[Thursday, February 25]

Tami was late to lunch. She slapped her latest returned Algebra II test down in front of Eric, who was eating a slice of that disgusting cafeteria pizza. He put the pizza down and looked at the number 90 circled in the top right hand corner of the test. He clapped. She took a mock bow, and he swept her onto his lap. They began kissing.

From next to Eric, Joey insisted, "No PDA!"

Tami slid off of Eric's lap and sat across from him and next to Sarah.

Eric looked down at the table, where Sarah and Joey had their fingers laced together, and asked, "No PDA? Then what's that?"

"Handholding," Sarah said, "is not equivalent with a lap dance."

"I was not giving Eric a lap dance," Tami insisted.

Eric looked over the table at her and smiled.

"That sounds more like a Sunday tutoring activity," Joey said.

Eric shot him a warning look. Sarah laughed. Tami blushed. So Joey knew something of their tutoring history, but whether he'd heard it from Eric or Sarah, Tami couldn't guess. If Eric had told by now, she really couldn't fault him for it. Joey was his best friend, and she'd told Sarah plenty.

Joey squeezed Sarah's hand. "I wish you needed tutoring."

"Take what you can get, Romeo," she told him.

Tami unzipped her backpack and showed Eric the photos she'd taken at the basketball game yesterday. "The deadline for the contest is Wednesday. I want to put my entry in the mail tomorrow. Which do you think is best?"

He looked at them, as did Sarah and Joey.

"That one," Joey said, pointing to a picture of a slam dunk.

"That one," Sarah said with a grin, pointing to a photo of the hottest boy on the team, who was stretching his muscular arms on the sideline.

Joey shook his head.

"That one," Eric said, pointing to a player on the sidelines, who was autographing a little boy's basketball. The boy was wearing a Tyler Tiger's jersey, but he was only about five years old, and it would be years before he had a chance to try out for the team. Yet he was looking up at his favorite high school player with a twinkling wonder in his light blue eyes. "Touch of the human," he told Tami.

[Saturday, February 24]

"This World War I anti-war poetry is depressing, dearie," Mrs. Hernandez told her. Tami was reading her Wilfred Owen, which she'd been assigned from her anthology for English class. The woman pointed to her end table. "I've got a Harlequin romance novel right there. Read me that instead."

Tami chuckled, closed her anthology, and went to get the book. It was rather dog eared.

"Pages are folded at the juicy bits," the old lady said. "Just read those."

Tami shook her head and opened to the first spot. A few weeks ago, this would have seemed a mortifying request, but Tami was beyond being embarrassed by any interaction with Mr. Hernandez now. She was like a friend, but an old and wise and eccentric and unpredictable one.

The book was a sports romance, featuring a brooding, blonde quarterback on the cover, and a long-haired brunette with smart girl glasses. It was titled Playing Defense.

"She's a sports reporter who really wants a political beat," Mrs. Hernandez said. "But she's stuck covering football." That sounded extremely unrealistic to Tami. "He's the star quarterback of a new NFL team. She resists him at first, of course. She thinks he's just a dumb, womanizing jock."

"Let me guess," Tami said, "he gets the girl in the end?"

"Oh, dearie, don't spoil the ending for me."

Tami laughed and began reading at the first dogeared page. She paused. "I really don't think he would be completely alone in the locker room like that. The last person out is not going to be a football player."

"Suspension of disbelief," Mrs. Hernandez insisted.

Tami continued reading. There was some sexy stuff going on in that locker room. "Well that was fast. Didn't she just hate him a few pages ago?"

"She still hates him. Doesn't mean she doesn't want to get it on. I mean, he has those rippling muscles, dearie."

Eric had rippling muscles. Tami could run her hands over them in the pick-up tonight, after their date, through his shirt, while they were necking, but the more serous fooling around was reserved for their Sunday sessions. She liked their Saturday evening dates to involve a lot of non-physical connection. He wooed her on Saturday for the privilege of fooling around with her on Sunday.

Tami read another scene and said, "They didn't stop to put on a condom."

"Oh, that's not sexy, dearie. They're not going to write that in there. We can just assume they did that."

