“Okay,” I say through a puff of air, my nerves racing.
“Okay, sweetheart, you’ve gathered us all. Now what?” Mom crosses her arms, peering up at me from her seat.
I pace once in front of the couch.
Lindy mimics Mom’s folded arms. “Yeah, what’s going on?”
“I need advice. I need some help. I—” I blow a raspberry through my lips. “I can’t referee Lucca’s team anymore.” My head bobbles in a shake. “There’s a reason it’s against the rules.” I pull in a sharp breath. “That Red Tail game a couple nights ago—I was biased.”
“Biased?” Dad says. “You carded him for a perfectly—” He shuts up with a smack to his arm from Mom.
“It was a fine call,” Mom says. “You knew this job came with complaints and hard calls. You’re doing great.”
“No, Mom. It was anawfulcall. One Lucca had every rightto complain about. And yet—this time, he didn’t. I’m biased because it’s him, and he’s having softer reactions than he normally would because it’s me.”
“You carded him,” Dad says. “You did nothing to favor him, sweetheart.”
“No,” Lindy says, watching me. “She overcorrected because she was cheering for him.”
I point to my sister. “Bingo.”
“Oh,” my parents say in unison.
“Wait,” Wyatt says, sitting up straighter. “Aunt Maggie! Are you saying that youcheatedto hurt Lucca? Because I am not okay with that.”
“I didn’t cheat, buddy.” I wink at him, when really I just want to pull him into my arms and let him hug me better. “We aren’t cheaters.”
“Whew.” A dramatic hand wipes over his forehead.
“But when I told him how I was feeling, I was pretty upset. I’ve never reacted biased in a game before.” I still can’t believe it. “I’m always professional. I always try to judge accurately, no matter how it might change the game.”
“You do, Maggie,” Dad says. He sits on the edge of his rocker and reaches for my hand. “You’re good at what you do, sweetheart.”
“I wasn’t unbiased two days ago.” I lick my lips. “The worst part is, after I talked to Lucca about it, he decided that he needed to make a big life change.”
“Does he want to play forward more? Because I think he might get to score if he did that,” Wyatt says. “And he really should be eating more avocados.”
“No, bud, not a change with his game, but changing what he does for a living.”
Lindy gasps.
“Oh my,” Mom says, darting a glance at Dad.
My father’s eyes go wide. “That’s abigchange.”
“I can’t let him do it. I can’t.”
“Does that mean he is going to eat avocados? Because that would be very good for staying alive." Wyatt’s little nose is wrinkled along with his brow. My boy is thinking hard.
“That means he might change his job.” Mom wraps one arm around Wyatt’s shoulders.
Wyatt claps a hand over his mouth and gasps.
Lindy leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “Maggie, you don’t get to decide what he does. You can’t make him do or not do anything.”
I glare at her, pulling my hand from Dad’s and cramming it in a tight fold. “He will not quit soccer for me.”
“No,” Wyatt says, almost weepy.
