Desolate Me

Moving Target

We lingered at the tree house long enough to shut off the lights, the heater, and the radio. Then we made the fifteen minute trek back to my house. The night life was providing an incredible soundtrack to our walk, from cricks chirping to the leaves crunching under our feet. I was pretty sure I heard an owl hoot once or twice along with something scurrying away from us in the bushes.

That one made me jump and point my flashlight in its direction. My little beam of light showed me absolutely nothing. Peter just chuckled and continued strolling along next to me in a leisurely pace. You never would’ve known we’d just settled the biggest fight ever.

“You blew the game,” I said, finally breaking the silence.

He pulled me back so I was walking with my back against his chest. It appeared so simple the way we fit together and moved forward without me stepping on his toes and his feet not nipping at my heels.

“I…did.” He chuckled. “I was having a problem focusing.”

“Well it can’t be that hard. You throw the ball to the first available person…” He rubbed his nose against my throat. “Stop that.”

He smiled and kissed me, sending a million tingles scurrying across my skin. “It’s a lot harder than just throwing the ball to someone, Cass.”

“Then what’s it like?” I spread my arms in front of me. “Paint a picture for me.”

“There’s an enormous amount of pressure being the quarterback. You sort of carry the team, make it all work smoothly. If the quarterback is out of sync than so is the rest of the team. They rely on you to be there, to make the perfect pass and complete the best play. And when you don’t, when you fail, the whole team fails. And it’s your fault. The proof is in the pudding and I definitely…got some proof. I think I got sacked the most ever in that game.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I fumbled, I didn’t hit the moving target…it was just an off night.”

“Well, it wasn’t a complete bust, right? You guys scored fourteen points.”

“You’re right. We did. Thank the lord for Bren. He caught everything I threw at him even if it was way off. He found a way of being there.”

“I think he might’ve used his powers for that one.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around me. “I think you’re right. He kept the night from being total shit.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It’s ok. I’m pretty sure you know by now that you didn’t miss anything huge.”

“Still…I feel bad. Like it’s my fault.”

“From what Alma told me, Friday night you were pretty far into ghost sickness that you didn’t know what was going on…”

“I know but still…”

“How about,” he stopped walking and turned me around to face him, “we just forget that Tuesday night through just a few minutes ago ever happened.”

“How are we supposed to do that?”

He smiled. “I keep forgetting you haven’t had a hangover before. Think of it like selective amnesia.”

I laughed. “There’s one hole in your theory.”

“What’s that?”

“The neon sign.”

He turned serious like a flip of a switch. “What about her?”

“Tomorrow we have school. She’s going to be there.”