Page 9 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

“Bring them in, Frank.” Mr. Everett’s daughter—Jenny, I think? —motions to a White, bushy-browed man standing near the door to the event room.

Frank opens the door, and in walks a four-piece bluegrass band, complete with a banjo. I speed-walk to Mom’s side. “What are they doing?” I whisper through the side of my mouth.

Mom nods to herself, relaxing her shoulders. “Darlene did mention they might show up. Dodd’s old band from college. She tracked them all down, but she wasn’t sure if they’d be able to come because Clarence Walker had bypass surgery a couple of months ago. But he looks healthy.” She glances down at her checklist and points. “They’re here in pencil.”

Darlene, not Jenny. That’s right. “They’re just doing one song, right? I mean, it’s already quarter ’til seven.”

“That’s what the list says.”

The band sets up on the stage and launches into a twangy song I’ve never heard before. Mr. Everett—Dodd—bounces his knee to the rhythm from a cushioned chair in front. Sunshine and rainbows leak from his eyes. Applause thunders when it ends, and the group of fifty onlookers exchange hugs. The fiddle player waves Dodd toward the stage with his freshly rosined bow. The pine scent is already giving me a headache, though maybe it’s just my growing annoyance.

Dodd makes a show of trying to decline, but then Darlene pulls a mandolin out of a box near the stage and hands it to him.

Like a child on Christmas, Dodd accepts the instrument and joins his friends.

With each new song, my confidence burns down like the candle wax melting off the gold tapers in the middle of the tables. “Mom, how long until we get kicked out of the room?” Surely the group only paid for a specific number of hours.

“They just extended another hour,” Mom says.

“They can’t do that.”

“Sure they can. They paid for the time, and no one has the room after. They agreed to pay overtime for our crew.”

“But I can’t stay. I have somewhere to be.” Even before I open my mouth, I know appealing is futile. I try anyway. “I have to get to the boys’ soccer game. I promised Rh—Anita and Charlotte.”

Mom lowers her clipboard. “You made the commitment to work this event first, did you not?”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“And you agreed when we paid for your car repairs to work off the money at my events, did you not?”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“Then I don’t know why you’re arguing. You stay until the event is over. That’s how it works.”

“Could I just work a different event instead? You can even count this as a wash. Like I wasn’t even here.” Desperation doesn’t look good on me, but it flows from every pore of my body.

Mom turns her attention back to the room. “No, Chloe. You’ll stay until the last bit of confetti is swept up.”

“They don’t have conf⁠—”

Each person in the crowd reaches into the golden bags a staff member just passed out and tosses shimmering pieces into the air.

I swat at the stuff coming at me, though the silver atrocities stick in my hair, anyway. Not only am I going to miss the game, I’ll be stuck in bluegrass heck sweeping up foil number sixties until my hair turns gray.

* * *

The stoplight gods are on my side as I speed across town, just fast enough that if any overeager cops are staking my route, I’m definitely earning a speeding ticket I can’t afford. But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Why? Good question. The boys will have other home games. I don’t allow myself to dig too deep into my own psyche. I’m not ready to admit what lurks there.

Instead, I convince myself it’s the honorable desire to keep a promise I made to my best friends.

The parking lot of the school is packed—not surprising—but there’s one open spot in the very back of the lot.

I throw the car into park, not caring that it’s crooked—I’m in the lines, at least—and fling open the door. I catch it just before it slams into the car next to mine and haul myself out. My bruised knee protests the pace, but I ignore it. Breathless, I sprint through the gate.

They quit collecting entrance fees with only ten minutes left in the game, so there’s no one to stop me.