Chapter 7 - Levi - Unexpected
1193 Words
“Sometimes the smallest moments leave the deepest footprints on your heart.”
I always drive with music blasting. Windows down, one hand on the wheel. The other tapping against the steering wheel like I’m performing a sold-out concert for absolutely nobody. Today, the radio is off. I don’t even realize it until I’m halfway home. Instead, my mind keeps replaying the last three hours. Not calculus, not derivatives, not limits.
Kennedy. Well… Not even Kennedy exactly. Her house. Mrs. Brooks—Honor, she insisted—chasing me around the kitchen because I said I was full after two plates of curry chicken. Mr. Brooks laughing so hard after I told him I’d faced less intimidating linebackers than him that I thought he might actually fall out of his chair. The smell of cinnamon drifting through the house. The bookshelf that took up almost an entire wall in Kennedy’s room. The way she argued with fictional characters like they could actually hear her.
I laugh quietly to myself.
“…Mind your business.” I shake my head. She’d said it with a completely straight face too. I stop at a red light and catch myself smiling. The realization hits me almost immediately.
“…What is wrong with you?”
The driver in the next lane glances over. I quickly pretend I wasn’t talking to myself. Smooth, Bowman. Real smooth.
⸻
When I pull into the driveway, Mom is already standing on the porch watering the flowers. She smiles the second she sees me.
“How’d tutoring go?”
I sling my backpack over one shoulder.
“It was good.”
“Just good?”
“Yeah.”
She narrows her eyes.
“No."
“What?”
“That wasn’t a ‘just good’ smile.”
“I smiled?”
She laughs.
“Oh honey…You’ve been smiling since you got out of the Jeep.”
I immediately wipe the grin off my face.
“I was thinking about calculus.”
She blinks once. Then bursts into laughter.
“That’s the worst lie you’ve ever told.”
“I understand derivatives now.”
“I’m sure you do.”
She follows me inside.
“But I wasn’t talking about calculus.”
I pretend not to hear her.
Mostly because… I have no idea what she means.
⸻
After changing clothes, I head to football practice. Coach Ramirez is already setting up cones when I jog onto the field.
“About time, Bowman.”
“I’m three minutes early.”
“Exactly.”
I grin.
Some things never change.
Practice starts like every other Wednesday. Stretching, warm-ups, route drills. Coach explains a new passing sequence we’ve been working on. Normally, I’d have it memorized after one demonstration.
Today… my first throw sails two feet over Jonah’s head. He catches it anyway. Mostly because Jonah catches everything.
Coach blows his whistle.
“Bowman!”
“Yes, Coach?”
“Where’s your head today?”
I blink.
“…On my shoulders?” The team laughs.
Coach pinches the bridge of his nose.
“No.”
“Sorry.”
“Again.”
We run the play. This time I hit Alex right in the numbers.
“Better,” Coach says before moving on. I exhale quietly. Focus. You’re here, not at the Brooks’ house.
Not wondering whether Honor actually expected me to take all those leftovers. Not thinking about the bookmark Kennedy tucked into her calculus textbook. Football. Focus on football.
⸻
Practice finally ends two hours later. I peel off my gloves and reach for my water bottle when Noah falls into step beside me.
“So?”
“So…what?”
“How’d tutoring go?”
“It went fine.”
He studies me for a second.
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs.
“Did you learn anything?”
“Actually…” I laugh. “I finally understand derivatives.”
“No kidding.”
“Kennedy explained it in about ten minutes.”
He nods. “Good.”
I don’t know why I keep talking. Maybe because nobody else has asked.
“Her parents are really nice.”
Silence. Noah looks at me.
“I didn’t ask about her parents.”
I stop walking.
Neither of us says anything for a few seconds.
Finally I shrug. “They invited me to stay for dinner.”
He nods slowly.
“That’s…useful.”
Useful. I hate that word.
“They’re just nice people.”
“I know.”
He adjusts the strap on his gym bag. “Just don’t forget why you’re there.”
One sentence. That’s all he says. Then he walks toward the parking lot. I stood there watching him leave. For the first time… His words don’t motivate me. They make me feel guilty.
⸻
Back home, I dump my backpack onto my bed. Notebook, calculator, pencil case, the borrowed calculus textbook.
Something blue flutters onto the comforter. The bookmark. I pick it up carefully. Blue watercolor. Pressed lavender. Hand-lettered edges. I turn it over. Every great story deserves another chapter. I run my thumb across the dried flower. She made this. By hand. Because it helped her when she felt anxious. I don’t know why that makes my chest tighten. Maybe because… When I get anxious, I throw a football until my arm hurts. She creates something beautiful.
I wear myself out. Funny how two people can cope with life in completely different ways. Without thinking, I open my wallet. I slide the bookmark behind my driver’s license. Safe.
I freeze.
“…Why did I do that?”
It’s just a bookmark. Right?
⸻
Later that night, I sit at my desk working through the practice problems Kennedy assigned me.For onc, the numbers actually make sense. I solve one problem. Then another. I didn't look at the answer key once. A grin spreads across my face.
“She really is a good teacher.”
I lean back in my chair and glance at the calendar hanging above my desk. Today’s Wednesday. Our next tutoring session, next Wednesday. One whole week away. I stare at the date longer than I should.
“…That’s a long time.”
I immediately shake my head.
“It’s seven days, idiot.” I go back to my homework. Three minutes later, I’m looking at the calendar again.
I sigh.
“This is ridiculous.”
I pull out my phone. My thumb hovers over Kennedy’s name.
Thanks again for today.
Too formal.
Delete.
I actually understood the homework.
Too weird.
Delete.
Hope you had a good night.
Why would I send that?
Delete. I toss my phone onto the bed.
“It’s been, like…five hours.” She probably thinks I’m insane. I turn off my desk lamp and crawl into bed. The room is quiet. Usually, I’d fall asleep thinking about Saturday’s game. Or next week’s practice. Or whether Coach was finally going to let us try that new offensive package.
Tonight, the last thing on my mind before sleep finally claims me… Is Kennedy laughing because I brought my own calculator. And somehow… That makes me smile.
- Writer
