Page 90 of Wildfire
Xander and Clay both worked here last year, but in different groups, so they weren’t strangers when they were put together this year. But last month, on one of the rare occasions I checked my phone, I saw Ryan had texted to tell me he signed with the LA Rockets.
The guys overheard me tell Emilia and it started a conversation about the NBA. Which then started a further conversation about how Xander and Clay know Ryan because they’ve played against him and, just to add another level, the pair plays against each other.
I’ve heard them make subtle digs at each other sometimes, but I’ve brushed it off as guy nonsense. What I didn’t realize is that Stanford and Berkeley are bitter athletic rivals, and apparently that expands to informal-just-for-fun summer camp basketball.
Ridiculous.
“I’ve seen you play paint dodgeball. I know there’s nothing wrong with your hand-eye coordination, you Judas.”
“Serious question,” Emilia says, picking up the water bottles we put down when Xander insisted we stop for an important discussion. “Why are you the way you are?”
He doesn’t answer her, instead opting to explain all the rules of basketball to us while we walk to the water machines and back. By the time we return to our group, I’m surprised the kids haven’t passed out from dehydration.
I hand Russ’s bottle to him as his eyebrow quirks. “What took you so long?”
He puts the bottle to his lips, taking a big drink. When his mouth is full, I say my two new favorite words to him:sexual wizardry. Some of the water sprays out of his mouth, the rest causes him to choke. He bashes his palm against his chest, covering his mouth with his forearm until he eventually stops spluttering. “Need me to put you in the recovery position, Callaghan?”
His eyes are watering and his face is pink, but it doesn’t stop him from beginning to laugh. “I couldn’t help it.”
“I feel like you could definitely help it.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t understand,” he says quietly. “He was being so annoying. He asked me if I was excited to play a real sport. He’s normally so laid back, but competition makes him vicious, and I have to live with him.”
“Oh no.” I pout playfully. “Did the nasty man who chases men for a ball insult you? A man who also chases men for a ball, but on ice?”
“I know you’re just trying to mock me right now, but let me say, you’re really fucking cute when you pout at me like that. But I’m going to need you to confirm for me that you know there isn’t a ball in hockey. I mean, I’m the goalie, so I don’t technically chase anyone, but if we could start with the ball thing first, that’d be great.”
He’s staring at me, and given the fact his face hasn’t recovered from the choking, it’s pretty intense. Just past him I can see some of the boys starting to get into the rock climbing harnesses, and they’re definitely not the right ones. “Boys,” I yell, looking past Russ. “Not those ones! Let me help.”
Stepping around a still-perplexed Russ, I head toward my campers, only getting halfway there before I hear Russ shouting at me. “Ror! I just need to hear you say you know it’s not a ball! Just once!”
“Sorry, Callaghan! I don’t negotiate with my competition!” I yell back over my shoulder, smiling to myself when I see Xander immediately start to stomp in Russ’s direction.
THERE’S A REASONI’VE ALWAYSliked basketball players, but rarely attended basketball games: they’re boring.
Someone—probably Xander—organized the tournament schedule, and at this point, I can’t remember how many games we’ve played. I have no idea if we’re winning or not, and although my legsare sore, it’s mainly from running up and down the court while Xander hogs the ball and scores all our points.
The kids are having a blast, cheering and shouting enthusiastically throughout every game, but I have definitely lost interest. I want a hot chocolate. I want to watch a movie. I want to hold a dog while Russ’s hand rests on my thigh under a blanket.
Basically, I’m ready to get my evening back on its regular schedule.
“What if we just refuse to play?” Emilia says, stretching beside me.
“He doesn’t actually need us, so I don’t think that’d work.”
“Protest?”
“Pointless.”
“Fire?”
“Extreme,” I sigh. “I already thought of that one.”
“You know if we went on vacation like I suggested, we could have avoided this,” she says.
“I know,” I say, sighing even more dramatically than the last time. “I already thought of that, too.”
The only perk to this whole circus is that Russ is pretty good at basketball, and every time he demonstrates that skill, Clay and Xander look really confused, and it’s very satisfying to witness. When we play it with the Brown Bears—of course, I saywelightly since I don’t do anything—Russ is concentrating on making sure the kids are all having fun.
