Thanks to you I beca super popular in elentary school!" His words hit like a ball through a window. "Everyone wanted to talk to because of you. You’re my hero."
"Don’t ntion it," she snapped her fingers. "And I’d do it again."
He threw himself into her arms, hugging her. "Okay, the ga’s about to start!" he said, bouncing happily. "I hope to see you in the front row — I’m going to leave you speechless!"
"I hope so!" she shouted. "Though that would be illegal on my end," she whispered.
"You’re going to et the best goalkeeper!" he called. "They won’t score a single one on !"
"That’s what I like to hear, blondie!" she nudged him gently. "Go show them who your babysitter is."
"Yeah!" Tomás took his grandfather’s hand, his whole body buzzing. "Let’s go, grandpa. There’s a ga to win."
"Of course," said Mr. Arrit, following him along. "I hope you all enjoy the ga."
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