What the hell does that mean? I push past her, really pissed off now. We won a major game today. I should be fucking ecstatic, enjoying the celebrations with my friends, but both girls have really gotten on my nerves and fucked with my good mood.
“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Thor says when we’re back on the bus en route for home.
“Ana and Gwen both cornered me at the diner and put me in a bad mood.”
“What’d Gwen say?”
“Some shite about making things official with Astrid.”
Thor looks pensive for a few beats. “Maybe she has a point.” He holds up his hands. “Not to piss you off even more, but”—he looks around to ensure no one is listening—“things look serious between you. It doesn’t seem fake.”
“Well, it is,” I snap, rubbing at my now throbbing temples. “We’re good actors.”
“I grew up with Astrid, and I’ve seen her date other guys, and she didn’t look at them the way she looks at you.” He pins me with solemn eyes. “I told you not to hurt her, and I meant it. Seems like you two need to have an honest conversation.”
“She knows the score,” I grumble, tugging my earbuds from my pocket.
“If you say so, bud.” He knocks my shoulder playfully, but I’m not in the mood for talking to anyone. I just want to get home and see Astrid. Pushing my buds in my ears, I blast music so I don’t hear anyone or anything going on around me. Closing my eyes, I rest my head back and tune all the nosy motherfuckers out.
“Congrats, love.” Mum tugs me into a hug the second I set foot in the house. “We heard all about the match.” She yanks my face down to her level and kisses my cheeks. “You make me so proud, Callan. I promise that’s the last match we are missing.”
“It’s fine, Ma, and…are you crying?” I spot telltale moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes.
She laughs, swiping at her tears. “Don’t mind me. It’s my time of month.”
I groan. “Not something I needed to know.”
Mum laughs again, casting a glance over her shoulder.
“Hey.” Astrid wiggles her fingers as she comes out into the hallway, followed by Da and Erin.
I’m confused. “I thought your shift didn’t end until nine.” It’s not even seven yet.
“Don’t be mad, but I actually didn’t work at the resort today.” She trades gazes with Mum as Erin and Dad share a conspiratorial smile.
I narrow my eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Go on, love.” Ma gives Astrid a gentle push. “It was your idea. You show him.”
“Show me what? Someone better start explaining.”
Astrid grabs my hand, visibly swallowing. “Come with me.”
We all troop up the stairs in a line, and I’m starting to get anxiety.
When we pass the closed bathroom door without stopping, my anxiety builds. Astrid stops in front of my closed bedroom door, turning to face me. She knots her hands and chews on her lip, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “So, um, we all lied today. We needed a day to transform your room. As a surprise.”She gulps as she curls her hand around the door handle. “I really hope you like it.” Then she opens the door and steps aside to let me enter first.
Shock renders me speechless as my gaze skims over everything. It looks like a completely different room, and I cannot believe they did all this in one day. A lump forms in my throat as I think of all the work that has gone into achieving this.
Glossy oak wooden boards line the floor under my feet as I move deeper inside my new space. Gone is the garish wallpaper, replaced with smooth painted walls. A navy feature wall is behind my bed, and the other walls are painted light gray. Crisp white bed linens adorn the bed. Plush cushions in navy, light gray, and vibrant blue are artfully styled against the pillows on the bed. Draped across the end of the bed are the softest-looking blankets, one is a checkered blue and gray, and the other is a deeper gray than the walls.
Two tall freestanding lamps curve over both sides of the bed at the back of the lockers. Gold-framed inspirational quotes hang on the feature wall behind the bed, on either side of a framed Messi jersey that must have cost a fortune.
A new blackout blind covers the window underneath heavy navy and gray curtains.
Fitted shelving has been cleverly built into the space over the door and on both sides of the frame. My books, pens, school supplies, and some other stuff is already housed there.
On the other side of the room, above my desk and chair, sit two thick oak shelves with inset lighting. “Is that—” I cut myself off, walking closer to inspect the custom-built shelves. The top shelf houses my trophies and awards, and the bottom one has circular holes cut out to accommodate my special footballs, which are currently displayed and no longer gathering dust in the box at the back of my wardrobe.
