“Dude, it’s not dodgeball,” Seth says. “And he’s yourpartner!”
Coach Lutz stands just past the doorway into the backyard, holding a platter high with one hand. “Whoops. I broke your concentration.”
“Didn’t have much of that to begin with,” Eli mutters beside me. I elbow him in the ribs.
Coach Lutz is the last one to arrive. Half of the guys are lounging near the fire pit, on their phones. PJ and Luca are still in the kitchen, I think. Everyone else is loosely gathered around us, passing a football and waiting for a new round—andbetting on the outcome of ours. We haven’t finished one game yet becausesomeonekeeps going past the maximum points and making us start over . . . on both sides.
For all his talk, Seth sucks at this game as much as I do.
“Who’s winning?” Coach Lutz asks.
“Father Time,” Luca says, stepping around him from the kitchen. “They’ve been playing since before we all got here.”
Coach Lutz whistles. “All right—someone hold my oatmeal scotchies while I save the day.”
“Coach?” Gavin asks, accepting the tray Coach Lutz pushes into his hands.
“Blondie, I’m with you and Fred. Who’s the third for Elliot and Seth? Come on boys, look alive!”
Max stands near Seth, and the game begins anew—and ends, not long after.
“Good game!” Coach Lutz says, high fiving the players. Gavin’s parents walk over to him, his father shaking Coach Lutz’s hand.
“Another round, or food?” Gavin asks.
“Food first!” David cries.
Everyone agrees.
“Everything should be set now,” Gavin’s mother says. “I took a tray of brownies from the oven. Someone must have gotten too caught up in the game to remember them.”
From the way Luca’s ears redden, he’s the culprit. “Brownies and my famous oatmeal scotchies? You guys are in for a treat,” Coach Lutz says. He runs a hand over his fade, eyes roaming over all of us. His mouth is turned up in a smile. “Eat your hearts out. Enjoy the rest of your Friendsgiving, guys.”
“You can stay if you want, Coach,” Gavin says. “We have plenty of food.”
“Appreciate the offer, Captain, but I’ve got my own Friendsgiving to get to.” He raises his hand, one finger aloft. “Don’t even think about homework tonight, got it?” he yells.
“Yes, sir!” we yell back.
He grins and turns, walking in with Gavin’s parents—who seem to be asking if he wants to stay for a drink, if I hear them right. “I feel like he wanted to stay,” Eli says in a soft voice.
I brush my arm against his. “He didn’t want to put a strain on anyone. A cameo, like you said.”
“Are we eating or what?” Seth asks.
I run through the door in answer, a team of hungry soccer players at my heels.
Friendsgiving is light andwarm and fun . . . and before I know it, over. And then Sunday, our last day of Thanksgiving break, is nearing its end as well.
Eli and I walk along our morning route, though daylight is beginning to fade. Our hands are linked between us, his keeping mine warm. My other hand is slowly turning to ice, but fisting it in my pocket is slowing the process.
Eli seems lost in thought, beautiful brown eyes looking ahead.
“Did you enjoy everything?” I ask. “From this weekend, I mean?”
His eyes slide to me, and his shoulders move in a soundless chuckle. “You could say that. For most of it, anyway. Even the stressful part had a decent outcome, though, so . . . yeah. So many kinds of family. Much more than I expected.”
“Just wait till Christmas.”
