Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Hopping up onto the brick retaining wall in the side yard, I set my plate down beside my thigh and scroll through my running apps. The first is related to my dissertation, and the second to my weird—and probably a little creepy—experimental research and findings on Blake Boden. I input the new information from Finn and Scottie about Blake’s tendencies as a friend, along with his volunteer position for MKC, and then let the app run its conclusions. AI kicks out a ninety-five percent that life with Blake Boden in it is better than life with Blake Boden out of it, and I let out a heavy sigh.
Sometimes, I frighten even myself with the lengths I’m willing to take science.
I grab my hot dog and take a bite, moving to YouTube briefly to break up the monotony. I push play on a video from the PBS Space Time channel called “The Secrets of Quantum Thermodynamics.” But before it can dive all the way into the fundamental principles of thermodynamics and their connection to quantum mechanics, I’m interrupted by the buzz of a message banner as it pops up at the top of my screen.
Unknown: Hey, Lexi. How’s your weekend at the lake with family going?
Me: Who is this?
Unknown: Oh, you know…just the perpetual thorn in your side.
No longer confused, I frown and type out another message. It seems, today, Blake Boden is everywhere I turn.
Me: How did you get my number? And how do you know where I am? Don’t tell me you’re in the bushes.
Unknown: I have my ways. You’re not the only resourceful one, you know. PS: I’m not in the bushes.
Me: I thought you were focusing on building trust…?
Unknown: Can’t build anything without making contact, and you’ve been avoiding me.
Me: I haven’t been avoiding you. We just haven’t crossed paths.
Unknown: That’s because I haven’t seen you going into the lab at all this week.
Me: Stalk much?
Unknown: Admit it…you’ve been using a different entrance, haven’t you?
Me: No.
Truth be told, I’ve not needed an entrance all that much. I woke up Wednesday morning with a keyboard on my face, having spent the entire night locked away in my apartment at my computer, putting in data points for my Blake Boden research project. I’m obsessive—sometimes to the point of recklessness.
But, evidently, so is he. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be texting me on a number I told him he couldn’t have.
I sigh, choosing not to argue with someone as clearly stubborn as him, and save his number under his full name—just like all the other contacts in my phone. Somehow, adding him makes the whole idea of spending time with him this summer feel plausible within the constructs of reality. And according to my stepdad, avoidance—if I’d even been attempting it—ends Monday at MKC anyway.
Blake Boden: Come on, Lex. Give me a chance. Please?
Me: I’ll see you at Mavericks Kids Camp this week, and maybe, if you’re convincing enough, I’ll consider it.
Blake: You have no idea what you’ve just agreed to. Let the games begin.
I roll my eyes, but the tug of my smile betrays me. For better or worse, I guess the Blake Boden Experiment—and the fact that I’ll need to spend more time with him to conduct it—has officially begun.
Monday, May 26th
Blake
With a netted bag of footballs slung over my shoulder—courtesy of one of the Mavericks’ staff—I step through the tunnel and out onto the field. The stadium looms around me, empty but electric, the kind of place that doesn’t need fans in the seats to feel larger-than-life. My feet hit the turf, and I almost have to stop to remind myself to breathe.
This is it. The field where legends played. Where legends still play.
The very field that I hope to someday call home.
I scan the expansive venue, my eyes wide like a kid who just walked into Disney World for the first fucking time.
Hot damn. I’m happy to be here.
Today is the first day of Mavericks Kids Camp. For two hours today and two hours Wednesday, this is where I’ll be, and I can’t remember the last time I was this hyped for something. Sure, I’m here because I’ve been a Mavs fan since I could throw a football, but let’s be honest, I’m also here because Lexi Winslow’s name came up when we were talking about this camp during my lunch with Ace and his dad last Tuesday.
Thatch mentioned the camp shortly after walking into Zip’s Diner, casually sharing that he’d just gotten off the phone with his brother-in-law—retired Mavs running back Sean Phillips. Apparently, Cam Mitchell had torn his hamstring playing indoor soccer with his sons and had to back out of camp at the last minute.
Of course, I latched on to the opportunity like a wide receiver on a Hail Mary pass. By the time I got back to my apartment, I’d already roped Coach Gordan into calling the Mavs on my behalf, and by Friday, I was officially on the volunteer list.