Free Lullaby of Love by Lucy Lacefield Page B

you feel about the whales.”
    She looks pleased. . . and humored. “It’s yours for the day,” she grants me.
    I give her a big hug.
     
     
    dane
    There’s a notebook piece of paper in the center of the table as I walk into the kitchen, with my name written largely in black marker: Dane: Some guy called for you—Malloy. Call him. That’s an iconic first. Vince’s girlfriend must have probed him to leave a note. . . both their backpacks are right inside the door, in tripping range. Otherwise I’d just get asked days later when they called back if I ever got the message, same routine every time.
    I drop my backpack onto the table and grab a glass of water and make a sandwich before finding the phone to call him.
    She’s coming to watch me.
    I take my last bite walking the plate to the sink, spotting the phone on a sofa cushion, getting comfortable and placing the call.
    “Hey, Coach Malloy. I got your message.”
    “Dane—how’s it going?”
    “Great! No complaints. How are things with you?” I ask, knowing Kate and mom just saw him a couple of days ago and he’ll be out here soon.
    “Good, good. You feeling ready for Harvard this weekend?” He keeps a close watch on the other collegiate runners and knows where my real competition is at.
    “Sure—ready to go.” I’m in the best condition I’ve been in. My body’s showing the discipline that I’ve gotten used to, and the maturity, even since the last meet-up with Harvard.
    “Trace Cappelletti’s time is improving—he came out ahead against Dartmouth last Saturday. Have you been watching it?” he asks, not doubting that we’re on the same page.
    “Yep, he’s looking better—not too worried though.” I slide my free hand down the top of my thigh, feeling the definition of toned form.
    “Alright then—good, that’s what I want to hear. I should be arriving around 7:00 tomorrow evening. You got time for a late supper?”
    “Sure. Sounds good.”
    “Let’s say I’ll get you from your place about 7:40. How’s that?”
    “Good, 7:40. See you then.”
    “Okay, Dane. See you then. Bye.”
    “Bye.” I toss the phone lightly aside and get up to make another sandwich before hitting the books.

 
     
     
     
15
     
     
    shay
    It’s not a first date.
    It’s just a walk. . . a planned walk.
    I can do this.
    I put Jenny’s and mine’s sandwiches into baggies and slide them down into a paper sack, along with a couple of apples, looking around my small apartment to see if I have everything. Of course I have everything. What else would I take besides lunch, a coffee, and my bag? Shake it off Shay.
    I let my shoulders drop a little and allow myself a slight shudder. I’ve been distracted since last night. I couldn’t hardly fall asleep to begin with, and I had to rely on focusing to something to slow my mind down from the day, from Dane. . . and I thought of his eyes, looking up at them, and his soft, strong hand, warm, in the middle of my back. . . and I refused anymore thoughts and finally fell asleep.   And now I’m fidgety. Super fidgety. Maybe the walk up the hill will calm me. . . I hope .
    The mornings are getting warmer, and I coach myself to take cleansing breaths walking up the main street, just to be able to be a little better at talking with him today than I was yesterday. I’m just so nervous inside. Is it this way for everyone—in the beginning of liking someone. . . am I normal? No. . .  I’m not normal; I know that. At least Jenny doesn’t care that I’m not. . . and he doesn’t seem to care either, I don’t think. Why else would he have asked me to come to watch Saturday? But he doesn’t know me yet—that I’ve kept all boys at a distance all of this time.
    I’m fidgety all over again.
    Breathe.
    Pace yourself. . .
    As I get to the top of the street I take in the view. From this distance the whole campus sprawls itself out in front of you. It’s really magnificent, breathtaking. I truly feel lucky. I look over at