Jesse taunts, “You should’ve had it, Jill!”
Leah, Jesse’s faithful girlfriend, strolls over. “Give her a break. None of you guys could’ve caught that pass.”
I throw the ball—a perfectly arced spiral—to Kyle. Sinuous and freakishly accurate, he’s one of the best quarterbacks McAlder’s seen. He’s also blond and lanky and far prettier than me; most presume he’s in the closet, but nobody cares one way or the other because he’s the nicest person ever, and he wins football games. He’s all-American with a twist, like apple strudel.
He catches my pass, flashing an appreciative grin. “Nice, Jelly Bean.”
I beam at his silly nickname. “Learned from the best.”
I don’t allow myself to look at Max, but I suspect he’s scowling. After all, he was the one who taught me to throw a football, years ago, in the street between our houses.
The soda I drank in the truck—the sodahebought me—fizzes in my throat.
Leah blows Jesse a kiss. She’s flawlessly dressed—dark jeans, tall leather boots, fitted jacket. Her air of sophistication enviable but matchless. She grins at the mischievous brow raise her boyfriend sends in return, then links her arm through mine. “Ready to head to the quad?”
Part of me would rather hang in the parking lot, tossing the football around with the guys like I might’ve a few years ago. But a bigger part of me is looking forward to escaping with Leah, who radiates Zen. After the ride I just suffered, I need some girl talk.
We take off for campus. I listen as she chatters, resisting the urge to peek at the guys until we hit the quad, where I allow myself the tiniest backward glance. Max launches a pass and then, by chance, glances in my direction. Our eyes meet, and his expression is strange, unfamiliar and indecipherable. Our shared gaze holds for no more than a second, but that’s all it takes for weirdness to come rushing back, a groundless sensation, like I’m floating on the open sea without a grain of sand in sight.
***
“So,” Leah says as we meander down a walkway on the quad during lunch, headed for the bench we claimed at the beginning of the school year. Unless it’s really and truly pouring, nobody but freshmen eat in the cafeteria, which means the quad’s swarming with upperclassmen every day at noon. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided that you should run for student council this spring.”
I laugh, taking a seat on our bench. “No, thanks.”
“Why not? You don’t do anything after school.”
“Uh, I have a job, remember?”
“But do you really need one?”
I unpack my lunch, stifling a snort because yeah, I do. It’s not as if my tasks at True Brew are backbreaking—pouring espresso is kind of fun, especially when I share shifts with Kyle, whose parents own the coffee shop, but I sure wouldn’t do it for free. The savings account my dad opened for me will take care of the International Culinary Institute’s steep tuition, but living in New York’s expensive. I’m saving every penny of every paycheck I earn. Leah has no idea how costly NYC is and anyway, she’s planning to follow Jesse to Washington State University, a much more economical choice, which is why she thinks my job’s superfluous.
“With the baby coming, there are a lot of extra expenses.…” My voice trails off as I start to worry, again, about the unacknowledged strain that’s seized the Eldridge household. It’s heavy, and I wish I could unload, but I’m pretty sure this kind of stuff’s foreign to Leah. Her parents, first-generation Korean immigrants who work nine to five at Boeing and come to every home football game to help her cheer Jesse on, never seem to have worries more pressing than whether it’ll rain on their freshly washed BMW.
Tucking a stray lock of hair into my ponytail, I pick at my lunch, contributing minimally to the conversation. When I’ve eaten all I can stomach, I pull out the bag in which I packed a few homemade cookies.
“They’re healthy,” I tell Leah, offering her one. “Oats and raisins and dates. And, I used applesauce instead of butter.”
She’s already nibbling. The scent of nutmeg wafts through the air. “Mmm… They’re divine.”
I smile. There’s nothing better than watching my friends enjoy my baking.
“Oh, I just remembered,” she says, brushing stray cookie crumbs from her lap. “I saw the most adorable newborn outfit at Macy’s the other day. A tiny denim skirt with lace-trimmed leggings and a floral peasant top,andit was on sale. Tell Meredith she should check it out.”
“Will do,” I say blandly. While I’m indifferent about the world of children and parenting, Leah can’t wait to be a mom. Her life’s goal is to marry Jesse (who will undoubtedly take over his share of Hatz-Holden Logging, which his father and Bill founded almost thirty years ago), teach preschool, have litters of babies, and keep a lovely home. Not so different from Meredith, come to think of it.
“Has she picked out nursery furniture yet?” Leah asks.
“I have no idea. I stay far, far away from Meredith and her Pottery Barn catalogs.”
She gives her head a dreamy shake. “You’re so lucky to be getting a baby sister. You’ll be able to hold her and rock her and dress her. Just think about it!”
My brow crinkles. Iamthinking about it; I’m thinking of what this fetus has already cost me: a healthy, capable stepmother, the easygoing father I used to know, and a whole lot of free time, now spent helping out around the house, filling in where Meredith can’t. It’s not like I wish the leech baby out of existence—I’m not a monster—but to say I’m looking forward to meeting her would be a serious overstatement.
“And when she’s older,” Leah goes on, “you can buy her first Barbie. You’ll be the one who teaches her about boys and makeup and push-up bras.”
“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” I ask with a laugh. “I was brought up by Jake Eldridge, with very little maternal influence to speak of. I never owned a Barbie. I didn’t learn how to put on makeup until a few years ago, thanks to Marcy Holden.” I look down at my barely-there chest. “And I’m not exactly an expert in the push-up bra department.”
