Split Read Online Free Page B

Split
Book: Split Read Online Free
Author: Swati Avasthi
Pages:
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its introduction to water. I find one towel hanging from a single hook and dry my face with it, using just a corner.
    When I return to the living room, he is putting on his coat.
    “Aren’t we going to get a jacket for me?” I fold my arms over my chest.
    I probably look like a 1950s housewife, sulking as her husband says he’s going to work late. I stick my hands up into my armpits to counter that image.
    “We’ll go out after I get back from work. Then we’ll talk about what you’ll need to do if you want to stay with me.”
    Thanks. Now I have something to obsess about all day long .
    “Sure, okay,” I say.
    “I’ve left my cell number on the fridge, in case you need anything. There’s soup in the cupboard. I, uh, hell, I don’t even know what school district we’re in. Are you a senior?”
    I examine my big toenail, which was blackened last week in a soccer match. Would he like me to be a senior?
    “Junior.”
    He nods. “Listen, Jace. I’m sorry. This is going to take some getting used to, okay?”
    He’s almost out the door when he steps back in and pulls it closed. I exhale. He gets it now; he’s going to stay, take the day off, and figure out what we need to do.
    “I thought that you would have made plans. When I got out, I made—”
    “He threw me out at about three in the morning. Couldn’t very well go knocking on doors, now could I?” I ignore that I came knocking on his door.
    “He what? He threw you out?”
    I suddenly see my trump card. “I drove straight here.”
    “Oh.”
    “What did you think when I came here last night? That it was a vacation stop on the way to sunny California?”
    Maybe if I’m nicer he’ll let me stay. I try to smile with the good side of my mouth, but I’m guessing it looks like a grimace.
    “God, Jace, I assumed that if you were driving crosscountry, you’d have at least called or—”
    “I didn’t have your phone number.”
    He pauses and looks down. I watch him breathing.
    Finally he says, “I’ll be back around one, and we’ll make a plan then. Don’t worry, though. No matter where you end up, I’ll make sure you land on your feet, okay? I promise.”
    I’m not that comforted by his promises.

chapter 4
    w hen I knocked on Mirriam’s door with a soccer ball tucked under my arm, in search of a place to practice, she drove me out to the high school where she teaches. (English, she told me.) The fields that lie behind the school are decent. Two sit side by side, divided by a gully that is designed to trap escaping balls and drain rainwater. The white paint marking the field is fresh. No major potholes lie in wait to twist ankles, and one of the goals still has its net up.
    Mirriam lies on the grass, propped on an elbow, reading a paperback. Her purse and my camera bag are next to her. I was too jittery to stay in the apartment, so I asked Mirriam for directions, and she ended up driving me over.
    My shirt is so laden with sweat I’m certain my body is no longer 65 percent water. I peel off my shirt, toss it in the grass, and pray for a breeze. Who ever thought that September could be so hot? Luckily, I left Chicago with my soccer gear in the car, so I’ve changed from jeans to shorts.
    Interminable hours of driving and waiting and sitting and stressing, and now—movement. My legs in motion, my arms swinging for balance. I chip the ball in the air and pop it up for a header. My heart is pumping; my blood is flowing; everything is moving, but my brain is still fixated on what Christian said. We’ll talk about what you’ll need to do if you want to stay with me .
    I place the ball inside the box to practice my penalty kicks. I take measured steps back, but I’m not focused. I’m thinking, Like what things? Probably won’t make it easier when I tell him I’m broke. I let loose on the ball. It bounces off the crossbar, the goalie’s best friend. I chase it down. What kinds of things could Christian expect? More than keeping my room clean,
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