Page 11 of Ruthless Court

Not me.

Dad.

I walk into the bathroom and splash water over my face.

Then I sit on the floor beside the toilet until my legs go numb.

When Mom knocks, I make my voice weak.

“I don’t feel good.”

She opens the door and finds me curled against the cabinet.

Concern replaces excitement.

“What hurts?”

“Everything.”

That part is true.

Within ten minutes, Mom has canceled the photographer.

Dad offers to take me to urgent care.

I insist it is a stomach bug.

At six twenty-three, I text Ryan.

Me: I’m sick. I’m so sorry. I can’t go.

His response arrives before I put down the phone.

Ryan: That sucks. Feel better.

Then:

Ryan: The guys say I should still go since everything’s paid for. Is that okay?

I stare at the question.

He is protecting the plan.

He wants written permission in case Dad asks.

Me: You should go. Have fun.

Ryan: You’re the best.

No call.

No offer to stop by.

No disappointment.

At seven twelve, Brooke posts the first group picture.

Six couples and Ryan stand beneath a balloon arch.