14

 

 

"Cameron! Thank you so much for doing this. You're a lifesaver!"

Erika's frazzled demeanor is evident the moment I open the Main House door on Wednesday night. Her hair's twisted into a messy bun, body tense as she gives Beverley a quick hug and nudges her forward.

"I told my supervisor I couldn't work weeknights anymore, but apparently it's an emergency. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't, and Coach has that meeting with the athletic director tonight which is incredibly important, so I—"

"It's all good, Erika." I interrupt her ramblings and try to ease her worries. Crooking my index finger, I motion Bev inside the home. "She can hang with me as long as you need. Don't stress about it."

"No stress. Right, okay." A relaxed breath parts her lips and suddenly she's shoving a steaming casserole dish into my arms. "Here. I got the work call just as this came out of the oven. Y'all enjoy this and I'll be back around 9:30 to pick her up. Thanks again!"

With a final goodbye, I shut the door and adjust the food in my hands. The foil lifts slightly, a whiff of deliciousness floating up my nose.

"Hungry?" I ask as I glance down at my playdate for the evening.

She nods.

"Same. Let's eat at the dining tab—"

Before I can finish my sentence, Bev's already stomping towards the living room. She climbs up on the armchair, getting comfy as her feet dangle a good ten inches above the ground.

"Or not," I mumble. I head into the kitchen where I serve up two portions of the baked pasta, mine about three times the size of hers.

"Chow down," I say as I hand her a warm plate. We eat together in the quiet room, the sound of forks scraping porcelain and the occasional shout from Sigma Pi our only source of noise.

When we finish, I place our empty bowls on the coffee table. She stares me down, black Converse tapping together impatiently.

"So..."

"So..." I parrot as I scratch the back of my head. "Skatepark?"

"But that's what we did on Sunday," she whines. "We can't go there every single time."

The kid has a point.

Our Sunday outing with Sydney was yet another trip to the concrete park—a trip I thought would be awkward as fuck considering the encounter that took place the night before. I was fully prepared for another tumultuous day with Beverley the Bad. Another dose of the silent treatment, maybe some more acts of belligerence on par with those that occurred during our notorious mall outing, but nope.

Oddly enough, she was on her best behavior. No smug remarks, no picking fights with random skater dudes just for kicks. Hell, she even said 'thanks' sans sarcasmwhen I complimented her new skateboard trick.

That's major.

I'm hoping—no, I'm praying—that some of my words soaked into her thick skull Saturday night. That she took my advice and past experiences to heart.

It seemed like there was a change in her the next day, however small it might be, and maybe, just maybe, we'd reached some sort of mutual understanding between the two of us.

Who knows, though.

There's a strong chance her good mood was nothing more than a sugar rush from the chocolate smoothie Sydney brought her.

"Cameron...hello? What are we gonna do?"

Her question brings me back to the dilemma at hand.

"You're right about the skatepark. We need a new activity," I say before another idea crosses my mind. "Actually, what we need is to get you involved in something."

"Involved in something? What does that mean?"

"It means you need a hobby."

"I have a hobby." Her 'uh-duh' tone takes over. "It's called skating."

"Okay, let me rephrase. You need a team hobby. One where you can learn the dynamics of working with other people."

"Working with other people?" She gags like I just told her to finish off a plate of raw broccoli. "Gross. Why?"

I ignore her qualms and rub my chin in thought. "You like sports? Softball? Volleyball? Soccer?"

Her nose scrunches up in disapproval. "I hate all of those."

"What about hockey?"

The suggestion isn't mine; it's Weston's. I have no fucking clue where he came from or when he even entered the house, but here he is, leaning against the wall with a bowl of Erika's pasta in hand.

When Bev doesn't respond, he raises his fork and points it at her. "Hockey, kid. Heard of it?"

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I've heard of it."

"There's a group of 8th grade girls who practice in the parking lot where I do soccer training with some guys. They're always there on Wednesday nights. Buncha tough, scary chicks who look like they eat bowls of nails for breakfast. You'd fit right in."

