But I’d handled it, and thanks to Ready-Set-Date, she was excited and we were going to bond! “She was with her friends, Da,” I added nonchalantly. “She was happy.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Dad and I are glad you went.”
“Yes, you’re welcome,” I deadpanned; then I asked how things had gone at home. He started telling me about Nana and Dad arguing over when she was going to retire (the saloncouldsurvive without her!), but my mind began to drift after my phone buzzed on my lap.
Already?!I thought, because Amanda had created a bridal party group chat during breakfast this morning. “Who has the goddamn Android?” she’d said, the Whispering Angel no longer so angelic. “I can’t name the chat because we’re not all iPhones.”
Yasmin held up her phone. “It’s a Samsung Galaxy, not an Android!”
My notification turned out to be an email, though. It wasn’t even a good email, either. Just a promotion from Athleta. Disappointed, I found myself wishing for a text from the bridesmaids. I was curious how long it would take them to brainstorm my first suitor, if it would be as easy as they thought. “What’s your type?” Amanda had asked last night, and when I said I didn’t think I had one, the question was broken down into so many subquestions.Brunette or blond? Blue eyes or brown? Built or skinny? Extrovert or introvert? More Tom Holland or more Timothée Chalamet?
It had gone on…and…on…andon. Lawyer Yasmin hadrecorded a voice memo of the entire interrogation to reference later.
Once Da parked our Ford Explorer outside the bubble, we left each other in the dust. He was just as excited to join the parents—they were pretty much a cult—as I was to join my teammates. “Mads!” they called, and I grinned and hustled over to the sideline, where everyone was tugging on their shin guards before tying their turf shoes.
Theyallwanted to know how the party had gone. “This discussion ends thesecondwe start warm-ups!” Coach Webber warned.
“Was it terrible?” our captain asked when I mentioned Katie’s sleepover. “Or are the other bridesmaids cool?”
“One definitely is,” I said. “Her name’s Mer—”
Coach Webber blew her whistle, and then like the snap of a finger, practice began. We started with ladder drills to work on our quick feet, partner passing, and then three-on-three mini games. It wasn’t until we were dripping with sweat, and our breathing became all over the place that we got a water break.
Thank god I’m back where I belong, I thought. Here I was confident and on fire, not constantly wondering if I said the wrong thing or was somehow being judged. Up in the stands, Da gave me a thumbs-up while my teammate’s mom called out that Amy needed to stop telegraphing her passes.
After chugging some water, I unzipped my backpack and rooted around for my prewrap and some tape. My left ankle wasbothering me, so I needed to call in reinforcements. I’d have Da look at it later.
My phone slipped out while I dug around for my tape, and as if it were fate, my screen lit up to show a missed text from the unnamed bridesmaid chat. It was from Reese.
Don’t, part of me thought.You’re at practice.
Do, the other part said.You don’t need to respond right now.
“Hustle, ladies!” Coach Webber called as the back of my neck sizzled from the temptation to read the text.
I took a deep breath and bit back a smile before quickly unlocking my phone. I didn’t want to wonder for the rest of practice. For some reason, Ihadto know.
But of course, Reese’s message only sparkedmorewonder, reading:
So I just heard my cousin needs a date for his junior prom…
Six
Believe it or not, curiosity about my date didnotget the better of me; the bridesmaids would have to wait. Da and I discussed how practice went on the way home, and then I needed to make a quick turnaround to meet Connor. We always had dinner together on Sunday. Tonight was Mexican. “New shampoo?” he asked after I climbed into his Jeep, my hair still wet from the shower. He must’ve caught a whiff.
“Why, yes.” I dramatically flipped my long locks over my shoulder. “Herbal Essences with rose hip extract. Thank you for noticing!”
Connor leaned over the center console to take an obnoxious sniff, crooking an arm around my neck. “I like the coconut one better.”
I felt my phone burning a hole in my pocket while we debated whether or not to order Bomba’s specialty guacamole again (it was delicious, but Connor had spent a while in the restroom last time). “Wait,” I said when Connor flipped his left blinker instead of his right, heading away from town. “Where are we going?”
“Kevin’s house,” he replied. “He invited me and some other people over, and when I mentioned you and I were grabbing dinner, he asked if they could join…” He glanced at me with a guilty look.
“It’s cool,” I assured him, wondering how many of his friends would soon squeeze into the back seat. Beyond being way more social than me, Connor was one of the nicest people I knew. If someone dropped even the slightest hint that they wanted to hang out, he extended an invite. I liked his other friends…for the most part.
“Mads, hey!” Lauren Bitterman said when she and a friend got into the car with Kevin and another guy. She wore her fitted blue COUNCIL ROCK NORTH LACROSSE jacket, and as usual, her makeup looked flawless. “How are you?” She giggled. “We aren’t crashing date night, are we?”
Date night.
