“Bell’s about to ring,” Brenna told them, catching the ball and dribbling it for a minute. “Nice job, ladies. We’re going to destroy Wright County next week.”
The girls whooped, high-fived Brenna, then headed for the gym doors. She stayed behind, though, and shot one last free throw.
I was gathering up my stuff when I heard her say, “They suck, don’t they, Bauer?”
I looked around, half sure she must be talking to someone else, even though that was irrational. I was the only Bauer in our school, let alone in that gym. “Um,” I said when I realized she’d been speaking to me. “No. I thought they were good. They made most of the shots.”
“Most isn’tall,” she said. “They shouldn’t be missing free throws.”
“Are you worried about beating Wright County?” I asked.
She snorted. “No. We’ll definitely beat the Wright County girls. They’re on a whole different level of terrible.”
“That’s good, at least.”
“Not good enough, though.” She looked me over, blue eyes narrowing. “How tall are you, Bauer? Five eight? Five nine?”
“Somewhere in the middle there.”
“You’re tall compared to some of our girls. You should try out for the team next year,” she said.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “I don’t really do sports,” I said. “At all. Even jogging more than half a mile makes me feel nauseous, so …” I trailed off, horrified to realize I was telling this cool senior girl how out of shape I was.
“Too bad,” she said. “Because right now it’s looking like this team is going tosuckwhen I’m gone.”
I don’t know if Brenna was being arrogant or honest. Maybe both.
I do know that she was right, though. Since she died, our girls’ basketball teamhaskind of sucked.
“So … about what Amber said …”
Miles and I were in my truck, headed home from school only a few hours after the Tater Tot incident.
“I know,” I said as I shifted gears. “But it’s not going to keep me from getting the truth out there. I’m still collecting the letters. I’ve emailed Kellie again. And texted her, too. She hasn’t responded yet, but I know she will. And you’ll write yours and then—”
“I was talking about prom,” he said.
“Oh.” I bit my lip and kept my eyes glued to the road. “Sorry. I thought … Prom just hasn’t been on my mind.”
“I get it,” he said. “But it’s coming up in just a couple weeks.”
“Are they even selling tickets anymore?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But … I kind of already bought two.”
“You did what?” I cut my eyes at him before refocusing on the road. “Miles, those aren’t cheap. And I haven’t said I was going yet.”
“I know,” he said. “Grandma insisted, though. She was upset I didn’t go last year. I told her I might this year but that I didn’t have a date yet, and she gave me money and told me to buy tickets just in case. I wasn’t gonna tell you. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to go with me because of the money or something. But … yeah. I have tickets.”
“That was sweet of your grandmother.”
“She asked if I was taking you,” he said. “She likes you.”
“She barely knows me.”
“She knows I like you.”
I felt the blush beginning to creep up my neck, the heat of mingled guilt and happiness.