He shoves a massive bite of food into his mouth. After swallowing the giant forkful, he moans in delight. "Damn, that's good. Erika's the best." Once his pasta-gasm ends, he turns his attention back to Bev. "Cam said you like longboarding and shit, right? You have rollerblades?"

"Yep."

"Sweet. Then all we need to do is put a stick in your hands and you're golden." He shrugs off the wall and takes his phone out of his pocket, thumbing the screen. "My bud, Carlos, has a sister who used to play. I'll call him and ask if he can bring the equipment tonight. You two are riding with me. We're leaving in ten, so you better be ready to go."

He lifts the cell to his ear, winking as he strolls out of the room.

"Hey, 'Los. What's up? I need a favor..."

"Wow," Bev mutters as his voice fades out. "He's bossier than you."

"We don't have to go," I tell her. "Weston's all talk. He'll be fine if we turn him down."

"But...I want to," she admits with a shrug. "Hockey's not so bad."

"Really?" I give her a skeptical look. "So you despise all sports, but hockey's the one exception? Wanna explain?"

A contemplative glaze flickers in her eyes, almost like she has a significant reason, but she quickly shakes it off.

"I just like it, okay?!"

Andddd here we go again with the snippy teenage mood swings.

"Alright, alright. Claws down—I won't ask again." I hold my hands up in surrender before changing the subject. "Okay, here's the plan. We're crashing a street hockey practice. You're gonna play, slap some sticks and show up the 8th graders. I'm gonna sit on the sideline, Bandaids and Neosporin at the ready for when you fall and scrape your whole body." With a sardonic nod, I give her two thumbs up. "Fun times incoming."

She releases an angry hiss. "I'm not gonna fall."

"Famous last words."

"Whatever." She picks at the hole in her black jeans. "Will you invite Sydney?"

"I'll send her a text and see if she's free." I type out a quick message, then level Bev with an intrigued look. "You really like her, don't you?"

"She's awesome." Her eyes bounce from the ripped pants up to me. "You really like her, too."

The way she says it, all statement and no question, has me wondering what the hell she's trying to get at.

"I mean, sure I like her. Of course I do. She's my best friend's little sis and she's doing me a solid by helping out with you." I shrug my shoulders. "What's not to like?"

"No," Bev argues defiantly. "It's more than that."

Before I can defend myself, Weston saunters back into the room, soccer ball tucked under an arm.

"Chop chop. In the car. Let's bounce." He motions for us to follow him and I let out a confused laugh.

"Dude, you said ten minutes."

"Yeah? Hasn't it been that long?"

"It's been two."

"Eh, same difference." He spins the ball on his index finger, unbothered by his inability to tell time. "Plus, we gotta stop by Coach's house on the way and pick up her skates. Time to hit the road."

After getting into his car, Weston and I take on two very different roles as we make the drive. He gets to be the cool, 'no rules' dude. Top's down and doors are off on his shiny red Jeep, hip-hop music's blasting from the speakers, and he wins Bev over when he hands her his extra pair of Ray Bans and tells her she looks badass in them.

Me? I get the pleasure of being the responsible, 'good influence' guy. The one telling her to put her seat belt on correctly, insisting Paine drive under the speed limit for safety reasons, and turning the song off after I hear the words "fuck", "shit", and "bitch" one too many times.

"Do you have any non-explicit music?" I ask, feeling like a damn nun as the question leaves my mouth. "Something clean?"

"Clean music?" Weston utters the phrase as if it's an oxymoron, then cracks up like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Fuck no."

"Dude. Mind laying off the f-bombs?" I sock him on the bicep. "There's a kid in the car."

"I know the f-word, Cam," Bev says from the backseat. "I'm not five. Also, you cuss in front of me constantly."

"Ooooh, she put you on blast, Collins."

"Come on, Bev." I scoff. "I use PG-13 words. R-rated stuff gets censored."

"Lighten up, bro." Weston puts on a lazy grin. "Let her live. She's—" His brows draw together and he swivels around. "Wait, how old are you?"

"Twelve," she answers, then quickly adds, "Almost thirteen."

"She's almost a teenager, dude. It's not like we need a Baby on Board sticker or a freakin' car seat, so chill. I bet everyone at her school knows that song and all the lyrics. Even the 'big bad dirty' version."

