“Not if you give it back.” The wind kicks up and Addie’s braids swirl into her face. “Youwantto be on the softball team. That’s the end goal. Show up. Kick butt. Do what Kitt needs to see you do and then make the damn team.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But when I close my eyes, I see Grey’s face in the parking lot. Angry. Unflinching. I see the remorse in Jake’s one good eye and his teeth bare and flashing. I see the blank faces of the “friends” who never gave me a heads-up about this integral piece of Northland romantic history.
“Ican’t.” My eyes fly open. “I respect myself too much to go back there.”
“You don’t respect yourself at all if you let a group of stupid boys and an even stupider girl steal your dreams.”
“They aren’t—”
“You quit and yes they are.”
“I’m quitting because I’m standing up for myself.”
“Standing up for yourself doesn’t mean walking away.”
In my head, in this situation, it does. There’s nothing much left to say. Addie knows it, too, and starts backing across the street toward her car.
“Show up to weights in the morning, Rodinsky.”
I watch Addie drive away, Nick in the passenger seat. They’re gone and I’m still standing here, her words swirling in my head.
32
AT SIX THIRTY, MY ALARM DETONATES AND THE SUNbusts through my window all bright and cheery, like it’s completely ignorant about last night.
My football gear is strewn all over the floor, a sweat-lined trail of disappointment. My phone’s faceup, home screen lined with texts and missed calls. My head pounds, my knee throbs, and soreness roasts my muscles from the inside out. Even myskinseems to hurt.
Ughhhhhhhh.
Still, I pull myself to standing and head for the hall bathroom as silently as possible—Ryan’s wedged under his pillow, sleeping off being a teenage boy.
The house is mostly quiet—Dad’s snores replaced by clinking in the kitchen. Coffee before his morning jog. The case he was working really must be over. Mom’s sleepingoff her treatments in their room, and I hear Heather’s voice coming from the back deck, running Danielle through sun salutations. Danielle’s remarking—notcomplaining—that she’s just not that damn flexible. Which is exactly why Heather wants her to do it.
And they all expect me to be gone in ten minutes.
Pancakes after practice tomorrow, baby girl.
Now Dad’s over by the front door, probably stepping into his running shoes.Humming.Like he’s freaking Mary Poppins and not a twenty-five-year cop crashing at his eldest daughter’s house while the love of his life battles cancer.
Today, he’s happy.
And last night was part of the reason.
I’mpart of the reason.
That word flashes in my brain again—can’t.
I can’t tell him I quit. But I also can’t go to practice. I can’t look those assholes in the eye and lift weights like nothing happened.
I know why it’s a good idea to go. I know I shouldn’t let them get to me. I know that football is the path to my softball dreams. I know I shouldn’t let that opportunity slip away, no matter how tough it is.
But I can’t.
Can I?
I run a cold tap, scrub the last of my mascara onto thetowel, and pull my hair back into a ponytail. Look myself in the eye.
I can’t go back. Not to last night. Not to that night in May.
