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Lately my mom and Mrs. Moore had been talking on the phone a lot—even though none of the other Crestie moms had stopped by or called since we’d been back—and every time my mom hung up with Mrs. Moore she’d ask me how Sha
“Hey, hon!” my mother sang, her voice quavering with excitement. She executed a turn, the skirt of her black cotton dress twirling. “How do I look?”
“Amazing,” I replied truthfully.
A
“Why, thank you, A
The two of them had met a few days earlier when my mom had come to visit me at work. A
“I just wanted to stop by to make sure you’re all set for di
“Okay. I’ll be fine,” I told her, a lump forming in my throat. I knew what I was supposed to say, I just hadn’t realized it was going to be so hard to say it. “Have fun, Mom,” I managed to get out.
“Thanks, hon,” she said, her smile widening. “We’ll see how it goes.”
Then she gave me a quick peck on the forehead and turned to wave at A
“What’s this?” my mother asked.
“Just in case,” A
“Thanks.” Mom blushed, pocketed the mints, and walked out.
“Gross!” I said. I picked up my Ultimate Crosswords book and whipped it at her. A
“What? I just wanted her to be prepared!” A
“That’s it, I’m clocking out.”
“But you have five more minutes!” A
“They can dock me!”
My hands were shaking as I shed my blue-and-red CVS-issue polo, changed into a T-shirt, and typed my code into the computer in the break room. I couldn’t believe my mom was going on a date. That she might even be kissing some random guy at the end of the night. The very thought made me gag, and my eyes stung with tears. My parents weren’t even divorced yet. Not that it mattered. They would have been if my mom’s lawyers had been able to track him down before our money ran out and she couldn’t pay them anymore. Where was he? Unlike most of my friends’ parents, my mom and dad had always been totally into each other. Kissing and hugging and holding hands. Going out on “dates” even though they’d been married almost twenty years. Couldn’t he, I don’t know, sense that the love of his life was moving on? Or had he never really cared about us at all? Because if he had, how could he just forget about us? Just leave without a single call or an e-mail or anything?
I took my anger out on the back door, shoving it open with a bang. The delivery area where trucks pulled in and out all day, unloading supplies to CVS and the stores in the strip mall—Stanzione’s Pizza, Dunkin’ Donuts, Hill Deli, and the dry cleaner—was deserted. A slight mist fell, tickling my skin, cooling it. My bike was locked up to a water drain next to the Dumpster, and it took me longer than usual to work the combination. When the chain finally fell free, I straddled my bike and rode toward the crest. This time I knew where I was going, and this time I had a clear agenda. I probably should have been heading over to David’s house—dropping in on the guy I had just last night decided to focus on with all my energy—but that wasn’t where I wanted to be. Not right now. Not in this mood. I had some stuff to work out, and sitting on a couch watching some lame DVD while awkwardly holding hands with my new BF was not going to cut it.
And besides, I wanted to know for sure. Had Jake taken the lawn jockey? Was A
I took the Harvest Lane hill at a sprint and arrived at my old house soaked with sweat and rain, my chest heaving up and down. I paused as I approached the front door. The lawn jockey was standing just off to the right of the bottom step. As if he’d never left.
Even though my finger was shaking, I managed to press the bell purposefully. Then I held my breath. A tall, wiry kid who was not Jake answered the door.
“Hey.” He looked confused.
“Hey,” I said. “Is Jake here?”
“Yeah. Hang on.” He half closed the door. “Jake! Some girl!”
I heard the barreling feet on the stairs. The stairs down which I used to fly in my sleeping bag, pretending it was a bobsled course in the Olympics. Jake’s feet were on my stairs. So bizarre. He slapped his brother on the back of the head as he arrived, then blushed when he saw it was me.
“Oh,” he said. “Hey.”
“Nice lawn jockey,” I said. “New?”
He blushed so fast I thought his face might pop. “Sort of.”
“I owe you a game,” I said, peeling off my hoodie and tossing it over my shoulder. I tried not to care that my gray T-shirt was sticking to my skin at the base of my neck, under my arms, and at the center of my stomach.
He looked up at the sky. The misting had changed into steady drizzle. “It’s raining.”
“Oh, so you’re a wuss,” I said.
He gave me a look, then disappeared. Seconds later he was back, basketball in hand. He threw it at my chest. Hard. “Let’s do this.”
jake
“Did I mention I’ve never lost on this court?” Ally taunted, a smile on her dripping-wet face. Her hair clung to her forehead and neck, but she made no move to fix it. She stood up straight and held her arms out, palms up, the ball on her right hand. “I own this place.” I could not believe she was going out with David Drake. How did a dorkus like David Drake get to go out with someone this cool?
“Yeah. You may have said that once or twice,” I replied.
When we’d first come around the side of the house to the full-size, outdoor basketball court, I’d actually thought Ally might cry. The sign on the state-of-the-art scoreboard above the three-bench bleachers still read RYAN ARENA. Jonah and I had always thought Ryan was some dude. Apparently not. According to Ally, her dad had this court built for her on her twelfth birthday. And since then, she had dominated on it. Right up until a year and a half ago, when she’d moved out and I’d moved in.
“You ready?” she asked. “Because if you need to take a minute . . .”
“Bring it,” I replied.
Ally’s grin widened. She palmed the wet ball in her left hand, faked right, and went left. My feet slipped on the wet asphalt, and I went down. She got around me easily, considering I was on the ground, and hit a textbook layup. I pushed myself to my feet, cursing under my breath. There was a nice, wide scrape on my knee.