“Yeah. Two hundred pounds of Goldilocks and I’m still not sure if I was just right or not.”
Now she’s laughing so hard she chokes midsip on her Dr Pepper. Instant coughing fit. More pop. She wipes her eyes, wetness catching the meager overhead lighting in the oregano-scented dim of Bruno’s Pizza, our favorite carb-delivery supplier. Finally, when she’s not going to cough or laugh anymore, she shoves two garlic knots in her mouth.
Starving, but ironically too exhausted to keep up with Addie in the food department, I spear myself a garlic knot and try to straighten my slouch from anSto anL. But somewhere in the middle, my back muscles seize up and I pitch tothe side against the wall of our booth. It’s Saturday night and I’mzonkedfrom my third two-a-day in a row. Honestly, it’s all I can do to stay upright across from Addie. My life’s been a blur of laps, drills, and scrimmages since Thursday.
And I still have a final round of two-a-days tomorrow, right before dinner with my family—a dinner in which I can’t look like I’ve been mentally and physically destroyed for four straight days. And the day after that, I get to trudge my way through my first official day as a Northland student. Yippee.
“So, other than being sat on, how’s it going?”
“Fine.”
Addie’s eyebrows rise so high on her forehead that they graze the baby hairs that have managed to escape her head of tiny black braids.“Liv.”When I don’t say anything else, she blinks slowly, exaggerating her disbelief to the point of animation. “You’re running around, getting tackled by a bunch of boys in tights, and all you have to say when I ask how it’s going isfine?”
“Technically, they aren’t supposed to be tackling me.”
“But they’re sitting on you.”
“Yes, in lieu of tackles.”
“Okay, whatever. Just give me the scoop.”
I wave a hand. “Eh, enough about me. Tell me what’s up with you—how’s the volleyball team looking?”
Addie sputter-sighs into her drink. “We’d be looking awhole lot better if Barbie and I weren’t the only ones to hit the court this summer.”
“I mean, to be fair, you get bonus points because you hit the court withme, and I can’t even keep the ball in play seventy percent of the time.”
“God did not make you a volleyball player, that’s for sure, but you were excellent target practice.”
We both laugh, because that’s totally true.
“And what about the rest of Windsor Prep? How’s your schedule?”
“Well, I got into Danielle’s Honors English section, so that won’t be weird or—wait.” She narrows her eyes. “You’re avoiding talking about it.”
I poke at my plate. “I am not.”
“Oh, yes you are, Olive Marie.” She pauses, eyes narrowing further as if she’s trying to read my mind. Then her whole face lights up. “It’shim, isn’t it? Grey?”
I feel the sudden urge to stuff my piehole with ten garlic knots—I barely have the energy to eat, let alone manage Addie’s expectations on what isn’t happening with my teammates and myself. “Um, it’s himwhat?”
Addie doesn’t skip a beat. “You know what.You’re being antidescriptive because you’re afraid of describing something. And that something is Mr. Surfer Newscaster.”
And suddenly I’m blushing because… yeah.
Just then our server materializes with an eighteen-inchmonstrosity fashioned from mozzarella, cured beef, and stinky miniature fish. Oh, and carbs. Glorious carbs. The nectar of the gods. Or at least the nectar of athletes ambling through two-a-days.
Addie and I each yank a slice onto our plates and dig in. She takes a giant-ass bite and launches back into her assault—she clearly has it in for me.
“Seriously. You’ve been at practice. With boys. Forhours.” She presses both hands into the Formica tabletop on either side of her plate. “In case you’ve forgotten, there are no boys at Windsor Prep. None. Zero.Zilch.Feed my hormones, Liv. A girl’s gotta eat.”
I’m not exactly sure what to say. Yes, I’ve spent hours with boys. One of whom happens to be Jake. He’s been fine since apologizing to me in the parking lot. I’m neither a stalker nor the girl who has somehow won back his heart. I’m just there. Even though I really do wish he weren’t so stinking pretty. As for Grey—oh, God, he’s pretty, too. And kind. And smart. And so damn good at what he does.
Addie chucks a burnt hunk of crust down on her plate and picks up another slice, her eyes never leaving my face. “You seriously have to think about this? What is there to think about?” She sighs. “If you don’t start talking in about two seconds, I’m going to get up from this table and go assault that boy over there in front of his family, just to hear about his day. Information:I needs it, preciousssss.”
She waves an arm in a grand gesture toward the otherrow of booths and I glance over, wondering if this poor soul knows what exactly he’s in for. My heart immediately hits the floor when I recognize the curls and lantern jaw in profile.
Then it stops beating completely when a pair of steel-gray eyes meets mine from across the pizza-scented dim. Addie realizes exactly who “that boy” is without the football gear about .002 seconds later. “Is that—”
