Chapter
Nineteen
Decker
* * *
I spotted her first.
That’s always how it goes. I’ve accepted it as a condition of my life at this point. Just like a thunderstorm will roll in right when you’re inching ahead in a tough game. If Penelope Ripley is in the room, I will find her before I find anyone else. I used to think I could fight it. I don’t bother lying to myself anymore.
Lincoln and I fall into an easy back and forth of catch, but for the first five throws, I’m only thinking about the scent of her hair and the feel of her body pressed to mine.
I try to get my head back where it belongs. Focusing on Foster peeling away from Callie and jogging over to join us. On Easton crawling out of the bouncy house with a face so red you’d think he’d sprinted from first to home on what was on a shallow drop in right field. On Lincoln’s arm—which is honestly impressive for a kid his age.
I do not think about the way Penelope felt with my arms around her.
Okay, I think about it after every throw, but at least I control myself enough not to divert my gaze to her.
Hazel and Monroe tumble out of the bouncy house.
“Decker!” Monroe shouts.
I catch the ball from Foster, throw it to Easton, and pivot toward the voice. Monroe and Hazel are cutting across the grass toward us. Monroe’s at full speed, Hazel half a step behind her with a look I’ve come to recognize. The one that says Monroe has a plan, and Hazel isn’t so sure about it.
I crouch down when they reach me. Monroe throws her arms around my neck, and I pat her back. Hazel hangs back, so I hold out my fist, and she bumps it, which makes her smile. She’s shy, and I feel a kinship with her because I’m a quiet and reserved guy too.
“What trouble are you two causing?” I ask.
Monroe pulls back. “Trouble? We’re never trouble.”
I raise my eyebrows, and she laughs. Monroe definitely keeps Leighton and Hayes on their toes, but I doubt they’d ever want her to change.
“Yeah, okay.”
She glances over her shoulder at Hazel, who gives a small shrug that must mean something to Monroe because she swings back to face me with an expression that says they’re about to ask me something big.
“So, there’s this talent show at school,” Monroe says, reaching behind her to take Hazel’s hand and pulling her closer to me.
I drop to sit on the grass, and they follow my lead. “Yeah? You guys gonna do some juggling or something?”
“Juggling?” Monroe looks at me as if I just suggested her talent was competitive nose-picking. “No.”
“Okay, what are you doing?” I direct the question at Hazel, but she glances at her feet.
She looks so much like Penelope—only a few years younger than when I first met her mom.
“I’m doing a dance, but Hazel is doing…” Monroe glances at her friend, who plucks a blade of grass from the ground and winds it around her finger.
“Hula hoop,” Hazel says quietly. Her gaze lifts to mine for a second before the grass pulls her attention away once more.
I keep my expression neutral. She struggled with the hula hoop at field day, so I’m surprised she picked it—but good for her for wanting to conquer something she wasn’t good at. “Nice. When is it?”
“Near the end of the school year,” Monroe answers.
She usually speaks for the both of them. I wonder what Hazel is like when it’s just her and Monroe, or just her and Penelope. I’d like to know that side of Hazel.
Monroe’s eyes widen in a way that makes it clear there’s more. “But there’s a problem.”
