“Thief!” Maeve cried and threw the magazine at her.
“Ha! Mine!” Molly said, grabbing the magazine off the floor before hightailing from Maeve’s room with her loot.
Maeve huddled in a folding chair, her jacket on backward to keep her warmer. She’d settled on jeans and a pink sweater, a pink barrette holding her bangs to the side. Pink, the color for girls who wanted to kiss boys. It was early, but she was already buzzed. She surveyed her new friends next to the campfire, small groups of misfits and weirdos smoking grass and swigging cheap wine, others drinking flat beer from a week-old keg in the back of one of the two cars parked close by. Oskar sat across the fire, chatting in German to the girl whose family hosted him. He glanced at Maeve, then past her, and shot up so fast he about dropped his beer.
“Oh, man!” he said, waving furiously. Maeve, confused, looked over her shoulder. Voices on the path, giggles and laughter in the orange light. Becky Glover, the senior center on the basketball team appeared first, followed by Claire and Robin, then the broad-shouldered Nordic twins—sophomores no one could tell apart, who were also on the varsity team—then Wendy Walker, that point guard who’d transferred from Canada.
Maeve sat a little taller.
She had spoken to Wendy Walker exactly once, and it was the day Maeve quit the team. She was sitting on the sidewalk outside the back door of the gym, waiting for her ride home, and out came Wendy, basketball under her arm.
She kicked Maeve’s foot. “Rad decision in there,” she’d said.
“Huh?”
“Telling off Coach. I mean, you’re a good player. The team’s deep, is all. But that guy’s a douchebag, and sorry, but he doesn’t like you.”
“Yeah, he’s never been a fan. He doesn’t like my shot. He says I don’t know how to protect the ball. He’s a jerk. I could make a list of things he’s said to other girls. So, I don’t know if it’s just me.”
“Yeah, I think it’s you. And me, but let’s be honest. He can’t be mean to me. I’m going to be his star for the next two years.” She’d smiled when she said it, but she wasn’t joking. And Maeve knew she wasn’t wrong.
“Modest much?” Maeve asked and immediately regretted it.
“It is what it is. Anyway. Glad you stood up to him.” She let the ball drop to the pavement and dribbled it, making two scissor steps. “See you around.”
That girl was so cool.
Maeve finished the beer in her cup and dropped it onto a bed of pine needles. When she stood, she realized her coat was still on backward. She fumbled dumbly until it was on straight.
Oskar ran around the fire. “I invited them!” he said to Maeve, as if he’d pulled off some huge social feat.
There were whispers, awkward hellos, warring parties making nice. Claire stood close enough to Maeve that to say nothing would be awkward. “Hey, congratulations,” Maeve said, touching the barrette. Her body bobbed with discomfort. “Good season. Great season. Really.”
“Yeah, thanks. You were in the play, right? I heard it was good. Sorry I missed it.”
Robin joined them with a beer that had a remarkably full head of foam. “Don’t think the nerds knew they needed to pump the keg,” she said, tipping the foam across her lip. “Hey, Maeve. What’s shakin’?”
Maeve bubbled like she was drunk on champagne. Had it all been in her head? Was she the one who’d snubbed them? The conversation turned funny and dark. They filled her in on the coach walking into the girls’ locker room when he knew they would be undressed, catchingseveral girls “tits out,” as Robin put it. Becky Glover had gone to the principal, and the principal had gone to the superintendent.
“Doubt he’ll coach next year,” Claire said. “You should try out. Wendy really thinks he had it in for you. She said you knew he was a perv all along.”
Maeve tried to sound casual. “Maybe.” Wendy Walker talked about her? To the team?
A log split, and the bonfire crackled with molten sap. Across the fire, Wendy Walker stood holding a red cup, blond twins on either side of her like Norse goddesses protecting their liege. All three wore letter jackets, the keys to the kingdom. Wendy cocked her head and locked on Maeve.
Heat rose in Maeve’s cheeks.What I wouldn’t give ...
She didn’t know what that thought was, what she had to give, what she would want in return. But looking at Wendy made her want. She wanted to be in the world the way Wendy was—assured, head up, carefree. She stayed in the game, holding Wendy’s gaze. Holding, holding. Sparks flew like kite tails trailing into the black woods. There was a quick eruption of gleeful laughter, and the intensity of two girls staring into each other’s eyes broke. The mood surged and shifted into high gear. Maeve unclipped the barrette, stuck it in her pocket, let her hair hang heavy and loose. Around her, bodies swayed as if on a cusp, trying to speed up and slow down the beat, searching for the never-ending. Maeve swayed too.
She crept into the kitchen, way past curfew, dragging the stink of campfire and beer and mud in behind her. Her own sneaking cracked her up. Nothing had been fun or funny for months. Suddenly, everything was. She hadn’t intended to drink so much, but it all caught up with her now. The panes rattled when she shut the door too loudly. She snickered, covering her mouth. She just had to get up the stairs without waking her parents.
“Maeve.” A voice in the dark. The light flickered on.
Maeve giggled, forced a serious frown. “Father.”
He pulled a wooden chair across the pine floor. “Sit.”
Maeve leaned against the closed door, rested her head back. “I’ll stand.” She let her eyes drift closed, let the room spin. She took a wobbled step forward.
