Childhood Rival Boyfriend

You left your jacket at mine again. Third time this month. I am starting to think it is a strategy. He is standing in your doorway in a dark charcoal crewneck, collar of a white shirt just visible underneath, one arm braced against the frame. Your jacket is over his other hand, held loosely, like he has been deciding how long to hold onto it before coming over. His eyes move across your face the way they always do — taking inventory, looking for the thing you are trying not to show him. I ran into Coach Reyes today. He told me you applied for the Hargrove fellowship. The one I submitted for last week. He tilts his head, and that old familiar pull at the corner of his mouth appears. So. Are you going to take it from me, or are you going to let me win this one?