I inwardly flinch at the sound of my dad’s name. I have no idea how he knows, and my stomach twists with the thought that my dad ignored my plea to not involve himself when it came to my spot on the team.
“Yeah,” I answer, sounding unsure and insecure. “But I want to earn my spot here fair and square.”
He nods sternly. “Good,” he says, the lift in his voice not matching his face. “’Cause we don’t do handouts around here.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And I expect you to show up to every practice,” he adds. “You got a lot of catching up to do with these guys, and I expect you to do that before the season starts.”
“So, I’m on the team?”
He nods again, but this time with a small smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “But you aren’t starting.”
I beam. “That’s fine,” I say excitedly. “Whatever spot you got, I’ll take it, Coach.”
He ducks his head. “I’ll see you at practice.”
* * *
“I’m so jacked you’re on the team,” Josh says, slamming the passenger door to my car. “We can practice here whenever you have time. Or the courts at the park are good too. They’re usually empty after school.”
I’d driven us back home, and Josh had talked nonstop the whole way. About the upcoming season and what it means for us seniors. About the team and standings, stats, and college recruitment. His excitement was growing infectious on the drive over, making me less anxious about playing on a new team and more excited about the season to come.
“You want to come in?” Josh asks just as he heads toward his house. “My dad got this smoker last weekend, and we’ve been having every kind of smoked meat known to mankind.”
I peer up at my house, considering my alternatives. My mom drove up to Malibu for the day to meet up with some of her friends from her USC days, something she’d been looking forward to now that my dad was back up north. I’d be home all alone anyway.
“Yeah, sure,” I answer Josh.
When we walk into his house, we’re welcomed by noise. I can’t pinpoint what it is, mainly because it’s a mixture of different noises meshed together, but also because I’ve never been greeted by sounds like this when I walk into a home. Yelling, music, the rhythmic clack of something being chopped on a cutting board, and even the shrill noise of a muffled chainsaw.
“Sorry it’s a little crazy in here,” Josh says over his shoulder.
I shake my head as we round the corner to the kitchen where I see Josh’s parents at the kitchen counter. I find that the chainsaw noise, now a little more high-pitched and shrill, is a small electric carver Josh’s dad is wielding. I find Teeny next to a woman, their mom I assume, as she chops vegetables on a chopping board and pushes them to the side using the blade of her knife.
“Hiya,” Josh’s dad calls, pulling away his focus from the large slab of meat on the counter. He’s actually hovering over it, the countertop too low for his excess height, probably where Josh gets his height from. His hair, bright and wavy, hangs off his forehead and when he peers up at me, blue eyes look back at me.
“Mom, Dad. Is it okay if Everett stays for dinner?”
Both their mom and Teeny lift their heads and smile warmly at me. “Hi Everett,” Teeny’s mom says. Her hands don’t leave the space in front of her, her grip firm on the knife and vegetables, but even with the entire length of the kitchen island between us, she’s friendly and welcoming. Her round eyes, fanned at the edges with fine wrinkles, smile back at me with the same wide front teeth Teeny has.
“Did your parents want to join us for dinner?” Teeny’s dad asks. “We’re celebrating Andrew’s birthday.”
“Oh, yeah,” Josh says from my side. “Sorry, dude. I forgot to mention. It’s my baby brother’s birthday.”
I nod. “My dad’s actually back up north, and my mom’s visiting some friends in Malibu,” I say to Josh’s mom to answer her question.
“Well, that works out then. We’ll make sure you’re fed tonight.” She pauses to move over some things into a steaming pot. Her dark hair, identical to Teeny’s, is held back with a large clip, strands of white and gray making the tones of her hair silvery.
“Thank you,” I answer her.
I see how much Teeny takes after her mom, with her deep brown eyes and apple-like round cheeks. Even the way she affectionately pats Teeny’s shoulder as Teeny helps her with dinner seems to be a direct parallel to how warm and sympathetic Teeny is.
Soon enough, we’re sitting at the formal dining room table surrounded by heaps of platters, all full of food like it’s Thanksgiving dinner.
“We don’t normally eat like this,” Josh whispers from the seat next to mine. “It’s usually just regular stuff.”
Just then, pitter-pattering footsteps sound from the hallway and come to a halt at the entrance to the dining room. A kid, who I assume is the birthday boy, stands there with a Lego Millenium Falcon in his hands and his breaths coming out in sharp intake and exhales.
