I scramble to one end of the trampoline. Harley scrambles to the other and my mom laughs her light, tinkling laugh. “Don’t stop on account of me, darlings.”
Mortified, I bury my face in my hands and feel Harley’s weight shift off of the trampoline. Dirt is smeared on his cheeks from my fingertips, and it makes me smile because they look like a brand. “That’s okay, Evelyn. I have to go practice drills anyway. I’m trying out for the team on Monday.”
“You are?” I’m not sure why, but there’s a hard edge to my voice when I ask this question. Harley used to play in the pee wee league in elementary school, but he hurt his knee at nine years old and Rochelle forced him to give it up. He hasn’t talked about it since, though I know he must miss it. I guess it’s not really a surprise that he’d go back now that he’s older, it’s just that he usually talks to me about these things.
“Yeah. You’ll come watch, right?”
I nod, but don’t say another word. I don’t want him to go back to playing football. It’s a dangerous sport at the best of times, not to mention for younger players who take multiple hits to the head. I don’t say any of this, because as Harley watches my reaction, I know he doesn’t like what he sees, which I guess is why he hasn’t told me before now.
“I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah, later,” I agree, and watch him turn and walk up the steps toward my mom.
Mom grasps Harley’s shoulder, stopping him before he can walk by. “Oh, honey, you have a little something there on your cheek.”
She’s talking about my muddy fingerprints on his face. To my abject horror, Mom licks her fingertips and starts cleaning his face with her spit. “Mom, no!”