Danielle joins in. “They’re not going to let you into high school tomorrow looking like that.”
“What,” he whines at both of us, not even touching my napkin. “It’s not like I’m going to wear the same shirt. Jeez.”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Danielle says. “You need to look nice in high school.”
“Oh, what do you two know about what a high schoolreallylooks like? There aren’t normal-people clothes at Windsor Prep.”
Danielle tosses back her head. “Fancy uniforms show stains just as well as stuff from Target, right, Liv?”
I’m supposed to laugh and agree, so I do. Like a champ. But my mind is stuck on the fact that tomorrow I won’t be in my Windsor Prep uniform. I won’t be with my friends. And even though I’m feeling slightly better about Northland after joining the team, it’s still everything I don’t want.
After the laughter dies, I grow quiet again. Maybe it’s the two-a-days, or the secrets, or going back to school. But I suddenly really need to be alone.
“May I be excused?” I ask, eyes directed at Mom. The second it’s out of my mouth and I’m looking at her, guilt pings through my stomach—I really shouldn’t pass up any time I can spend with Mom.
She smiles and says, “We’ve got dessert coming—”
“Oreo cheesecake,” Heather finishes, blue eyes flashing as she cuts off Mom. OMG, that’s so much better than Jell-O in any shape, and Heather is the queen bee of desserts.
Still. My stomach so can’t take that right now.
“Thanks, but I’m good,” I say with a forced smile andstand up, hauling my plate and glass. “I’ve got to get ready for school in the morning.”
Heather cocks a brow. “Preparation is Oreo cheesecake. I read that on the internet, so it must be true.”
“SHHHH, Heather, I want her piece,” says Ryan, gripping his fork and knife like Wile E. Coyote.
“Like I wasn’t going to give you half,” I say, forcing out a laugh before disappearing to collapse onto my bed. My jersey, pads, and tights are there, stinking up things while mostly hidden under the covers, and I know I should sneak to the basement to wash them, but for now, it feels good to be stationary.
To just be Liv.
Not a brand-new junior. Not a backup quarterback. Not anything but Liv.
Okay, I can sit still for only about thirty seconds before Ihaveto do something. So out comes my phone, and I cue up one of the bazillion YouTube clips I’ve found featuring quarterback heroics from games of yore, plus newer clips of Patrick Mahomes, Andrew Luck, Jared Goff, Marcus Mariota, and Sam Bradford. I even pull up a clip of Drew Brees decapitating a piñata, just because.
“Liv?” A knock comes on the door, my sister’s voice behind it.
I shove the phone under the comforter and make sure my stupid red jersey isn’t poking out, either.
“Yeah?”
“Can I come in?” she asks. And she never asks. Usually she just barges right on in.
“Uh, sure.”
Danielle bursts in alone, Heather nowhere in sight. Probably distracting the rest of the crew with cheesecake. She shuts the door and turns slowly, a false smile plastered across her suntanned face.
It doesn’t work. It’s weird. I stare at her for a moment longer than I can stand, then blurt out, “Oh my God, what is it?”
Her smile falls and her face lands into its regular lines. I can breathe again. “You didn’t do anything, Liv. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Danielle’s eyes lift and meet mine—dark meeting dark.
“I’m fine. I just didn’t want cheesecake.”
“That’s not what I meant—you look like hell.” She sits on the bed and I half expect her to pull out my dirty jersey. It takes all the strength I have left after two-a-day hell not to glance down at the rumpled covers. Why couldn’t she just sit on Ryan’s bed? Well, because it’s a rat’s nest of jockstraps and shin guards—but still.
She sighs hard enough that I can smell the Trader Joe’s merlot on her breath.
