“I didn’t know you could get any worse, Eddie.” If the mallet was in my hands, I’d smash it against his forehead. He sighs and the hint of a smile vanishes. “It’s just family stuff. Nothing I can’t handle.”
Well, this is surprising. Mr. Mellow does have problems.
“That stinks. If it helps, you can tell them the position of ‘Gray’s pain in the ass’ is filled and to find another job.”
This time, his lips split into a full grin. Stepping beside me, he whacks the moles much softer than I was. “Our friends are definitely making out somewhere. Want to end the night now and split up?”
I’m this close to hightailing it to my car to wait for Shay when I get a genius idea. “Actually, I see a point opportunity.” I gesture at the basketball game with hoops twice the height of Kenneth. “Dare to play?”
He looks behind him as if I was speaking to someone else, but the dangerous glint in his eye isn’t missed. It’s the spark that keeps what we have alive.
“You’re on, Ed. Best three out of five. Gotta give me time to warm up.”
I skip toward the nice man at the booth with Kenneth trailing close behind. “Sounds like you already know you’re going to lose.”
Chapter Eight
I lost. Again.
When I said whoever won the most games got a point, I wasn’t planning to get destroyed. She wiped the floor with me at basketball, ring toss, the dunk tank, darts, bean bag toss, milk bottle knockdown, and the donut on a string challenge.
I’m losing the Brain Bowl 9-10. I know this because Mallory has repeated the score like a parrot, but I’m not thinking about the game. Right now, as I watch Mallory celebrate in her seat, I’m thinking about what the game has given me.
It’s both the bane of my existence and the fire beneath me.
The sky has transitioned from the pale blue of her sweater to the deep blue of my flannel, her excitement glowing like a night light. Pointing at a stuffed frog the size of her torso, she looks right at me. Instead of calling me out for watching her she asks, “What do you think? Should I get the frog?”
I’m pretty sure I nod, but I’m too in my own head to tell. She squeals as the stocky man hands the frog over the counter. We’ve already made two trips to the car to drop off the other winnings—a giant banana, a bright pink pig, a boba plushie, and a cow with acowboy hat.
Although her smile isn’t directly aimed at me, I feel like I’m drowning in it. Mallory’s bliss has slowly chipped away at the anger I started the evening with.
Even though I should have declined my father’s call, I hoped it would be different. That he would ask how I’m doing or ask for my swim meet schedule.
Wrong. Father dearest has been calling and texting nonstop about the internship this summer, ideas for my office, my daily schedule, and plans for senior year, such as moving back into his house to be closer to him. There’s even been talk about my contract already, but this phone call was specifically to degrade my decision of major, reiterating how I should have stuck with finance. Researching MS is pointless in his words, even though it’s his mother who lives with it.
The Gray family. Royally screwed up.
There’s possibly a new expiration date on my game with Mallory. I expected it to be graduation, where one of us would win and she would avoid me like the plague the moment the diploma touches her hand. We would cross paths at events like Cade’s birthday parties and Cade’s wedding and Cade’s funeral, and that’s all I would get.
But it could all end at the end of junior year. Now I have five months to find a way to build something with Mallory outside of our game. The Brain Bowl has always been my way in with her, but when it’s over, what will I do?
My mind has been plagued by this question since my dad stopped by because there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to play our game senior year. If I go with my dad, I’ll spend every free moment in Bryan, preparing for my future job like my siblings. If I go with my dream, I’ll spend all my free time working to afford a life of freedom. Theo already paid for this semester’s tuition, but what about senior year? My PhD aspirations maybe covered by the school if I’m accepted into the biostatistics program, and it’s clear my father won’t be helping with anything else.
No matter what I choose, the Brain Bowl could end early, and I’m not ready to lose Mallory.
A scream from an unhappy toddler pulls me from my slump. I shield my eyes from the blinding lights and look to my left. “Eddie…”
The seat is empty. Well, the massive frog is staring at me.
I pick up the plushie and turn to the guy behind the booth. “Did you see where the girl who won this went? Blue sweater. Big, poofy ponytail. Gorgeous smile with a hyena laugh.”
The man shakes his head. “Sorry buddy, and good luck next time. She’s a beast.”
He has no clue.
With the stuffed frog in hand, I follow the flow of people until I’m near the food trucks. My stomach grumbles at the prospect of sugar-filled, greasy food, but I make my way to the restroom. A line of women stand along the wall, and after a quick scan, I don’t find the one I’m looking for.
As I’m walking away, the door creaks, and warm vanilla and coconut invade my nose. The intoxicating scent I smell every time Mallory is within five feet of me.