I turn around in my seat, confirming the claim. "Do they? Be real with me."

Bev bobs her head up and down. "Every last word. I swear."

"Fine." I hit Play on the console touch-screen. "Just don't tell Coach and we're cool."

Blasting the bass so loud the street signs vibrate, we turn numerous heads as we arrive at our destination. The park's just across the street from Windhaven, so Weston peels into an empty space in the Physics Building parking lot. Bev jumps out of the Jeep, points at the tall structure, and asks W if he takes classes there. He pulls some orange cones from his trunk, somehow managing to keep a straight face as he says 'yep' and follows that with his fake plan to become an astrophysicist.

Now it's my turn to laugh like that's the funniest thing I've ever heard.

It actually might be.

The three of us walk towards the bumpy field—Bev lagging behind as usual—and I immediately spot Sydney.

Apparently she wasn't exaggerating when she responded to my text and said she'd sprint over ASAP.

"Isn't that Vaughn's mini-me?" Weston flips his baseball hat backwards and squints in her direction. She's playing one-on-one with Carlos, dribbling circles around the poor kid.

"Yeah."

We watch her do a double step-over move, the trick so smooth it seems effortless on her part. Carlos lurches a leg out in the wrong direction, then tries to fix the mistake by sticking his other leg back the opposite way. He ends up landing in the freaking splits as the dark-haired girl kicks the ball in the net.

I can't help but grin as she gives 'Los a teasing curtsy. "That's definitely Sydney."

"Weird. Wonder what she's doing here."

Before I can try and brush it off as coincidental, realization flashes across his face. He comes to an abrupt stop.

"Shit. You invited her, didn't you?"

He gives me a pointed look, one that lets me know any attempt at lying is going to be futile.

Guess I didn't get him drunk enough at Gigi's.

"Yeah," I say with the most casual shrug I can manage. "No big deal."

"No big deal? Dude, what?"

"What what?"

"You're playing with fire, Collins." He pokes his tongue in his cheek, shaking his head in disapproval. "And not some weak-ass sparkler, either. I'm talking full blown fireworks."

"I invited her for Bev, man. She freaking loves Sydney. Having her tag along to the meet-ups makes my life a helluva lot easier."

"Right. So you expect me to believe you've been spending time with V's clone for the teeny bopper's sake..." He lifts a quizzical brow. "And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact you wanna jump Lil Steel's bones? Not buying it."

"Cut the bullshit." I shake my head and try to set him straight. "You're out of your mind. All Sydney and I are doing is—"

"Nope! Shut the fuck up. I don't wanna hear any details." He covers his ears dramatically. "When this shit blows up in your face—and you bet your ass it will—I'm claiming innocence. Vaughn's gonna ask if I knew you were fucking his baby sister, and when I say I didn't know, it's gonna be the damn truth."

"I'm not fucking her. Holy sh—"

He jogs off before I can finish, but I'm glad the convo's cut short.

His accusations are freaking ludicrous.

Baby Blue and I are friends. Friends that have a mutually beneficial trade deal going on.

Do I like hanging out with her?

Well, yeah. She's fun, energetic, and hilarious.

I'll admit I find her attractive—extremely attractive—but that doesn't mean shit because who the hell wouldn't?

And that exhilarated feeling I'm currently experiencing as she and Carlos jog over to join me and Bev?

Just straight-up friendship vibes.

That's it.

End of story.

"Hey!" Sydney offers a bubbly greeting. "It's about time y'all showed up. I had to recruit one of Weston's boys to keep me entertained while I waited."

She points to the skinny teen beside her. When he flashes a pearly white smile, I feel Bev take a step behind me.

"Bro, what's up with Sydney dragging your ass around the field?" I ask with feigned disappointment. "You looked like a damn circus acrobat out there."

Sydney laughs as he scratches the top of his head and shrugs. "Man, I'm not even gonna try to make up an excuse. The girl has skills. Mad skills."

"That she does." I shoot her a quick grin before motioning towards his bag. "You brought the hockey stuff?"

