We all look toward my phone sitting on the nightstand.
“I don’t want to look,” I mumble.
“I’ll look,” Charlie says, and I yell “No!” and roll over to hold him down.
He gives up easily and we go to back to just lying there.
After a few minutes, Sophie says, “Just look. It’s killing me.”
“I second that,” Wes says.
“Third,” Charlie shouts.
“Okay, fine. I’ll look.” I lean across Charlie and grab my phone but hold it low so no can see the screen. It lies on my chest, facedown, my hand resting on top.
“You. Are. Killing. Me,” Charlie says, enunciating each word.
I take a deep breath, then blow it out while I bring the phone up so I can finally see the screen.
There are lots of notifications. From Mom, Charlie, Wes, Sophie. I swipe open the phone so I can see all my conversations. First thing I see is a text from Leo.
L:Today is pretty shitty. Hard to sort through all of it. But thank you for clearing everything up
“Aww,” Sophie says.
“What?” Charlie lifts his head so he can look at Sophie on the other side of me. “Why is that anAwwtext?”
“Because!” She props herself up on her elbows so she can see him, too.
Charlie looks at me. “What’s your call on it?”
I’m still staring at his words. “I think he could have been ugly to me and I would have deserved it. I think he’s struggling today and even though he still gets to play, I’m the reason why it’s hard. And although I cleared things up, he’s playing poorly and that’s due to my actions. He still may not get his scholarship.”
Charlie drops his head back down on the pillow next to me. “Even if we like him now, we do not have to like the Evil Joes. They are not a package deal.”
I squeeze Charlie’s arm. It’s a big move for him to let this go with Leo. “It might not be an issue. He may not want anything to do with us.”
Now it’s Wes’s turn to sit up. “Of course he does! What’s not to love?” And then Sophie pulls him back down.
Exiting out of the conversation with Leo because I want a little time and privacy before I text him back, I scroll down and see a text from Coach Cantu, which is shocking, since I’ve yet to see him use a phone. It’s from nine o’clock this morning, about two hours after I spoke with the tournament officials.
Beside me, Sophie takes a deep breath when she sees. “Open it!”
I really don’t want to do this with an audience, but these people know everything. They should know this, too.
COACH:You leave me no choice. I am unable to sign your form since you have not completed your hours.
Well, there it is. Surprisingly, I’m not crying. I guess I’m all cried out.
“He sucks,” Wes says.
“Call Mr. Spencer. Tell him what happened. He can overrule that guy.”
Thinking back to the e-mail exchange with our vice principal earlier this week, I say, “He can’t. I already asked him. He said no.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sophie says. She rests her head on my shoulder.
“It is what it is.” I feel hollow inside.
