“That’s my son,” I hear my mother say nearby. “Yes, he got his looks from me. And wait until you see him play tonight. He’s smart and talented, and he helpssomany people.”
I spot Marta with her. “I hate having split loyalties, but since Hannah moved to Deer Drop ...”
“Dylan! Dylan, will you sign my phone case?” a teenager calls.
“Keep your head down and pretend you don’t hear them,” Teague says to me.
Heat is creeping through my body again, even more than should be there for a warm August evening. It’s been almost two weeks since the first video, and I haven’t had anything like this before. “Is this going to disrupt the game?”
Phoebe makes a strangled noise like she’s stifling a laugh. “Dylan, I like you, but trust me, if Tickled Pink can get through snowshoe baseball games with my family playing, you willnotbe a disruption.”
And now there’s more heat for more reasons.
Of course I’m not a big deal.
I’m just a bigger deal in my own life than I’ve ever been before.
“Sorry I’m late.” Tavi jogs up next to us. “Did you know that, like, if you don’t mix a paint can well, it leaves streaky paint on a wall?”
Phoebe eyeballs her.
Teague eyeballs her.
I eyeball her.
“What?” She makes an exaggerated swipe at her face, her eyes going even bigger in a brighter Tavi Lightly Show display than I’ve seen since we started sleeping together. “Do I have paint on my nose? I thought I got it all wiped off. Pebbles, where’s Mommy’s mirror?”
“We’ve been painting walls in the school for almost two months,” Phoebe says.
“Yes, but I’ve nevermixedthe paint before. But it’s fine. I think streaky walls are, like, the new black.” She squeals and claps, and it’s so fake that I want to punch something. “Oh my gosh, are we playing aDeer Dropteam? Is this finally our chance to show the Deer Drop Danger Ducks that we can kick their asses?”
“One time a year,” Teague replies. “Why’s Lola putting on snowshoes?”
Snowshoe baseball is my favorite part of summer. We dump sawdust all over a baseball diamond and don snowshoes to play a round of softball with a sixteen-inch softball, which eliminates the need for gloves.
Good thing, too, because most of us will wipe out in the sawdust at least once per game.
Crowds are huge this summer with everyone from around the state and farther wanting to come watch the Lightlys face-plant.
Wouldn’t be a bad thing if more people came back next year.
But tonight, my heart isn’t in it.
I’d rather go hang with Tavi in her secret kitchen and distract her until she’s tired of telling people we’re “just friends.”
I’ve done “just friends.”
This is not “just friends.”
And I won’t be the idiot who waits until it’s too late to do something about it. Not this time.
“Surely she’s not playing,” Phoebe murmurs as Lola rises, snowshoes on her feet, Tickled Pink Gold Stars jersey hanging from her shoulders.
And I do meanhanging.
She’s barely three inches wide.
Not a lot of shoulder to hold that shirt up.
