I held out my palm, then spat into it. “Now we spit on it.”
He stared at me. “I thought the pisswasthe deal.”
“We’re double-sealing it,” I said. “Piss promiseandspit shake.”
Dare made a face, but spit into his hand and slapped it against mine. Our palms met, wet and hot. His grip was tight. Unflinching.
“There,” I vowed. “That’s it. Best friends for life. No one can ever split us up. Even if you have to move away. Even when we grow old and boring. Even when you meet your future wife and fall in love?—”
Darien snorted.
“—We’ll still be best friends,” I finished. “I’ll always choose you over everyone else in my life. I swear.”
He chuckled. “Well, hell. We spit and pissed on it, so I guess it must be true.” He bumped his shoulder against mine. “Best friends for life,” he echoed.
And just like that, it was done.
Stamped in Sharpie.
Soaked in piss and spit.
Sealed in our own kind of forever.
CHAPTER 4
DARE
We were still best friends when I scored that goal. Still safe. Still us. I didn’t realize how close we were to losing it all.
We won the game.3–2.
I scored the final goal in the last thirty seconds, threading the ball between two defenders and slamming it past the goalie so hard he didn’t even dive.
The team swarmed me. My name rang through the air—“Dare! Dare! Dare!”—like I was some kind of hero. Coach clapped me on the back. Kids screamed. Parents stood to cheer.
I turned toward the bleachers, heart still pounding.
No sign of my dad.
No sign of my mom.
But there was Tru in the front row, standing up on the metal bench to get a better view, cupping his hands around his mouth as he shouted my name. His mom sat next to him, clapping as ifher hands were on fire, waving a little paper sign she’d clearly made last-minute.
It said #9 with crooked hearts.
They were the only ones I wanted to see, anyway.
But when the crowd thinned and the lights went dim, the rush drained out of me fast. The cheers echoed in my ears as if they belonged to someone else, some other kid with parents who showed up. I peeled off my cleats on the sideline, staring at the empty space where my mom and dad should’ve been, and the weight of it settled hard in my chest. Even at twelve, it still mattered to me.
Tru’s mom had cheered loud enough for all three of them—his, mine, and the ones who couldn’t bother. She clapped until her hands turned red and smiled like the win belonged to her, too. For a second, it almost seemed as if nothing was missing. Almost.
Ms. Jameson took us for ice cream at the place with the sticky tables and the arcade game that was broken and stuck on the hardest level. She made a big deal about my ordering two scoops, pretending she was going to fight me for the second one.
“You earned it,” she said, tousling my hair. “Game winner.”
I smiled, even though my stomach was twisted up. My family had a way of tainting the good moments in my life I wanted to hold on to. My mom cared more about keeping up appearances than keeping track of me, and my dad… well, he believed softness was weakness. A goal was just proof I hadn’t wasted my time at practice. Nothing I did ever stayed good for long.
That night, I stayed over. The movie playing in thebackground barely registered. We camped out in sleeping bags on Tru’s bedroom floor. I stared heavenward while he picked at a granola bar.
