Page 1 of Unforgettable Player

1

CONNOR

My stomach flips as I wrestle the Volvo down another narrow beach road, huge birch trees and telephone wires hemming me in on either side. You could drive for miles around here and see nothing but dense woods with little white houses, poking out from the trees like hairline cracks in a sheet of ice.

It was below freezing last time I was home. My parents’ house had been surrounded by a thick blanket of snow, tracks from Mom and Dad’s SUVs and boots leading in a neat arc from the front door to the garage. The lake out back frozen over, begging to be scarred by a pair of skates. But, aside from my promise to Coach Garvin to assist him in the junior hockey camp, I won’t be going near any ice this summer if I can help it.

I let my mind wander to the way my parents’ house looks in summer. Sun beating down on a glistening pool, Mom’s rose bushes blooming along the driveway.

My parents’ neighborhood is quiet and pretty. There is a little variation in house color and style, but the neighborhood committee makes sure no one goes rogue and paints their garage door bright red or plants a cactus in their yard. No sunflowers either, for some reason.

When the beach road finally opens up, I feel like I’m being spat out. The sun beams through the windshield as I skim the coast. The smell of salt and seaweed pushing through the open windows makes me feel twelve-years-old again—reminds me of washing sand from my toes and splashing Scout under the outdoor showers.

I think about stopping off for something to eat when my stomach rumbles, but Dad will have cooked something special for my big welcome home. The prospect of ‘letting myself go’ while I was home for the summer break never bothered me before. It always felt like a temporary blip before getting back on track. But now … every cookie and missed gym session feels like a permanent landslide into Loserville.

I park at the end of the driveway when I reach the house, the familiar basketball hoop and the creaky porch swing a comfortingly familiar sight.

I hesitate before getting out of the car. The last conversation I had with my parents was tense. They didn’t come right out and say it, because they try to be supportive, but the question lingered between the lines anyway—why are you throwing everything away?

The front door opens and Mom comes down the driveway in her indoor shoes.

I paint on a big, fake smile, open the car door and step onto the driveway, bracing myself for whatever’s to come.

“Oh my God,” she says, coming to an abrupt halt.

“What?”

“Look at you.”

I glance down at the ratty Harvard hoodie and sweatpants I wore for the drive.

“You grew,” she says.

I scoff. I’m not sure why I’m surprised she’s acting like nothing’s wrong. It’s what our family does.

“I did not grow.”

“You did, too. You look taller.”

“I’m not taller. I’ve been this size since high school.”

She squints like she doesn’t believe me and pokes her head into the car.

“What are you looking for?”

She shrugs. “I had hoped you’d bring a girlfriend home this summer. What happened to that one from Chicago?” She snaps her fingers. “I liked her. What was her name?”

I spit out a laugh and grab the duffel bags from the trunk. “You don’t even remember her name. You can’t have liked her that much.”

“Well, it was a while ago now, I—” Her gaze lands on the gift bag I had tucked between the duffels, now dislodged in the trunk.

“What’s that?”

“It’s gifts—from California.”

I watch her for any signs of the tension I heard during out last conversation, but I don’t see any as she widens her eyes and starts rearranging the tissue paper in the bag to get a better look.

“Hey, no peeking.” I reach for the bag, but she pulls it close to her chest. “It’s a surprise.”