Lisa Schroeder - The Bridge from You to Me

We let go at the exact same time, at the perfect moment. When we come up for air, I swim over to her.

“That was fun,” she says, her face inches from mine, water streaming down as she wipes the hair out of her eyes. I have a tiny urge to kiss her right then, but I remain the perfect gentleman.

We swim a few feet to get to a spot where we can touch the bottom.

“I knew you could do it,” I tell her.

“It was that pep talk you gave me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It worked. You guys will be champions for sure.”

“You gonna come to the games?” I ask as we walk ashore.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Football isn’t really my thing.”

Why is a girl who plays hard to get so damn attractive?

“Do you play offense or defense?” she asks.

“Sometimes both. But primarily offense, catching passes.”

“Okay, how about this?” she says. “Promise to score a touchdown for me, and I’ll come.”

I turn to her and hold my hand out. “Deal.”

She shakes it. “To one game. And to keep you guessing, you won’t know which one I’m coming to. And I expect to see my touchdown in person. Because what fun is it otherwise?”

“Wait. So that means I have to score at every game?”

She smiles. “You said it, not me.”

We’re almost to her house.

I’m trying to figure out how I let her know I’d love to see her again. Like, go out for real or whatever. Because this was basically just a ride.

Wasn’t it?

When I pull into the driveway, she turns to me and says, “Thanks. That was a lot of fun. Stasia said to give her a call and we’d get together, so I’m definitely going to do that. I’m so glad I got to meet some people before school starts.”

I nod. “Good. I’m glad.”

She waits, like she’s expecting me to say something else. God, I hate this. My palms are sweaty. My legs are shaking. And my heart is beating like a freaking galloping horse. Asking a girl out for the first time is worse than being down six points with only fifteen seconds on the clock.

Because here’s the thing every guy hates about this moment.

What if she says no?

Did i really just say that? “Maybe I’ll see you at the Jiffy Mart”?

What the hell, Pynes? She was right there. Right there, waiting for you to say something, anything , about the fun afternoon or how you loved hanging out with her or maybe you could get together again sometime. And you failed. Miserably.

Third down with two yards to go, and you blew it.

Couldn’t get it over the line and had to punt it away.

I’m a disgrace. A disgrace to senior guys all across the country.

I think it was Benny’s fault. All of his talk about how I have to forget about girls and stay focused on football right now messed with me. I bet I internalized that, and even though I wanted to ask her out, I couldn’t because deep down somewhere, I feared he was right.

As I think about Benny, I realize I never saw him at the creek party. He said he’d be there. I went home last night after a couple of hours at Murphy’s Hill, as lots of people were arriving. I was dead tired and just wanted to go home to sleep, but Benny didn’t want to leave yet. He was wide-awake and having fun.

I pull out my phone as I walk in the front door.

“Hi, Colby,” Gram calls out. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. I’m gonna take a quick shower.” Maybe I can wash the embarrassment away.

First I dial Benny’s number. But it goes straight to voice mail.

If he’s out with some cute girl, I will be so pissed.

Gram knocks on the bathroom door just as I’m getting out of the shower. “Colby? You need to come out here. Hurry.”

My first thought is Grandpa. Something’s happened to Grandpa. I don’t even dry off; I just grab a towel, wrap it around my waist, and pull the door open.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

She motions me to the family room, where Grandpa is sitting, watching the news. I rush over to him. “Are you all right?”

He points to the television, and I turn to see a picture of Benny on the screen. His football picture from last year. My heart stops.

“. . . in critical condition at Willow General Hospital.”

The camera switches to the reporter, standing in front of the hospital. “The accident happened at around one thirty a.m. Saturday morning on West Valley Road. Police say Lewis was on a motorcycle, and failed to negotiate a curve. The motorcycle crossed the center lane and slid over fifty feet, causing Lewis to lose control. Investigators say Lewis was wearing a helmet, though it may not have been fastened securely as it was found nearby at the scene. Doctors say Lewis has suffered severe head trauma, and his injuries are life threatening.”

She keeps talking, but I don’t hear what she says. Because I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is happening.

“I have to try calling him again,” I say. “Someone’s made a mistake. Someone needs to tell him what’s going on so he can clear this mess up.”

“Oh, Colby,” Gram says, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. It wouldn’t be on the news if they weren’t a hundred percent sure it’s him.”

Grandpa stands up. “Go get dressed. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

“But, Grandpa —”

“I know. Damn it, I know. Just go get dressed.”