My mom swatted at my arm, whispering, "Don't be rude, Noah." Her voice rose again as Rook stepped onto the porch. "Are you coming from the game?"
“No, ma’am. I’m not much of a football fan.” His gaze switched to mine. "And I had other plans?"
The note of uncertainty almost made me laugh, but my mom didn't seem to catch it.
“You can call me Lisa." She beamed. "And you are?”
"Rook," he filled in while matching her smile.
"I'll leave you boys to it." She leaned down and bussed a kiss to my forehead, making me wince. “Let me know when you two get hungry, and I’ll reheat the pizza.”
When she turned to go inside, I braved a look at Rook whose lips twitched as if he was holding back a laugh.
"Shut up," I whispered. My mom would have had a complete meltdown if she'd heard me. But Rook? He chuckled, right before he took a seat next to me.
"So… Happy birthday," he offered as he scratched the back of his neck.
"Thanks," I replied, playing along. It was clear he'd just been exercising and then unexpectedly had been ambushed by my mother. The scent of salty sweat clung to his skin and clothes.
"You don't sound too excited." He lifted one dark brow.
"You try having a freaking home birthday party at twelve." I rolled my eyes.
He only shrugged. "It’s not so bad. So, what are we doing?"
Was he joking? "You don't have to stay."
"Want me to leave?" He frowned.
Did I? My mom might just cry, and the idea of hanging out with Rook didn't sound terrible. "I didn't say that. But I don't want you to feel like you have to."
"I showed up, didn't I?" he replied with a shrug. "So, wanna toss a ball around?"
"Only if you want me to show up at school on Monday with a black eye." I scowled. "I thought you didn't like football anyway."
His smile widened, eyes creasing at the sides. "Did your mom plan activities or something?"
"No, thank God." A small mercy that I greedily accepted. "You play any games?"
"Basketball." He scanned our driveway. "But I don't see a hoop."
I already knew that but decided to keep that particular detail to myself. "I meant video games."
"Oh, sure." He shrugged. "Sometimes when I go to Jake's."
Though I’d never spoken to him, I knew Jake was part of the popular crowd Rook hung out with at school.
"I have a PlayStation," I said. If I could get him to hang out for thirty minutes, my mom would be satisfied, and then he could pretend like he never stopped by.
"Sounds good." He kicked off the porch, forcing the swing back before sending us swooping forward. "So why didn't anyone else show up?"
I shrugged and lied, figuring it was fine because he'd lied first. "No idea. Are we playing or what?"
"Only if you don’t mind losing." His grin was smug—a cocky twist of his lips that I imagined falling right off his face when he realized I was the superior player. Rook may have had one up on me in sports, but we were about to enter my playground.
"Sorry, Rook. But you don't stand a chance."
His eyes sharpened as he pressed his feet to the ground, stopping the swing so quickly the force nearly sent me toppling off. He stood and cracked his knuckles. "Oh, it's on, Noah Stephens. Challenge accepted."
I rolled my eyes. “Your funeral.”
The determined set of Rook's jaw was so similar to the one he adopted when it came to basketball and his competitive nature took over. I recognized it from furtively watching him practice when I stayed after school for tutoring with Mrs. Bradshaw.
When I stood, he followed as I opened the rattling screen door. I hesitated before stepping inside.
Our house wasn't much to look at. Most of our furniture had been left behind at the two-story brick home we'd moved from into the small three-bedroom built in the seventies with paneled sides. Now, our living room held a second-hand couch gifted by my grandparents and a weathered coffee-and-end-table set that wobbled on uneven legs. The short carpet showed well-worn paths and the kitchen appliances, visible due to the open floorplan, were so dated they'd taken on a yellow hue. It didn't help that my mom had decided on a yellow color scheme to brighten up the place. I tried to hold back a wave of self-consciousness, wondering how it would look from his point of view. And then I felt horrible because my mom was doing the best she could and some kids didn't have homes at all.
Rook tapped me on the shoulder from behind me. "You're sort of blocking the door. What's up?"
I glanced over my shoulder. "My house…isn't that great."
His brow furrowed. "So? Neither is mine."
My brows rose in surprise. "Really?"
He scoffed, the sound raspy in my ears. "Dude, I live one street over. It's not exactly a fancy neighborhood."
How did I not know that? The idea of Rook living so close made me wonder if he'd be back after today. He was here now and that was all that mattered, even if it was only because he felt guilty for forgetting my party.
"Okay." I finally conceded and entered the house, shrugging out of my coat and hanging it on the hook mounted next to the door.
My mom glanced at us from the kitchen, tossing us a quick grin before curling over the book she was reading at the dining table.
Without hesitation, Rook followed me down the hall. At least the house was clean and smelled fresh. My room was small like the rest of our house and only had space for my twin-sized bed and a dresser that were much nicer than the other furniture since we'd brought them with us when we moved.
Rook plopped down in the beanbag chair, making himself comfortable.
"What do you want to play?" I asked.
He tilted his head as he considered it. "You have NBA Jam?"
I snorted. "Do I look like someone who owns that?"
His gaze raked me over, likely taking in the fact that I was short and scrawny with braces just before he chuckled, a sound I was beginning to appreciate. "Fine, put whatever in."
My gaming system was stacked on top of the boxy TV centered on my dresser. Cracking open a case, I retrieved my favorite game and popped it into the console. I snatched the pair of controllers from beside the system and passed Rook one before settling on my bed.
When the screen loaded, revealing Ridge Racer, I glanced at him, already sensing my victory.
He gave me a smug smile. "You're still going to get beat."
It was my turn to flash him a cocky grin as I settled against my pillows. "You wish."
His eyes narrowed in challenge. "Guess we'll see." The game was slow to load, and Rook took the opportunity to interrogate me. "So, you just moved here what, a week ago?"
"Yep." The p popped on my lips.
Rook cocked his head. “What’s your story?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why’d you move to Blakefield of all places?”
I swallowed hard and my chest tightened as my smile faded. “Uh, my parents got a divorce, and my mom’s family lives here.”
He studied me silently and must have sensed my discomfort because he switched the topic.