As his parents come up to me, I realize Dylan and I are the only people at this party without sunglasses. I shouldn’t hold it against them. It’s Los Angeles after all, and today is a sunny day.
His father shakes my hand and looks at me I think. He’s a good six inches shorter than Dylan, too.
Dylan’s mother pats my arm and says she likes my hair. I thank her as Dylan leads us all over to the picnic table. Mrs. Wild carries a cooler until Dylan offers to take it for her. Mr. Wild and Matt sit down next to each other and immediately launch into a business chat.
“I think they seem like trustworthy folks,” Mr. Wild says. “Good reps.”
“I think they seem kind of stupid.”
I jump at Matt’s tone. It’s hateful, so unlike Dylan’s. I look down at the turkey sandwich Dylan’s put in front of me. It feels like an impossible task to eat right now. I’ll be lucky to get down half of it.
“I think you may be right.” Mr. Wild claps Matt on the shoulder. “I’m glad we’ve got you.”
Dylan quietly bites into his sandwich. Mrs. Wild smiles at him and asks if his shoulder’s still sore from the season.
“Little bit,” he admits.
I whip my head to him. “I didn’t know you were hurt.”
He shakes his head at me slightly. “I’m not. It’s an old injury, so after a full season of playing, it still twinges.”
Mr. Wild looks down the table. “Dylan, you need to get into better shape in the offseason so you can stay healthy. You could work for me.”
“How would that help him get into shape?” I say without meaning to.
Dylan chuckles.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Wild glares at me.
I swallow hard. “Sir, I just don’t understand. Dylan has to work so hard as it is.”
His father laughs cruelly. “Work hard? Football is a sport, a game! Matt here, he has to work hard for his money. Not all of us can be born with innate talent.”
My body seethes with anger. His father sounds like that dumbass reporter from the other day.
Dylan jumps in before I can say anything more. “I’m in fine shape, Dad. Don’t worry about it.”
Matt, meanwhile, has removed his shades and is peeking at me from behind his beer. With one eye. The other is hidden behind the beer can.
I glare at him as he pretends to blow me a kiss.
Dylan notices. “Lay off, Matt.”
Matt laughs. “Take it down a notch, Dyl. You never could take a joke.”
“What I could never take was you.”
Dylan reaches over and slaps the beer out of Matt’s hand. It spills all over Mr. Wild’s sandwich.
“Always screwing up,” Mr. Wild says. “Dylan, grow up, for God’s sake!”
I stand up so fast Mrs. Wild jumps. “You think he’s not grown up?” I say as I point to Dylan. “He’s about a million years more grown up than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Mrs. Wild reaches out and touches my arm. “Please, dear, do sit down and eat.”
I turn to her. “I’m sorry,” I say as I sit back down.
Dylan pats my leg under the table.
