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I’m surprised he even remembered she was trying out for that. Gia, who’s sitting at the island, instantly comes to attention. “They’re posting the official list Monday, but the coach told me I’ve got a great shot!”
Dario gives a gruff “That’s good,” before closing the freezer and striding back to his office without a second glance back.
It may not seem like a lot, but from Dario, that’s more than we can usually hope for, and Gia’s smile speaks for itself.
“That totally means you made it,” I tell her, pouring the sauce over the pasta and giving it a mix before serving our portions. “Can I come watch a game sometime?”
“Sure, but I don’t think we’ll have our first real game for a while, and you might be at work.” She twines some spaghetti on her fork. “Why aren’t you there now?”
“It’s Friday. The restaurant hasn’t been scheduling me on Fridays lately,” I answer, sitting with her at the island.
When it’s only the two of us, we don’t bother setting the actual table and eating there. We eat at the island unless Zia Stella is here, and we don’t eat with Dario ever. “You want to do something tonight? Maybe watch a shitty scary movie?”
We’ve been getting along and hanging out more than normal since the motel incident. It’s been really nice spending time with my sister without bickering or feeling like she hates me.
“Can’t. I’m going out with Brianna and Lindsey.”
I shoot her a look at the mention of Brandon’s sister, and Gia reads my mind, holding up her hands innocently.
“Not at Brianna’s house. We’re hanging out at Lindsey’s.
She’s asked me to dye her hair black, so Brianna’s coming to hang out too.” She blushes as she pokes at her pasta.
“Brianna’s annoyed with Lindsey at the moment, so I think she’s coming to spend time with me.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, trying to play it cool even though I want to squeal with joy for Gia and for the fact that she’s sharing with me like it’s no big deal. “Have you told her how you feel yet?”
“No, I’m trying to let things play out and see how it goes. Don’t want to come on too strong, you know?”
No, I don’t know. I know nothing about dating and relationships and love, and sometimes I wonder why Jason even bothers being so nice to me, but I’m not going to complain, especially not when he walks me to my door and kisses me like he’s starving and I’m the sustenance he needs.
“Ugh, you’re thinking about Jason, aren’t you?” she asks between bites.
“Am not!”
“You so are. You have that goofy look on your face.”
“Yeah, well, you . . .” My mind blanks on any good comebacks. “You just eat your pasta.”
She laughs victoriously, and I can’t help but smile at her. I’ve been worried about her, but she seems to be okay after leaving that motel room thinking she killed Brandon. Even thinking his name kills my vibe, and I don’t want to ruin her good mood either, but I can’t stop myself from asking, “Have you told any of them what happened at the motel party? Brandon asking you to come alone and meet him there for a fake ID? Him . . .”
I leave the rest of what happened unsaid, not wanting to put her through it again.
Her face sours, and I almost regret bringing it up, but when she speaks, it’s clear it’s directed at the memory.
“No. I would’ve if it didn’t implicate me. If I told them, they’d put it together, and even though they fight, now more than usual, Brianna is still pissed that someone hurt her brother.”
“She’s fighting with Brandon?”
Gia slurps up a strand of spaghetti that escaped from her neat twirl, splattering sauce on her chin. “She said he’s been especially grouchy these last few months and snaps at every little thing. She never invites us over anymore because she doesn’t want to deal with his mood swings, which is fine by me because I never want to see his face again. Lindsey and Grace think he’s creepy too, but we can’t say that to Brianna, especially since we don’t need to see him anyway. We’ll probably say something if she starts inviting us over again.”
“At least you’re staying away from him,” I say, my own pasta tasting like mush now that I’m thinking about Brandon. He’s left me alone this week after Jason threatened him on Monday, though I swear he’s giving me migraines with the intense way he hate-glares at me through the day.
“You don’t have to worry about that from me. But have you . . .” She scrunches her nose like she’s trying to decide whether or not it’s worth it to bring something up.
She must decide it is, because she continues, “Have you heard from Mom?”
The question is out of left field, and my body stills as I try not to act suspicious.