"I brought the hockey stuff. I had to dig through my sister's closet for a while, but finally found everything behind like twenty pairs of shoes." He drops the duffle to the grass and bends down. As he pulls at the zipper, he peers around my side at the girl using me as a human shield. "You're Bev, right?"

She juts her head out. "Yeah!"

"Nice. I'm Carlos." He plasters on a genuine smile and waves her closer. "Come over here and I can show you how to use this stuff."

"Oh! Okay! Sure!"

The girly, mouse-like squeaks that come from her mouth have me totally confused.

"What's your deal?" I mutter as I give her a gentle push forward. "Get over there."

She stumbles a bit, quickly regaining her footing as she approaches the soccer player. Kneeling down beside him, she helps open the bag.

"Carlos seems really cool," Sydney says as we watch him pull out a plethora of hockey equipment. "He's charming and sweet—two words that don't typically come to mind when describing a fourteen-year-old boy."

I laugh before confirming her impression. "He can be a class clown type, but he's a good kid. When I ran a few of Weston's sessions last May, he was one of the only ones who actually fucking listened to me. Him and West go way back; 'Los is like his little brother."

"And Beverley's obviously a fan," she points out.

"True. I've never seen her so interested in something before."

Bev's wide-eyed and attentive, hanging on Carlos' every word as he describes how to use the hockey stick.

I frown as I notice the pink tint of her fair skin. "Why are her cheeks all red? You think I should've made her put on sunscreen? It's like an hour 'til sunset, though."

Sydney's burst of laughter rings in the air. "Oh my gosh, Dad-Mode. She's not sunburned—she's blushing. I think our little skater punk has a crush."

"Seriously?" I tilt my head, studying the pair before I realize she's spot on. "Oh shit. She does. Never occurred to me there was an actual beating heart under that all-black attire."

Syd nods knowingly. "Even the most apathetic of pre-teens can't escape it."

I arch a brow. "'It'?"

She tips her chin at Carlos and Bev, his hand cupped around hers as he shows her how to properly grip the stick. "Puppy love."

"Puppy love?" I snort at the term. "I escaped it."

"Oh please." She playfully jabs her elbow into my side. "You did not. I guarantee you had your fair share of awkward middle-school crushes. No way you avoided that."

I drag my fingers through my hair, thinking back until an example comes to mind. "Fine. There was Janet Smith in 6th grade."

"Aha! I knew it!" Sydney exclaims. "Go on. Tell me more about Janet."

I make sure she gets a good view of my eyes rolling to the sky before indulging her request.

"She always had her hair done in braided pigtails, and she wore these frilly, princess dresses every single day. Cutest girl in the grade. I swear nearly half the guys in school blew a gasket when I asked her to be my girlfriend and she said yes." I grin as I take the trip down memory lane. "Lasted less than two weeks. She broke up with me when I made the grave error of getting her daisies instead of roses for her birthday. We never spoke again. The end."

"Ouch. Not exactly a happily ever after," Sydney says with a shake of her head. "And for the record, daisies are way better than roses. The girl was out of her mind for dumping you because of that."

"Agreed." I level her with an expectant look. "Your turn."

"His name was Roger. It was 8th grade. I asked him to the Sadie Hawkins dance and he accepted. I went balls to the wall for that stupid dance: fancy dress, spiffy up-do, a mani/pedi that cost me two weeks' allowance."

"You all dressed up?" I grin as I try to imagine it. "I bet that was quite the sight."

"I clean up nice," she says with a laugh. "Unfortunately, it was all for naught. He ditched me fifteen minutes in for the head cheerleader. I watched them make out on the dance floor the rest of the night while I washed my sorrows away with countless cans of Dr. Pepper."

"Damn. That ending might be worse than mine. Dude sounds like an asshole."

"Mega asshole. At least I dodged a bullet." She shrugs and picks at her thumbnail. "So yeah. That's my puppy love tale. It was also the first and last 'relationship' I ever had. Kinda pathetic, huh?"

"Wait...what?"

Her remark has me thinking something's wrong with my ears.

There's no fucking way I heard that right.

But she repeats herself, confirming the shocking confession.

