“He dropped it!” the man behind me screams so loud I can almost hear the veins bulging out of his neck. Never stopping or taking his eyes off the coach, Griffon speeds around the bases, finally sliding into third in a big cloud of dust at the same time the baseman leans out to catch the ball. Griffon jumps up grinning, and brushes the dirt off his pants as the umpire swings his arms wide and calls him safe.
It takes two more batters before the ball becomes airborne again, and Griffon easily makes it from third to home, stepping hard on the plate as he crosses, giving his team the lead that lasts for the rest of the game. They’re like little boys as they try to compose themselves for the ritual lining up and shaking of hands with the losing team, breaking into high-fives and chest bumps as soon as it’s over. Of all the guys on the team, Griffon is the one who draws your attention, and I know from the way the rest of the team gathers around him that I’m not the only one who thinks so.
The team is barely off the field when Griffon pulls himself away from the group to walk toward me. His curls are sticking out from under his baseball cap, and I can see a line of sweat coursing under his jaw. There are other people still standing near the field, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me out in public like this. If that’s still where we are.
I don’t have long to wonder. Griffon drops his bag in the dust as he reaches the bleachers, then leans down and kisses me hard, the excitement of the game still shimmering around him. His usual scent is even stronger, and I can feel my heart beating right into my core as his hand brushes mine.
He pulls away, his cheeks red from exertion and a smile playing on his lips. “I’m so glad you came out here,” he says.
I look at him in his gray pants and dark blue uniform shirt. It’s going to be hard to stay mad at him. “I almost didn’t.”
A slight look of panic crosses his face. “Really? Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you say these amazing things, kiss me, and then disappear for a week.”
“Listen, I’m sorry about that,” he says. His eyes lock onto mine. “I couldn’t help it. There was something I had to take care of. An emergency.”
I search his face, wanting to believe him. It would be so much better to have a crisis—okay, maybe not a bad crisis, but still—than to think he just doesn’t care enough to call me. “What kind of an emergency?”
Griffon breaks his gaze and looks down. “I can’t talk about it right now. There’s some stuff I’m involved in, and I couldn’t have anyone know where I was. Or be able to trace me.”
“What kind of stuff? You’re in high school.”
“True,” he says. “But I also have other responsibilities.” Griffon looks around at the crowd that is slowly disappearing. “I can explain it more later.” He leans over and takes my face into his hands. Leaning in, he kisses me, gently this time. “Forgive me?”
Looking into his eyes, I know there is no other choice. “For now,” I say.
After a long, lingering moment, he pulls back and takes my hand in his. “Good. Are you hungry?”
I’ve been too nervous about seeing him to eat much so far today. “Definitely.”
“I know just the place,” he says, and pulls me off the bleachers. He leads me to a familiar red truck.
“No bike today?” I ask.
“No. Janine let me use this.” He swings his baseball bag behind the seat. “It’s easier with all of my gear.”
As he starts it up, I notice the unmistakable aroma of fried rice. My heart starts racing as I recognize the first signs of one of my visions. I so don’t want to have one now.
Griffon glances at me. “Are you okay?”
I swallow hard. “I’m not sure. All of a sudden I got a really strong smell.” I know I look panicky, but I can’t help myself.
“Like Chinese food?”
“Yeah. Combination fried rice.”
Griffon laughs. “It’s the car,” he says. “Biodiesel. Janine had it converted a few years ago so that it runs on used cooking oil. She gets it free from a Chinese restaurant on Shattuck, so the car always smells like Chinese food. Sorry. I should have said something.”
I laugh too, more out of relief than anything else. I’m not going to pass out and have some crazy vision in front of him again. At least, for the moment. “I’d gain twenty pounds driving this car,” I say, my stomach rumbling so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
Even though it’s late on a Wednesday afternoon, the streets are packed with college kids shopping or just hanging out. Every corner is filled with vendors selling necklaces or tie-dyed shirts, with ratty cardboard signs advertising their prices. As we pass the head shops and clothing stores, snippets of music blast out onto the sidewalk like an ever-changing radio station.
After a few blocks, Griffon stops in front of a restaurant with big windows that gives diners nonstop street-side entertainment as they eat their meal. “This is the place,” he says, holding the door open for me.
The inside of the café is even louder than it is on the sidewalk. I stare at the chalkboard menu by the counter, trying to decide what’s the right thing to eat on our semi-official first date.
“You first,” Griffon says. “Their wood-fired pizzas are amazing here.”
“That sounds good,” I say. “I’ll have the prosciutto,” I tell the girl behind the counter.
“Mushroom and artichoke hearts,” Griffon orders. “I’ve got this,” he says, reaching into his pocket.
“No way,” I say, not wanting him to think I’m someone who needs to be taken care of. “We’ll split it.”
“I asked you,” he says. He smiles at me and puts a twenty on the counter before I can say a word. “You can get it next time.”
The idea that he’s planning on a next time makes me almost giddy, but I try not to look it. The restaurant is crowded, and we have to pick our way toward an empty table by the window. Just as we pass a table where two old guys are playing chess, I hear a crash as the board and all of the plastic pieces fall to the floor.
“Crap,” Griffon says, looking at the mess. “I’m so sorry.” His cheeks are red, but he stands motionless for several seconds, staring at the chess pieces on the ground.
“Just great,” the old guy in the plaid cap starts to get up. “There goes the game.”
Griffon puts his hand out. “No, wait, I’ve got this. Just give me a second.” He puts the board back on their table, centering it between them, and then picks up the black and white pieces from the floor, positioning each on the board in a different spot, starting off slow but getting faster, until he finishes by leaving a few white pieces on one side and four blacks on the other.
“There,” he says, relief in his voice. “That should be right.” Griffon studies the board while the old guys stare at him. “Hang on!” he says, and swaps a pawn and a rook. He smiles at them. “Now it’s right. Sorry again.” He takes my hand and leads me to our table.
I lean toward him as we sit down, watching the old men whisper about him. “Seriously? You put every piece back where it was?”
Griffon shrugs and puts his napkin in his lap. “Yeah. It’s the least I could do.”
“You know that people are going to think that’s weird, right?”