TJ’s headed to the door, making noises like she’s trying very hard not to laugh to the point of snorting.
Grady’s flat-out chortling. “C’mon, Pop. Let’s let him do whatever it is he thinks he needs to do to fix his game. Not sure why it involves a thousand crackers, but—”
“Motherfucker,” I yelp.
“Rawk!Polly wanna cracker!Rawk!”
Long Beak Silver takes flight in my living room, soaring over my head to land on the food trays. He pecks at the entire spread while I try to shoo him away without shaking the table too much, finally deciding on a fancy cracker with lots of seeds, and then he lifts off again.
Right over my head.
And yes, the damn parrot leaves me a present in my hair.
“Oh, shit,” Tillie Jean whispers while I stand totally still, cringing, afraid to move for fear it’ll slide.
Parrot shit is gross.
“Told you he went nuts when you say the C-word,” Pop says to Grady, who’s laughing so hard he can’t breathe.
“Out you go.” Max hustles them both toward the door and grabs Sue by the horn to hustlehimout the door too. He’s grinning bigger than anyone on the team would ever give him credit for, and if this wasn’t the absolute worst thing my family could’ve done right now, I’d snap a picture of Max’s smile to send to Diego to have framed in the clubhouse. “Tillie Jean. Our work here is done.”
Waverly’s security guy looks at me, and I see exactly what he’s thinking too.
Their work isdefinitelydone.
I’m screwed.
And not in the way I’d like to be.
17
Waverly
The silence is deafening.
It’s not total silence, but itfeelslike total silence.
Like that moment when you’re standing in the middle of the stage in an open-air arena with forty thousand people in the crowd and your sound system is blasting out loud enough to be heard by all of the people in all of the apartments a full half mile away, and you just accidentally sangtrop that fuckinstead ofstop that truckand you know they noticed and it’ll be viral in the next four seconds, andI’m high on cough syrupwon’t make it any better and you’re sure you’re still singing because you’re a damn professional and it’s what you do, except you can’t hear a thing over the horror.
It's that kind of silence.
Cooper’s family has departed, goat included.
Scott One is still standing in front of the table where I’m hiding, legs spread. Scott Two checked in on comms a moment ago—he was tied up with Cooper’s aunts and cousins, who have now been escorted to their car.
Kiva’s arrived. I can hear her talking about ignoring making the rounds and staying put on the doors to the house instead.
I’m stuck with this feeling of utter mortification, unsure if it’s on my behalf or Cooper’s.
His family is hilarious, and he’s undoubtedly earned everything they’re dishing him.
And instead of owning what I’m doing and popping out to say hi and enjoy everything myself, I stayed hidden.
Like a total chicken.
Afraid that one of Cooper’s relatives would view this as a moment to grab their five minutes of fame-by-proxy.
Afraid of what Aunt Zinnia would say.
