“Good.” He doesn’t look away from the field. “We also need to schedule pictures.”
“What?”
“Pictures. I told you about that.”
“When you insulted my sandals? I thought you were kidding.”
He ignores that. “Can you do it Friday after school? That works for Annette.”
“Annette?” I repeat. “Your ex-girlfriend.”
“Annette, my friend.”
Hurt wraps around my lungs, stealing my breath. The way he says her name—the way he says friend as if he’s reminding me that they are and we aren’t. The way they must obviously be more than friends if he’s scheduling his Friday around her. Pretty fast work even for him, since yesterday he almost kissed me. “Sorry,” I snap. “I didn’t know we were working around your friend’s schedule.”
He looks at me, his eyes as cool as glass. “She’s going to take the picture. She’s into photography and she has a nice camera. Is that a problem for you?”
“No problem.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” I turn back to the field, but I don’t see anything more than the stiff outline of Garrett beside me. “You’re the one with the problem.”
“What?”
“You’ve been rubbing your shoulder ever since we sat down, so either you think if you rub hard enough a genie is going to appear, or else you’re in pain.”
“My shoulder is not your problem.”
“You’re right, it isn’t. It’s none of my business if you ruin your arm with your stupid Plan F or G or whatever it is now.”
“I’d rather ruin my arm than spend my life in a cubicle.”
I bark out a disbelieving laugh. “You think you’re too good for a regular job? And when baseball doesn’t pan out, then what?” I glance at his backpack and notice it’s zipped shut today. “How are you going to get a job as an accountant if you’re failing tests?” I pause as a thought flickers in the back of my mind. “Or, is that the plan? Make sure you can’t work as an accountant?”
His lips press together, but the answer is clear in the defiant glare of his eyes.
“Very mature, Garrett. Flunk out on purpose. That’s brilliant.”
“I’m not flunking.”
“You sure? Or are you dreaming that along with everything else about your future?”
His mouth twists. “At least I won’t live a soulless life.”
“Soulless?” The word stabs at me. Hard. “You think I’m soulless?”
The volume goes up on our mics.
Conversation over.
Stupid jerkface. Tears burn behind my eyes. How could I have thought I liked him for even a minute?
Thankfully, it’s a relatively quick game. We lose, three to one.
It only takes a second to grab my backpack and slide my stool in place. I reach for the door, but before I leave, I say, “Bye.”
I’m pretty sure it sounds like Eff you.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I’m wearing tutu undies,” Ciera says. “Want to see?” Without waiting for an answer, she flings up her pink skirt and yes, she is wearing undies with a fluffy white netting that looks tutu-ish.
“Ciera,” I say. “Pull down your skirt.”
“But aren’t they cool?” she asks.
“I like them,” Kate says. “Mine have butterflies on them.”
Annie looks worried. “I don’t know what’s on mine.” Her head dives down between her legs to check.
There are only six girls this week, and none of the moms are in the room right now. This one is on me.
“Girls!” I say, and all eyes pop up. “It’s not polite to show your underwear.”
Ciera drops her skirt. “Why do they make them so pretty if no one else can see?”
I pause for a second, because that’s actually a good question. “Well. You get to see them. And you know they’re pretty.”
“But I want everyone to know.”
“I understand, but underwear is private.”
“Because it covers our private parts?” Annie’s eyes are wide.
“Yes, that’s right!”
“Boys don’t have pretty underwear,” Julia says. “But they have privates.”
I am now officially out of answers. I’m also smiling ear-to-ear on the inside because how can you not?
“Time for cleanup,” I announce. “And then cookies.”
Immediately, the girls are in motion, scrambling for the art supplies scattered across the table. Thank heavens for short attention spans.
We made our own stories with finger puppets, and it turned out to be a tea party with puppies, kittens, and one monkey. The best part is that for the past hour, I haven’t thought about Garrett once. Our argument yesterday left me miserable all day. Soulless?! Because I know the dangers of dreaming? Because I’m choosing to keep my feet on the ground and avoid the hard falls? That’s smart, not soulless. But I was so worked up, I even snapped at Mai. I wince as I think back to our short conversation this morning.
“No finger gun?” Mai questioned when we saw Garrett before first period and he barely acknowledged me.
“We’re not on shooting terms anymore.”
“Anthony said Garrett is in a crap mood. He thinks it has something to do with you.”
“It doesn’t,” I said flatly. And then I turned the spotlight on her. “And what’s up with you and Anthony?”
“We’re still having fun.” She shrugged lightly. “I don’t want to be one of those girls who kisses and tells. But.” She shot me a grin. “I am no longer in danger of reaching the age of eighteen without ever having been kissed.”
“Mai—really?” Excitement warred with surprise. She’d been flirty with guys before but never let it get that far.
“He is an excellent kisser.”
That’s when worry joined the mix. Flirtation was one thing, but was she getting her heart involved? I let my bad mood and every bad memory I had of baseball players crowd my mind. “Probably because he’s had a lot of practice.” It wasn’t fair and wiped the smile off Mai’s face. “I don’t want to see you hurt,” I added, my heart in my throat.
She’d stopped and waited until I faced her. “If you actually looked, Josie, you would see me happy.”
“Josie, we’re done,” Ciera says.
I blink, a little surprised to find the art table completely cleaned. “Wow. You guys are fast.”
“Do we get