"I've never had a boyfriend."

"No shit?"

She nods, tip of her nose a bright shade of pink. "No shit."

I'm just about to ask if she went to an all-girls high school or if every single guy in her grade swung the opposite way or something when Weston interrupts our conversation.

"Yo, Steel Junior! I need your help." Once he has our attention, he motions her over. "Do me a favor and come show these guys how it's done."

As Sydney jogs over, I throw my hands in the air. "What about me, dude?"

"Nah, Collins. We need someone who's actually good."

He grins and some of the teens start snickering.

"Yeah, Cam." One of the boys, Jamie, joins the trash talk. "Why don't you just sit there and look pretty? Maybe cheerlead a little?"

"Alright, screw y'all." I let out a good-natured laugh and jerk a thumb towards the hockey girls. "I'd rather watch them, anyway. I bet they could kick all your asses."

The statement is made in jest, but as I observe them practice for the next hour and a half, I'm thinking it might be accurate. These chicks are ruthless, indestructible, and honestly really fucking scary. Example: I barely escape a damn puck to the forehead from a muscular girl they call "Killer". When I toss it back, she literally growls at me, then says next time she's aiming for my teeth.

Wild guess, but I think Killer might have an anger management problem.

The practice comes to an end just as the last bit of daylight fades away. The 8th graders pat Bev on the back and exchange goodbyes as I stroll up to her.

"Nice job, kid," I say as she starts to skate my way. "And you didn't even fall—"

Just as the word leaves my mouth, she stumbles on a patch of uneven concrete and hits the pavement with a splat.

"Ouch!"

"Never mind," I mumble under my breath.

"You jinxed me!"

"My bad. But nobody saw, so it's all good. Your reputation's still intact." I hoist her to an upright position and give her a quick once-over. "What's the damage?"

She sticks her elbow out, showing off a red scrape.

"Gnarly." I fish in my pocket for a sec before pulling out something that has Bev releasing a loud sigh.

"You really brought bandaids?"

"I told you I would. Here." I squat down and place the sticky paper on her cut. "Good as new."

She twists her arm around, frowning when she sees the smiley pumpkins adorning the adhesive.

"Don't make that face. It was either this or My Little Pony." I tilt my head to the side in challenge. "I made the right choice, didn't I?"

"I guess so," she reluctantly agrees.

"You really held your own out there," I say as I stand and brush the dust off my knees. "Have you played before?"

"Just a few times. I watched a lot of hockey when I was little."

"Yeah?"

"My mom loves hockey. Ice hockey, mostly." A flash of uncharacteristic sadness passes through her eyes and she swallows. "Well, she did when she was..."

Her sentence trails off, but I fill in the blank for her.

"Sober."

She nods once, vision glued to her skates.

"Hey," I say softly. "My mom's an addict, too."

She lifts her head, eyes wide in surprise. "She is?"

"Yep," I confirm. "It sucks...It really sucks. I know what you're going through, Bev. I went through the same thing."

Before she can respond, the shrill blast of a whistle cuts through the night air. We turn towards the sound to see Weston and Sydney heading our way. Behind them, I can make out the dark silhouettes of the boys getting into beat-up vehicles or ambling down the sidewalk.

"It's humid as hell out here. I told some of the guys I'd buy them ice cream after practice, so that's where we're headed." Weston's stupid referee whistle drops from his lips as he reveals the plan for the rest of the night. "Those who agree, follow me. Those who object? Go ahead and walk your lame asses home."

Bev peers behind Weston. "Um, is Carlos coming?"

"Nah." Weston shakes his head. "He was begging to join us, but he has an Algebra test tomorrow. I told him to hightail it to the library and study instead."

"Oh." Bev's response drips with disappointment.

"Hey, it's cool. You're gonna practice with the girls again next week, right? You can give him back the gear then. His sis won't mind. Actually, you can probably just keep that shit forever and she won't even notice."

Weston remains oblivious to the real reason she wanted Carlos to join, no one bothering to fill him in on the obvious. He tosses his car keys up and down before pointing them towards his vehicle. "Let's go. I want some damn mint chip."