Sasha paused her movements as my delay in answering got to that awkward point. She worked her jaw, lowered her brows, and was seconds from going off if I didn’t think of something quickly.
But thank fuck for small miracles. Before I could muddle through some sort of answer, Cara came bounding over.
“Cal? You ready?” she asked as she approached.
I disengaged from Sasha, which took extra seconds because she literally would not let go at first. “I gotta go, Sasha. I’m only supposed to hang around long enough to get Cara, then Daddy wants me home.”
Sasha stamped her foot. “Cal, I was talkin’ to you.”
I backed up in Cara’s direction. “Yeah, but I gotta go.”
She didn’t say anything else, but man did she want to. Sasha’s eyes lit like fire before she flipped her long hair behind her shoulder and stalked off, glancing at me every other step with a dressing-down glare each time.
I slung my arm over Cara’s shoulder. “Thank you,” I mouthed while she laughed.
“You looked like you could use a save,” she said. My little sister was way more mature than I had been at her age. Maybe it was from dealing with our parents fighting all the time, but it didn’t surprise me she was as attuned to body language as she was.
“I did, and you did.”
“Just break up with her.”
“Think I should?” I asked and let go of her shoulders.
“Think you shouldn’t?”
“I dunno. I mean, I’m captain of the football team, and she’s the preacher’s daughter. Isn’t that a thing?”
“No, because you’re not a douchebag like that.”
I gasped and feigned a high-pitched tone. “Watch your mouth, little girl.”
Cara pinched my side and darted toward my truck when I tried to do the same.
“Ow,” I hissed. “I take it back. You’re not a girl, you’re a little shit.”
“Learned from the best,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Once we were home, I hurried through the homework I didn’t get to do in detention because of the weird-as-fuck Mr. Hitchcock. I’d given him the benefit of the doubt before, seeing as he looked nothing like the man who’d made all those strange shows, but no longer. What an oddball.
Daddy made it home in time for dinner, because this day wouldn’t give me a break, and I threw together a chicken pot pie.
We got situated around the table, Daddy being grumpy and quiet, but my hope for getting through the meal without an argument was short-lived.
“It’s not his fault, Daddy,” Cara defended me after he took a breath from telling me how fucking up in high school could look bad on college applications.
“I’m aware of the situation,” he said. “Calvin doesn’t need you speaking up for him.”
I wanted to respond saying that at least someone had my back but instead went with, “It’s not that deep.”
Daddy put his fork down, took a long drink from his sweet tea, then clasped his hands over his bowl. “Are you sure about that? You’ve been caught fighting and identified as some kind of mastermind behind these pranks. What next? I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“It’s that stupid soccer guy,” Cara tried again, and this time, I wished she hadn’t.
There were things I couldn’t explain to myself or anyone, and this was a huge one. Yeah, I hated Jack, probably, but I didn’t want anyone else talking about him. Well, talking about ourfeud. I couldn’t explain why we went at it so fiercely, so I didn’t want to get into it.
“I got this,” I said to her.
“What about the soccer guy?” Daddy asked. “The one in trouble with you?”
