Looking back, if Pippa were my twin and Freddie was me, I’d have shoved his face in an actual sponge cake, made him eatit off the floor, and then forced him to beg and plead for her forgiveness.
I’m better off compartmentalizing dreams and reality. So, setting the past aside, I scrub my hand down my face and then adjust my tie as I prepare for dinner with my mom and dad.
My parents, Ruth and Rhett Collins, sit with another couple—Pippa and Freddie’s parents.
My shoe catches on the carpet and I nearly stumble, but my reflexes are quick and I catch myself as Mr. Smythe passes on his way to the head table. “Ah, Chase, my boy. Nice to see you here and dressed.” His gaze drifts to my trousers with recognition of moon-gate and slight admonishment.
It’s juvenile, but I’d like to reply,Save your judgment, mister. My father will handle the reprimands...and they’ll never stop, so you can be sure I’ve learned my lesson.
Instead, I say, “Nice to see you, sir. Thank you for welcoming me to your home.” I lean in. “If given the choice, I prefer pants, cleats, pads, a jersey, and a helmet because it means one thing: getting gritty, sweaty...but my football uniform isn’t proper dining attire.” I end with a genial wink.
He replies with a guffaw and a clap on the shoulder. Having charmed the old chap, I approach the table.
The part I didn’t mention to Lord Smythe is the intense comfort I get from digging into the field as I eat up yards of turf with the ball. I enjoy working hard because the payoff means more to me than the approval of the Smythes and my parents’ elite friends, who take more stock in wealth than achievement.
“Chase, dear. Please come join us.” My mother makes a fuss as I sit down, cooing over how nice I look in the navy blue suit—she’s a sweetheart and means it genuinely. No backhanded rebuke about my pantsless #BruiserButt in her tone.
As usual, Rhett remains locked in his judgmental silence.
Mom makes pleasant conversation, somehow ignoring the tension rolling off my father like heat across a desert road and directed at me.
The Thompsons ask about the off-season and if I’ve heard from Freddie. My answers are genuine because I’ve always liked them, but I can’t help my keen awareness that the seat between them remains empty. My guess is it belongs toPizza.
Mom chats about the lovely party and raves about how the last time she ate with the Smythes, the goose confit was the tenderest she’d ever eaten. I’m hardly listening until she says, “Oh, and here’s the gal I’ve been waiting to finally meet.”
I’d been taking a sip of water and almost sputter as the woman in the yellow gown lowers hesitantly into the chair beside me. Her expression is plastic and rigid.
“Chase, you remember Pippa from Hinnifin, right?” Mom asks. “She’s Freddie’s twin sister.”
As if I didn’t know.
But that’s all the reminder I need to remember my place. Pippa is out of bounds and thinking about her like anyone other than my best friend’s sister would warrant a penalty, so I do what I’ve always done.
I reach over and ruffle her hair. “Hey, Pippag Thomzeg. How’s it going? Haven’t seen you in a while, kiddo. I hear you’re crushing it these days.”
She blanches before her cheeks turn crimson in a case of cold to hot.
Okay, I realize the ogre reference was a step too far, and calling her kiddo is pretty cringy, but I automatically switched to Jerk Mode as a matter of self-preservation. One that I instantly regret.
She leans ever so slightly away from me like I have cooties. I want to get away from myself right now, too. That was uncalled for.
I catch the edge of my mother’s confused frown at the greeting.
Turning back, I consider apologizing, but how would I explain myself?
My apologies, I spent a good portion of my senior year with a crush on Pippa, only to find out she’s my best friend’s sister, so I have to do everything in my power to snuff out any notion of attraction under the pain of death.
Pippa edges her cutlery closer to her plate and stares straight ahead.
The moms and dads chat like we’re not here and the way I feel makes me wish I were invisible. But I didn’t realize my parents had never met Freddie’s twin. Surely, they would’ve crossed paths at Hinnifin Hall events. Then again, I was understandably upset by the decision they made for me senior year and hardly spoke to them until I abruptly returned to the States after getting recruited to the Bruisers.
Pippa keeps her eyes fixed on her mother as if attempting to communicate telepathically. I recall once asking Freddie if twin-tuition was real—if they could tap into each other’s thoughts or sense when the other needed help.
He’d laughed like reading Pippa’s mind would’ve been about as pleasant as the pork chop slop in the dining hall on Wednesdays. We were convinced it was a science experiment gone wrong and in need of disposal.
“Freddie and I were in the same class, so of course, I remember Pippa too.” I flash her a friendly, if not apologetic, smile.
I don’t get one in return. Instead, she hisses through gritted teeth so only I can hear, “Do you meanpizza? Because if memory serves, and it does, the offending foods were spaghetti...and sponge cake.”
