“Stop.” I laugh, trying to roll up my passenger window. He rolls it right back down. “You are going to embarrass me.”
“That’s the whole point.” He starts to sing the ABBA song loudly.
I sink into my seat and use my tote bag to try to hide my face. My freckled skin heats, and I know it’s as red as my hair.
Dad puts the car in park for a moment. My best friend, Izzy, pops her head into the car. Arms crossed on the windowsill.
“Hi, Mr. Davis.”
“Izzy. How are you? I haven’t seen you over at the house in a bit.”
“Tell this one to invite me over.” She pokes at my cheek.
“I did last week,” I remind her.
She pops a shoulder. “I was busy.”
Izzy backs up, and I unbuckle and get out of the car. Before Dad drives off, I grab my hockey bag and set it on the curb.
I lean into the window like Izzy did. “Bye, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Firecracker.”
I love hearing those three words. Collect and cherish them like people do with rare coins. There were days before he and Mom adopted me that I didn’t think I ever would.
“See you tonight.”
The teacher working the drop-off whistles at him to move his car. He waves an apology at them and puts his car back into drive. Giving me anotherlove youbefore heading off.
I spin around, and Izzy has my bag resting on her shoulder.
“Geez, Sutt. What do you have in here?”
“Give it here.” She passes it to me, dramatically sagging and rubbing her shoulder afterward.
Izzy Adams and I have been friends for the past two years. We’ve known each other longer than that, but it wasn’t till eighth grade that she invited me to eat lunch with her. Outside of Meave and Cooper, I didn’t have many friends. Because of her, I now have a solid group of four. Sammie, Jasmine, and Clara were Izzy’s other friends. Cooper calls them her minions.
“Did you get a haircut?” I ask.
She fiddles with the ends of her now shoulder-length brunette hair, which is always tied back with a bow.
“After school, yesterday. Clara and I both went, and then we got our nails done. I would have invited you, but”—I glance down at her nails, painted in the color I told her I was going to get this weekend when we were supposed to go—“you had practice.”
“It’s fine.” I blow it off, only slightly hurt.
Things have been…weird lately.
Izzy’s been more withdrawn. Same with the girls.
Hockey is in season, so I know I’m busier, but I’ve always made time for my friends. I can’t get jealous of them hanging out without me when I have a game or practice, but this is different from freshman year. We’ve been through this before.
A couple of weeks ago, a small rumor about me started: why I was adopted, who my parents are, why they didn’t want me. It started as whispers. But our high school isn’t big, maybe two hundred kids per class. We are the perfect size to know everyone, and rumors spread like weeds.
My friends said they shut them down but I’m hesitant to believe them.
Then why are they withdrawn? Maybe they think the rumors are true?
Izzy loops her arm in mine as we walk through the front doors of the building, promising me we can still go this weekend.