"Actually, I don't even think they stopped to take their clothes off. Did I miss that part?"

"Sometimes the editors miss a few consistency issues. Don't worry about that. Read on!"

Tami flipped a few more pages ahead. She laughed when she read the phrase throbbing manhood.

"Hey, it's not easy coming up with new, non-crass terms sex scene after sex scene, dearie. I know. I wrote fifteen of these books back in the 60s."

"Did you really?" Tami asked. That one might actually be true, for all she knew.

"$200 a pop. That's all I made. But it paid for my bourbon."

"Did you write this one?"

"Oh, God no. If I had, he wouldn't be blonde." Mrs. Hernandez sighed. "He'd have dark hair and hazel eyes."

"Remind me not to introduce you to my boyfriend. I don't want the competition."

[Sunday, February 28]

Eric sat in his desk chair wearing nothing but his black, silk boxers. Tami's arms were draped around his neck, and she was straddling him in the chair, wearing nothing but a pair of pink, lacy panties. Both were panting.

He swallowed. "Thank you for my lap dance," he said.

She smiled. "You're welcome. But I don't think you can get that in the strip clubs, just so you know." Tami had straddled and dry humped him, until he groaned that he was chaffing and begged for her to touch him instead. They'd slipped their hands into each other's underwear and brought one another to orgasm.

She slid off his lap now and put on her shirt. She always felt a little exposed after they fooled around. She didn't in the heat of the moment, but after…

Tami sat down on his bed and wondered if she should just have sex with him. At least oral sex. At least give him a blow job. What they were doing wasn't all that different, was it? And yet…she felt that as long as she held back some part of herself, she would be safer somehow. She could protect a little bit more of her heart for a little longer. She also felt that every week he continued to desire her even though she wasn't putting out was further proof of his regard for her. Of course, Mo had stayed with her for a long time, but only because he was getting satisfaction elsewhere. She trusted Eric wasn't. She'd ignored many a red flag with Mo. There were no red flags with Eric, and he had the general reputation around school of having been faithful for over two years to Laura.

He came and sat beside her on the bed and kissed her cheek. "You're the best," he said. "I love you."

"At least three quarters?" she asked with a smile.

"More like nine tenths."

She lay her head on his shoulder. "What do those words mean to you?" She wondered if they meant much of anything at all. He'd said them easily enough, early enough. Maybe it was just something he would say to any girl he dated. Maybe it just meant, I like that you make me hard.

"I love you?" he asked.

"Yeah. Mo said it all the time." Even while he was cheating. "Did Laura?"

"She said it whenever I said it."

"So what does it mean to you?"

"I don't know how to define it. It's just how I feel about you. Like...I want to be with you. And you make me smile. And laugh, and I think about you a lot." He laughed. "In the shower especially."

She rolled her eyes. She tried to take his quip lightly, as he'd meant it. She tried not to be disappointed. But she couldn't help but conclude that, yes, that was all I love you meant to him.

But then he continued, "You make me feel different about myself, Tami. I'm under so much pressure to be a great football player. My dad, my high school coach, my soon-to-be college coach, half the school expects me to be great and maybe even go pro...but you…you make me feel like maybe I'd be...I don't know...valuable even if I fail at that. No one has ever made me feel like that."

She kissed him. He made her feel different about herself too. He made her feel like she was smart, worthy of respect, and capable of succeeding. "I bet you could be good at lots of things," she told him.

"I want to do well at football. I love the game. It's shaped me. I want to make it to the NFL, make my dad proud. He's done a lot to support me. He gave up his own dream of going pro to raise me."

"He doesn't know he would have ever gone pro. If you were never born, he might have just stayed in the amateur league until he couldn't play anymore, gotten nowhere. But now he has a steady, salaried job laying carpet and a side job as a handy man. And he makes decent money. For someone without a college degree, he does well for himself."

"Yeah, especially at the handy man gig. He's thinking about quitting the carpet store and doing that full time when I'm off his health insurance. That's the only reason he's keeping the carpet store job, really. For the health insurance."

