Far From You

28

THREE YEARS AGO (FOURTEEN YEARS OLD)

“We are so late,” Amber says, grabbing her soccer bag out of her mom’s car.

Mina glares at her, pulling the walker out of the backseat and unfolding it for me. “Chill out,” she says sharply.

“Coach is gonna kick our butts. We have to warm up.”

I nudge Mina. “Go. I can get to the bleachers by myself.”

“No,” she replies.

“Amber, go,” I tell her. I don’t want her to be pissed at me for making her late. She hadn’t even wanted me to come, but Mina insisted.

Amber nods, taking Mina’s bag with her.

“I’ve got it,” I insist when Mina doesn’t go with her.

Mina looks over her shoulder. The girls are already on the field; she’ll get in trouble if she doesn’t hurry. “Hey!” she shouts, waving across the parking lot. “Adam! Kyle!”

“Mina—”

“If you want me to go, then you let Kyle and Adam help you,” she says to me.

I roll my eyes and grab the handles of the walker, heaving myself up, leaning on it. The doctors are making me use it for an extra month before I can switch to the cane. I can’t believe I’m actually looking forward to a cane, but I am.

The boys come over, and once Mina’s reassured they won’t let me fall off the bleachers, she tears off toward the field, her hair streaming behind her.

Kyle looms over me. His jeans are an inch too short—he’s already bigger than everyone else in our grade and hasn’t shown any signs of stopping. He keeps a hand hovering behind my back during the torturous minutes it takes to get to the bleachers, like he’s afraid I’m going to just pitch over at any moment.

“Where’s your dad today?” Adam asks as I sit down on the bottom bleacher. “Uncle Rob’s short a coach.”

“Emergency root canal,” I say.

“Is that even a thing?” Kyle asks.

“I guess so. You guys can go sit up at the top, if you want. I’m fine here on my own.”

“Better view from here,” Kyle says with a grin.

It makes me smile back. I dig in my purse, coming up with a bag of M&M’s, and we pass it back and forth as we turn our attention to the soccer field.

The girls are getting ready to start, warming up on the side of the field. Mina’s dark, curly head is bent as she touches her forehead to her knee, stretching her legs out.

“Aren’t you helping Coach out?” Kyle asks Adam.

“In a sec,” Adam says. “He doesn’t need me till they start.”

Kyle’s eyes stay on Mina, watching her stretch her arms above her head, reaching up, up, up, like she can touch the sky. She’s the smallest on the team—but when she’s on the field, it’s like she’s ten feet tall, full of strength and speed.

“You’re getting good moving around.” Adam pulls his baseball cap off, sticking it in his back pocket.

“Almost ready for a cane,” I say. “Go me.”

“Hey.” Kyle frowns. “You should be proud. Mina says you work your ass off in physical therapy.”

“Is that what Mina says, Kyle?” Adam asks, and he grins at me conspiratorially as Kyle’s face reddens.

“Your parents bugging you about college yet?” Kyle asks, like he’s desperate to change the subject.

“They’re making noises. But it’s kind of early.”

“Maybe for you,” Adam says. “I’ve gotta start thinking scholarships. I can’t go anywhere without help. And I’m not gonna get any prizes for my grades.”

Kyle laughs. “Hell, no,” he says. “You’re gonna get one for being the best goalie NorCal’s ever seen.”

Adam grins, standing up. The girls are starting to gather on the field. Our team’s in blue, the Anderson Cougars are in red. “Well, here’s hoping. I don’t want to be stuck here forever. I should get down there before Uncle Rob gets too pissed. See you later, Soph.”

With Adam gone, Kyle and I turn back to the field, our attention honing in on Mina like a magnet to metal.

The team is lining up for the kickoff, and Amber says something that makes Mina toss her head back and laugh, her curls bobbing against the gray sky. She play-pushes Amber, who pushes her back, laughing, too.

I watch Kyle watch her out of the corner of my eye. “You really like her, don’t you?”

He jerks, the tops of his ears turning red. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but looks down at his hands, digging into his jeans. “Is it that obvious?”

“Kind of.”

He laughs. “Way to make a guy feel better.”

I shrug.

I don’t say what I’m thinking. I don’t tell him how lucky he is, that he can just sit there and admit it, sheepish, but unashamed. Like it’s his right. Like it’s okay, because she’s supposed to belong to someone like him, instead of someone like me.