Ginny winced.
Since they’d started football practice, Ryan always seemed to be in a mood. He grumbled and blew his whistle more times than she could count. And, most saddening, he’d been wearing black ankle socks for every single practice as of late. A detail Ginny had mentioned once, only to receive a flare of his green eyesand a quietly growled, “I own other socks, Ginny,” before he’d stomped onto the field.
She didn’t know whether it was Blaire’s sideline-coaching over his head like a backseat driver…
Or the newest alumni group who’d graduated the year before—and who definitely looked at the Homecoming flag football game as an opportunity to rekindle some sort of romance between at least two of the couples, rather than the very serious business of winning said football game for guts and glory…
Or maybe the many times Mr. Woodhouse and Mr. Emmerson, both of whom had zero business playing flag football at their ages, commented on their various aches and pains. Ones their extremely vocal wives were all too willing to nag them over from the sidelines, right next to Blaire…
But the most likely culprit for Ryan’s less than delightful attitude was Ginny herself. He blatantly avoided her before and after practice, only addressing her when she was on the field—as if he’d given himself permission to do so only once her title as quarterback was in play—always approaching her with hands in his pockets and a grim look of distaste on his face.
“I don’t think I should go. I have a few other jobs to do for clients.”
Georgia rolled her eyes. “Gin,” she took another bite of croissant and pushed it into her cheek, “I know you’re avoiding Ryan.”
Ginny scoffed and blew out a puff of air. “What? Don’t be crazy… That’s absurd. I would never…”
“Right. Very convincing.” Georgia wiped the crumbs from her hands and put both elbows on the table, something their mother would nip in the bud immediately. Ginny thought briefly about video calling her right then to avoid the onslaught of questioning from her sister, who was looking an awful lot like Joan Remillard in that moment. “Listen, I think it's time we talkthis out. I know you feel… well, some kinda way about him. Just talk to me.”
Ginny pulled her hair up, wrapping it quickly in her scrunchie, and slouched back in her chair to sulk. “I like him,” she admitted.
“Obviously.”
“No, Georgie. Ilikehim. I probably could love him if he wasn’t too stubborn to admit he feels the same way.”
“You. Love. Ryan,” she repeated, shoving the remainder of the piece of bread she’d been nursing into her mouth.
“I said Icould… Georgia.”
Georgia waved her off. “Semantics.”
“No. Two totally different verbs. One is certain. One only has potential.”
Her sister smiled brightly. Too brightly. “We can work with potential, Gin. How long?”
“How long will I regret admitting this to you?”
Georgia flicked her straw paper at her, landing it on top of the most mouth-watering hollandaise sauce Ginny had ever tasted. She’d planned to lick the plate clean as soon as she got out of this conversation with Georgia.
“Hey!” Ginny picked up the paper and put it on a napkin. “Rude.”
Georgia merely raised her eyebrows, looking exactly like Joan Remillard when she intended to silently scare her children into submission.
Ginny sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Do you remember that summer before you and Lake got together? You and Blaire were deep in aHigh School Musicalmarathon and kept making Ryan rewatch your favorite songs?”
Georgia nodded with a twinkle in her eye. “Ha! It’s been too long since we’ve done that. He hates it so much.”
“Yes. He definitely does. But he loves you guys, and he’d do anything for you. I remember when y’all invited Caroline and let me come for the third one—”
“Because you were gonna be a senior! Awww… baby Ginny.”
“Focus, Georgia. I’m grown-up Virginia. Sitting right here,” Ginny said, pointing at herself and losing steam. “Anyways, during that whole movie… and every replay… Ryan was always looking at Caroline. He just studied every move she made, ya know? And I swear, I wasn’t jealous or anything, Georgia… I just… I kind of just dreamt—in that way all teenagers dream—about a guy looking at me that way. I didn’t necessarily want it to be him… just someone.”
“You went on so many dates that year,” her sister said, as if she could pinpoint the stage of Ginny’s life she was least proud of.
“I did. I wanted… I don’t know… attention. Distraction. It wasn’t healthy, but it's just who I was.”
“It’s not who you are now,” Georgia said plainly, and Ginny felt so seen by her sister. So understood.
