I passed it to her.
She bounced it twice, then took a dramatic breath through her nose like she was centering herself for greatness.“Watch and learn.”
“You say that every time,” Wren called.
“Because one day it’ll be true.”
Lark launched the ball.
It arced high, clipped the rim of one of the front garbage cans, and bounced right back toward us.
Alice clutched at her chest.“Embarrassing.”
“Eat shit,” Lark said.
Wren laughed so hard she had to put a hand on Alice’s shoulder to steady herself.Then she scooped up the ball and weighed it in her hands, squinting at our side like she suddenly had a vendetta.
“You’re gonna miss,” I muttered.
She threw the ball, and it hit the edge of the center can, bounced off the floor, and rolled away uselessly.
Lark pointed at her.“That’s karma.”
“That’s bad luck,” Wren shot back.
“That’s your hand-eye coordination failing you in real time,” Lark shot back.
Alice stepped forward and snagged the ball before it could get too far, muttering, “Move.I’ll fix this.”She lined herself up, tongue pressing to the inside of her cheek for concentration.
“You look like you’re trying to sink a shot in the NBA,” I said.
“I am an athlete.”
“You’re an old lady,” Lark said.
Alice launched the ball without taking her eyes off us.It sailed cleanly into the front-right can with a hollow thunk.“It’s ol’ lady, not old.”She threw both arms up.“And that’s how it’s done!”
“Oh, screw off,” Lark muttered.
Wren pointed at us.“Drink!”
“There’s nothing to drink yet,” I said.
“Then pretend,” Alice said.“Honor the spirit of the game.”
“The spirit of the game is stupid,” Lark grumbled, but she mimed taking a sip from an invisible glass anyway.
I bent to grab the ball again, and there it was—that pull.
That stupid, irritating tug in my awareness.
My gaze slid toward the bar before I could stop it.
Jude had turned slightly on his stool.
Not enough to make it obvious.
Just enough that I could see more of his face from here.
