“Mom, I’m grounded. No friends over,” I say, hoping to save Grey from Dad’s likely interrogation.
“You didn’t invite him, I did. And you’ll come, won’t you, Grey?”
“Of course, Mrs. Rodinsky.”
Mom beams at him and takes the opportunity to press her palm to his chest, which I can tell you is nice and firm and jeez, she is seriously doing this to mess with me. “Call me Ellen. See you at six. Thanks for popping by.”
“Sure thing, Ellen.”
As Grey steps safely onto the stoop, I pull the door in close to my butt and lean out toward him, shielding us from view of Mom, who is totally eavesdropping.
“Your mother is lovely,” he says, and I can tell he means it.
“She is. My whole family is.” I clutch his forearm, hoping he can feel the warning in the press of my fingers. They are lovely, but they’re also going to eat him alive if he’s not prepared. My grip does the trick and Grey catches my eye. “Bring a helmet,” I whisper.
“And obstruct your dad’s view of my face while I explain what a fantastic football player you are? Nah.” Grey winks. “See ya tomorrow, Rodinsky.”
Hands in his pockets, Grey heads down the driveway and I haul myself back inside, feeling warm and fuzzy yet completely anxious all the same. I feel like I need to run it all off—maybe Mom’ll be cool with that. Is it acceptable to jog while grounded?
When I shut the door, Mom is right there, waiting, as expected, wicked smirk lighting her papery skin.
“Well, he is cute.”
Cute and totally toast.
20
I’M ON EDGE THE REST OF THE WEEKEND, RUNNING scenarios in my mind for everything that could go wrong at family dinner on Sunday night. Luckily, Mom seems to think letting me out for a jog is okay under the terms of my grounding—mostly because Dad has disappeared, the case he’s on sucking him away from us every waking hour.
Without my phone, I’m musicless, and so I’m left with my thoughts and my nerves for a six-mile run Saturday afternoon and again on Sunday morning. On Sunday morning, I turn the corner back to our house to see Danielle and Heather, leaving for a run of their own, all sparkly and sweat-free. I wave, sweat sizzling into my eyes.
I’ve managed to avoid Danielle for most of the weekend, and maybe she let that happen, so pissed at me for lying that she didn’t even want to see my face. Might as well cut to the chase before the pair of them literally run away from me. I catch Danielle’s arm before they pass.
“I’m so sorry for lying. I—I don’t know why I did, but I’m sorry.”
Danielle squints back at me, smile incredulous. “You lied because you knew I’d freak about football just as much as Mom and Dad.”
“Okay,” I admit. “That’s true.”
My sister flips her hand around so she’s gripping me as much as I’m holding on to her. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not totally impressed.”
My eyes widen. “You’re what?”
“I’m totally impressed. Coach Kitt wanted you to prove you could be a good teammate. And what did you do? You joined the most brutal, boy-centric sport possible and then you crushed it.”
“We saw a video,” Heather pipes in. “Ryan shot it from the stands Friday night.” She’s grinning—and so is Danielle. “My brother played football for a decade before starting in high school and he could never throw a spiral like that.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Danielle confirms. “You were great—Dad should let you play.”
Tears prick at my eyes, mingling with the sweat crowding my lash line. Danielle squeezes my hand. “We have a plan to convince him.”
“Dani’s making enchiladas,” Heather says proudly, beaming at my sister. Literally the only thing Danielle has ever learned to cook is enchiladas, and somehow they’ve become Dad’s favorite food. If he had a choice of a last meal, that would be it.
A game-day glare slides across Danielle’s face. “And I don’t know this quarterback boy of yours, but if he can’t convince Dad you should play football, you better believe I will.”
“So…” I say, trying to add it all together. “We’re going to lull him into complacency with cheese and enchilada sauce and then attack?”
Danielle’s face breaks into a grin that is seven shades of wicked. “Exactly.”
Sunday afternoon, Danielle’s enchilada sauce is simmering and Dad’s texted Mom to confirm he’ll be home for dinner. He’s missed family dinner night before for a case, but the combination of enchiladas and “Grey what’s his name” is apparently worth pulling strings to get a night off.
Nerves flutter in my stomach, and I have nothing to do. I set the table, including an extra place for Grey, furnished with the rolling chair from Danielle’s desk. I fixed my makeup. Cleaned my half of my and Ryan’s room. Even washed my jersey and game-day tights, because there’s no way in hell I’m returning something grass-stained and nasty.
Finally, around four, the doorbell rings. I jump, thinking it might be Grey, over early. But I know the car in the driveway—Addie.
Ryan answers the door and calls my name before scurrying away. When I see her, it’s clear why he’s so quick to duck for cover. My best friend’s face is puckered into a sour-lemon expression, eyes ablaze, her long arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“Where the hell have you been?”
I pull the door closed and give her an apologetic smile, which only makes her launch into another assault rather than letting me answer.
“I have things to tell you, O-Rod, and you go all Casper on me and freaking vanish. You’re my best friend—there should never be any vanishing. Ever. Especially when boys are involved. There’s a code about that, I swear. You broke the code.”
Addie wants to be a DA like her mom. They’re both hella good at making an argument and I totally gave her all the material in the world to eviscerate me. I automatically feel like an asshole, and I am, because my vanishing was a symptom of my lying and just… ughhhhh. “I’m sorry! I’m grounded. No phone, computer, or car until tomorrow.” This softens her face. I snag her wrist. “What did I miss?” I arch a brow. “Nick?”
At this, she squeezes her eyes shut, face lighting with a smile before they flash back open, all her anger gone. “Yes, Nick. I have so much to tell you—wait, can I tell you?” She glances at the house behind me.
I shrug. “You’re probably the one person my parents don’t care about when it comes to me breaking my grounding sentence. Yes, please, tell me everything!”
“Wait—first, what happened? I mean, why are you grounded?”
“Football,” I say grimly.
Addie’s eyes go wide. “The form?”
“Yep. Never got it signed. Never told them. Dad found out from his boss, who was at the game.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Exactly.”
“So are you just grounded or…?” She trails off, but I know exactly what she’s most worried about.
“Off the team. No more football.”