“Listen up, Blondie.” I spin to face him. “There. Is. No. Why.”
He acts as if he hasn’t heard, jogging ahead to open the passenger door of his car. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”
“I walk with Mai.”
“The girl at the baseball game? We’ll pick her up, too.”
I waver. I don’t want to spend any more time with Garrett, but I’m also running late and in danger of missing first bell. “Fine. Six houses up on the other side of the street. She’s standing outside.”
I slide in the seat, and a second later he’s beside me, buckling his belt. I set my backpack on my lap as I take a quick look. It’s cleaner than our truck and smells good—like the cedarwood soap that Mom used to carry.
He puts the car in drive. “Nice shirt.”
I have to look down to remember which one I’m wearing. There’s a giant whale and above it the speech bubble reads: “Who are you calling Dick?” “It’s from a book.”
“I’m aware,” he replies drily.
I widen my eyes and flutter my lashes. “You read?”
“Only if the words are written across a girl’s chest.” He widens his eyes and flutters goldish-brown lashes in the same exaggerated way.
Smartass. And quick.
Then he surprises me by adding, “Melville today and Orwell yesterday.”
It takes me a second to remember that I was wearing a quote from Animal Farm yesterday. And a reader, too? “Well. Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look.”
“Thank you.” His grin is good-natured as he rolls to a stop in front of Mai.
I like that he can handle my snark—and give it back. But I’m still not saying yes.
Mai pops open the back door. She’s wearing lipstick again. “A chauffeur? You shouldn’t have.”
“He’s trying to break me so I’ll say yes to broadcasting.”
“Has he tried drugs? I’ve heard those work.”
As she slides in the back, I quickly open and close two doors, and in an impressively short amount of time, I’m sitting next to Mai.
Garrett slides an arm over the seat. “You’re really going to sit back there? Both of you?”
“Drive on,” Mai says with a little wave of her hand. Her glossy hair is a few shades lighter than the black upholstery as she leans back with an air of superiority as if she were born to be driven around.
Garrett sighs but maneuvers us onto the main street and into the line of cars heading for the school.
“So are you a baseball player, too?” Mai asks.
“I am.”
“He was.”
“Which verb is it?” she demands.
“I shattered my arm a year ago.”
“He broke it in two places, tore his shoulder muscle and needed surgery to repair everything over the summer.” When his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, I shrug. “You’re not the only one who’s friends with Google.”
Mai is not done with the interrogation. “So which one were you?”
“Which one was I?” Garrett repeats.
“On the team. Were you one of the guys on the bases or with the bat?”
Garrett bursts out laughing. My brilliant best friend really knows nothing about the game.
“I was a pitcher,” he says. “I stood on the mound in the middle of the field.”
“Oh,” she says dismissively. “I don’t think it’s fair that one player is higher than the others.”
“Riiiiiight.” Garrett meets my eye in the mirror, and a moment of shared humor flashes between us. He clears his throat, probably to cover a laugh. “I can see that. But it’s, uh, helpful, when you’re the guy throwing the ball.”
“That’s what you did?”
“Pure heat.” There’s arrogance in his voice. I’m expecting that—I’ve had a taste of Garrett’s ego. But his left hand has snaked over to the scar on his right elbow, rubbing as if it still hurts.
“Oh, wait,” Mai says. She smacks the back of Garrett’s seat. “You were that guy. At the school assembly last year. You broke your arm right after a big game.”
“We won the Division.”
“They handed you the trophy. It was a pity thing, right? I felt sad for you.”
“Does she have a filter?” Garrett asks me.
“Nope.”
“And now you’re announcing?” Mai continues.
He parks in the school’s back lot. “That’s right. And I’d like to earn a trophy the real way.”
Mai elbows me in the ribs. “So he’s not actually a baseball player.”
“Ow,” I mutter. I know where she’s going with this. That lipstick she’s wearing is a neon sign that she’s still stuck on Anthony. If I say yes to Garrett, then I’m saying yes to more baseball. Traitor.
“She doesn’t like players?” Garrett asks Mai.
“Hates them.”
“Then I’m officially retired.”
She shoots me a victorious smile. “We can double date,” she says. “Do you play pool chicken?”
Her question has obviously confused him. “Remind me not to pick you up again before I’ve had caffeine.”
I open the car door. “Ignore her.”
“Don’t ignore her,” Mai says. She follows me out. Garrett is locking the car when a guy calls his name. Does anyone not know him?
“Give me a sec,” Garrett says.
We nod and then immediately join the stream of other kids moving toward the south doors. We’re nearly there when Garrett jogs up beside me.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask.
“I do,” he says. “But I also have your why.”
“You think you have my why.”
“Hey, G!” A girl I don’t know launches herself at Garrett and grabs him around the arm. “You’re going the wrong way. Class is down here.”
“My locker is that way,” he says.
“No time.” Another girl grabs his other arm, laughing.
He opens his mouth and then shrugs and lets them pull him back. “Let’s do lunch, Walters. Off campus.”
“I have second lunch.”
“I’ll make that work.”
I roll my eyes. “Do you get to do anything you want? You play the athlete card, is that it?”
“There are cards?” he calls. “I just use my charm.” He points another finger gun. “By the flagpole at the start of lunch. You’re going to want to hear this. And if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
“You’re wrong!”
“I’ll see you at the flagpole. This time show
