“Oh?” I play dumb, still confused about why they’re bringing this to me.
“Monroe,” Hazel mumbles, frowning.
“He needs to know.” Monroe scoots closer to her friend so their knees touch, like a show of solidarity or something. “She’s getting better,” Monroe says in the tone of someone who does not actually think that.
“No, I’m not.” Hazel’s gaze meets mine and holds for at least two seconds, which feels like a win.
“She just needs help from someone who knows what they’re doing, and we saw you at field day, and you were the best one there, so you’ll do it, right?” Monroe jumbles the words together in one breath and stares blankly at me as if she’s already promised Hazel I would.
I keep my eyes on Hazel. “What about your mom?”
“She’s worse than Hazel!” Monroe shouts.
I catch Penelope’s eye, then Hazel sighs. I spot Lincoln walking over behind Hazel’s shoulder and notice that my teammates have been sequestered to sign items and schmooze with the guests.
I’m in no rush to do that.
“Trying to get him to help?” Lincoln asks, tossing the football in the air and catching it himself.
“You in on this too?” I raise my hands, and he tosses me the ball.
It’s strange how at ease all the kids are with me. I didn’t grow up around any small children, but they’re much easier to be around than adults most of the time. Less complicated.
When Leighton’s cousin died, and she took over as guardian, I went along with Hayes to help—but now I’m attached, and it feels like they’re all my nieces and nephews. Not so much Hazel because I haven’t gotten to know her yet. And because she’s Penelope’s, which… well… when the daughter of the woman you’ve always loved gets her own special category.
“Nah,” Lincoln says. Monroe glares at him, and he shrugs. “We were talking during recess.” He points at Hazel and mouths, “You gotta help her.”
Hazel plucks another blade of grass.
My gaze lifts across the field. Penelope is already watching, and I hold her gaze because I have no self-control and also because I’ve missed being looked at by her more than I’ve let myself admit.
There’s no question whether I’m going to help. The biggest question is whether Penelope will allow me.
“How do you do it so good?” Hazel asks.
The fact that she’s the one asking opens that spot in my heart for her a little wider.
“Honestly, it’s hard to explain. I remember doing it as a kid, and I guess it became muscle memory somewhere along the way. Like riding a bike.”
“I can ride a bike,” Hazel says with a note of hope to her voice.
“Then I’m sure you’ll be able to get the hang of a hula hoop.”
“Mom made me watch some videos, but I can’t get it to go around my waist properly. No way I can do any tricks.”
It’s probably a bad sign how happy I am that Hazel feels comfortable enough to talk to me like this.
Lincoln nods as though he thinks she might be a lost cause.
“I wish we had one here.” I purse my lips.
“There are some over by the bouncy house.” Monroe gets up and runs away.
Lincoln spots Lake with a funnel cake and ventures over to pester her into sharing, leaving Hazel and me by ourselves.
Hazel watches Monroe run off, then her attention comes back to me. “You don’t have to help me. They just think?—”
“I want to help,” I interject and stand. “Are you scared to be up on stage?”