Tami's mom didn't even have health insurance. They avoided the doctor until it was dire, and then they went to a cash-only, walk-in clinic when they were really sick.

"Maybe he wouldn't have gone pro," Eric continued, "but he also made a lot of sacrifices to support me me in football. Equipment, camps, private coaching sessions….that all cost him a lot of money. He gave up a lot of time, too, to be an assistant coach for my Pee Wee team for three years. And for the last five years, he's gotten up early every morning to jog with me and run plays with me during football season. I don't want to let him down. I don't want to not make it, and all that effort of his have been for nothing."

"That effort was his choice, Eric. He can't expect you to realize his dream for him. You have to realize your own dreams."

"It's my dream too," he said. "I just don't know if it's realistically obtainable. Such a small percentage of college athletes get drafted. I'm good at the high school level, sure...but...college is a whole different ball game. The best of everyone from high school. I'm not going to be competing against the average player anymore. I'll do my best. God knows I'll work my ass off...but, even so, I don't think my odds are all that high."

She draped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "You'll do great, Eric. And if you don't make it to the NFL, you'll be great at whatever else you do. Have you thought about what else you might want to do?"

"I don't really have a back-up plan yet. I don't really want to do anything but football."

"Then do something that involves football, even if you don't end up going pro. Be a sports journalist or a sports announcer or an equipment manager or...coach. You're a really good tutor. If you can make a dunce like me get a 90 in algebra, a subject you don't even like much, imagine what you can do teaching students to play football!"

"You're not a dunce, Tami. And all I did was help you realize you could do it. That ability came from within, you know."

"Well, isn't that exactly what coaches do? Tap the ability with, bring it out, and shape it?"

"I guess. I doubt I could coach college, if I never go pro. Guess I could coach high school, but that can't pay much on its own. Coach Hensely has to teach. Almost full-time."

She shrugged. "It's an honest living. Good benefits. What would you want to teach? Algebra II?"

"God no. I don't like math much. That's why I didn't take any this year. Maybe PE. That's what most coaches teach."

"Coach Riley teaches AP English." He was Sarah and Joey's teacher. "It doesn't have to be PE. What's your favorite subject?"

"U.S. History. Especially the wars. I like to read about strategy. How the generals commanded. Maybe I should double in History and PE. Might make me more marketable. " He threw himself back on the bed, his arms folded behind his head. He looked good lying there, in nothing but his boxers, his v muscles angling down into his shorts, his abs stretched out with his posture. She lay down next to him and draped an arm around his waist. "And here I am already talking like I'm not going to make it," he said.

She kissed his bare shoulder. "It's okay to have both a dream and a back-up plan."

He turned on his side so they were face to face and kissed her lips. "So I know your back-up plan. Open enrollment community college. What's your dream?"

"A degree in Psychology from a top tier university," she said, and it was the first time she'd said it aloud to anyone.

"Why psychology?"

"I tried to avoid doing my volunteer hours, and now I love working at the nursing home. I like reading to them, especially Mrs. Hernandez, sharing the photos I take...finding ways to make them feel good about themselves. I want to make sad and worried and lonely people feel better about themselves. I want to help them. I think of how my guidance counselor helped me, believed in me, got me to get tutoring and think I could aim for something higher, and I think maybe I'd like to be a counselor one day. Does that sound crazy?"

"Why would it sound crazy?"

"I've never taken a psychology class. I don't know anything at all about counseling. And I've been a bit of a mess myself. I'm still figuring myself out."

"Well, that's how you help others do it, right? You walked in those shoes. Who wants a perfect counselor who never had a problem in her life? Never made a wrong step?"

"You have a point." She kissed him. "You really think I could do it?"

"Why the hell not? You're smart. And once you're serious about something, you grasp it quickly. You could knock out all of your prerequisites in community college, impress them with your GPA, then transfer to some top tier university like...I don't know…" He smiled. "Baylor. Get a psych degree."

"I could never afford Baylor. I doubt I could get in even if I pull up my grades up in community college."

"Hey, Tami, have the dream and have the backup plan. Right? Isn't that what you said?"

She rewarded him with another kiss. "Right," she agreed.