“Not yet.” I retighten my bun, making a mental note to do that tonight. “Where will you be at thirty, Joshua Taylor Renner? Eating insta noodles in your underwear and rotting in your parents’ basement?” I venture, tamping down the urge to evil laugh. Last I heard, Renner was going to school in Boston. I haven’t the foggiest idea what he’s planning to major in. Probably something useless like underwater basket weaving or puppet entertainment arts.
He runs a calloused finger over his jaw as he heads back to the gym. Still light-headed, I follow at his heels, abandoning the time capsule in the supply closet.
We’re working on the same wall now, nearly side by side, when he finally answers my question. “I was thinking of majoring in business. Or maybe law. Though I’ve always wanted to coach a varsity team.” Renner spends his summers volunteering at the children’s rugby and track camp as an assistant coach. A far cry from the major league.
“Varsity? Please. Gym teacher, maybe.”
His eyes light up. “That’s high on my list of possibilities too, if the others don’t work out.”
“Convenient,” I say, snickering at the thought of a balding Renner with a wispy comb-over, donning an Adidas tracksuit that stretches over his beer gut, whistle around his neck, hell-bent on reliving his youth.
He furrows his brow. “What’s convenient?”
“That you want to be a teacher too.” I’ve always wanted to work with kids. In first grade, my grandparents bought me a sticker set, and I used all my parents’ printer paper making fake homework, slapping on stickers and pretending to grade them with a red pen.
My goals have changed throughout the years. I’ve gone from wanting to teach first grade, to being a principal, to high school English lit. After peer tutoring sophomore year, I found my true calling as a school counselor. What better way to flex my compulsion for planning than helping others find their paths?
One corner of his mouth tugs upward, amused. “Here we go again with the conspiracy theories. It’s really funny how you think I spend so much time thinking about you that I’d go so far as to copy your future career.”
I toss an empty roll of duct tape on the floor, setting a hand on my hip. “You never gave a crap about student council in the first three years of high school. You knew it was my thing and you just had to go for it. And you’ve known for years I want to be a teacher. And suddenly, you’re all about becoming a gym teacher. Coincidence? I think not.”
His cheeks turn pink and his chest heaves. I’ve hit a nerve. Victory. “Did you ever stop to consider that maybe we have more in common than you think?” He pauses, shooting me a pointed glare. “No, you didn’t. Because you’ve never bothered to get to know me.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to inform Renner that I did intend to get to know him. That I even liked him, just a tiny bit—until he stood me up for another girl before homecoming. But nothing comes out aside from a huffy, “It’s highly convenient is all I’m saying.”
“Get over yourself, Char. Your dreams aren’t unique,” he says with a patronizing expression as he runs a hand over the seaweed to adhere it to the wall. My nostrils flare, but I manage to control my anger until he asks, “How many cats do you plan to own by thirty? Nine? Ten?”
“First, I like dogs. Not cats. And why is success measured by my relationship status? You didn’t even ask about where I’d be in my thriving career,” I point out. “If you were asking Ollie the same question, you’d never ask whether he lived with cats.”
“Because I already know Ollie will be married to Kassie,” Renner retorts.
I tilt my head, a little surprised by that admission. “True. Ollie is future-husband material.”
“Future-husband material? And I’m not?”
I keep my lips pressed into a thin line. “You sound bothered. I’m sensing jealousy.”
He makes a perplexed face. “Of who? Ollie?”
“Why not? You really liked Kassie. That summer before we went into high school.”
He shrugs. “If that’s how you wanna describe it. I was also fourteen years old. My mom still picked out my outfits for school. Besides, Kassie likes Ollie way more than she ever liked me. I’ve always been happy for him.” His response catches me off guard. I’ve always assumed he felt some type of way about his best friend stealing the girl he liked, as anyone would.
I’m about to call him on it, but his face hardens again and it feels like the moment has passed. We work in a heavy silence for another few minutes.