“Does that mean I’m stuck with this?”
“You don’t like it?”
“Eh.” She shrugs. “Anyway, you’re in the driver’s seat here.”
“Music to my ears,” I quip.
“Let’s just have some quiet time, okay?”
“Normally I’d sing along.”
“Don’t troll me, Wolinski,” she warns. “I’ve been pretty easy on you so far.”
“Easy?” I pretend to shudder. “I don’t want to think about what mean Carrie is like.”
“Start singing, and you’ll find out.”
We fall into silence, and ten minutes later, we pull up outside Sweety’s. While Carrie grabs us a table, I head to the counter to order.
Of course the barista on shift today is someone from campus—and not justanysomeone. Perfect. I’m cursed. And yeah, I know first impressions with a “coach” are supposed to matter. Set the tone.But whatever. Things with Carrie already started off wrong, and I’m pretty sure what’s about to happen next can only make things worse. I take a deep breath in.Here goes.
“Take a seat,” the girl, Maddie, coos as she hands me my change. “I’ll bring it over in just a second.”
I’m tempted to tell her I’m happy to wait so she doesn’t get near Carrie… But she’s already heading straight for the coffeepot.Great!
When I get back to the table empty-handed, Carrie frowns.
“What’s the holdup?”
“The server says she’ll bring it over.”
“Since when does this place do table service? I come here all the time, and—”
“How are we all doing today?” Maddie slides the tray in front of me, her eyes sparkling.
At least I remember her name.Small wins and all that. I watch her give Carrie a quick once-over, and she seems to relax.
“Just holler if you need anything else, Donny!”
“Thanks!”
I shoot her a forced smile as she turns on her heel, and I glance over at Carrie, squaring my shoulders, readying myself for a showdown.
“?‘Donny’?” She bangs her forehead on the table. “Unreal.”
“Want a membership card to the fan club? We call them the Donnies,” I say, unable to resist. Riling her up is just too easy.
Slowly, she lifts her head, looking at me as if I’m offering her a polished turd.
In response, I grab a doughnut from the plate, squash it flat, and eat it in one bite.
“Okay, let me explain this with small words,” she says, tapping a finger under her chin. “If that girl is a Donny, then I’m one of these doughnuts. Full of fat, sugar, GMOs—basically everything a high-level athlete like you shouldn’t be touching.”
“But I love doughnuts,” I counter, spinning it around in my hand.“In fact, I find it very interesting you chose that example. I’m really starting to think you’re flirting with me.”
“Why are you saying that?” She frowns.
I slowly slide my finger into the doughnut’s hole.
