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He’s no James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, that’s for sure. But let’s be honest, who really is?
Reagan walks over to where I’m standing, which is out of sight, but with a good view of the door.
“Are you hiding?”
“No, just trying not to be seen.”
“That’s literally the definition of hiding.” She frowns. “What’s his name?”
“Chad.”
She slowly nods, looking at him. “Chad?”
I slowly nod, looking at him, too. “Yep.”
She turns to me. “Is this really the guy who got you back out there?” She sizes him up as The Coffin Dodgers accost him and drag him to their table. “What about the firefighter? He seems a little more exciting.”
Well, duh.
“There is nothing wrong with a stable man,” I say, trying to convince myself that this is a good decision.
“I predict you’re going to be home and in bed by ten,” she deadpans.
I roll my eyes. I’m already nervous enough about this date. The last thing I need is Reagan (or anyone else) weighing in.
I give myself a few more minutes before stepping out from my hiding spot and see that I’m not going to get my wish. Somehow, The Coffin Dodgers have roped Chad into a game of Scrabble. And judging by the accusations, he’s already winning.
“You’re cheating!” Ernie shouts. “Did you hide a tile in your shirt sleeve?”
Chad laughs, offering his shirt for inspection. John takes him up on the offer while Marco shakes his head and Mr. Ridgemont smirks. I’ll never tell his secret, but of the four of them, Mr. Ridgemont is the one with the slippery fingers.
He told me once he doesn’t look at it as cheating because he only does it to get a rise out of his friends.
He glances my way, meets my eyes, and throws a wink.
I wink back. Because leave it to me to have a good-natured inside joke with my former high school principal.
Perks of being a teacher’s pet, I suppose.
I start toward the table, and when I reach them, Chad is putting down a Triple Word Score. I watch as he lays down a word on the right-hand side of the board, attaching his word to the “p” of “stoop.”
Chad plays “paczki,” the “a” falling on the triple letter score and the “i” on the triple word score. 75 points.
Not bad.
“Challenge!” John shouts.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Ernie says.
“Why not?! I’ve never heard of it!”
“Oh, and because you never heard of it, it must not exist, huh?” Mr. Ridgemont quips.
“Agree! I challenge it too!” Marco slams his hand on the table, jostling the board and causing a groan from the others.
“It’s a real word,” I say, peering over Chad’s shoulder to see what other weird words have made it onto the board. “It’s a round, filled donut.”
“How do you know that?” John’s tone sounds accusatory.
