Page 49 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

I lean back, studying her. “Tell your mother I appreciate her concern.”

“I will.” The answer is polite enough to pass inspection.

I pick my book back up, hoping that’s the end of it.

It isn’t.

“Listen, Lucy,” Meredith says, leaning forward. “I know you and Dylan are together. And there’s something coming up on Friday for the football team. The Boyfriend Basket Swap.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

She catches the hesitation immediately. “So, he is your boyfriend?”

I ignore the bait. “What’s the swap?”

“It’s a tradition,” she says lightly. “The players and their girlfriends do it before Friday’s party. You make a basket with your boyfriend’s favorite snacks, drinks, inside jokes—things only his girlfriend would know. We swap them in the parking lot before the party, and if the guys guess which basket is theirs, they win.”

Every detail makes the invitation sound less appealing.

“I’m not interested,” I say evenly. “But thanks.”

“Oh, come on.” Her tone turns playfully pleading, as though we are already friends. “It’ll be fun.”

Fun.

The word doesn’t belong anywhere near that scenario. Chaos. Judgment. Eyes on me. Whispering.

No.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, already knowing the answer.

“Great!” She stands abruptly. “I’ll see you around?”

“Sure.”

“I hope your mom feels better soon,” she adds, waving as she walks away.

Only after she leaves do I realize how rigidly I’ve been sitting. I press my palms against the table until the slight trembling stops.

She never insulted me outright. She didn’t need to. Every smile and chosen word carried the same assumption. That she understood the situation better than I did.

Once, I would have agreed to think about the party and spent a week inventing reasons not to attend. I would have called avoidance maturity and silence safety.

If I attend the basket swap, it will be because I choose to.

Gretchen appears beside me with a paper bag. “What did she want?”

“A party invitation.”

Gretchen snorts. “You’re not going.”

“I don’t know,” I lie.

She pushes her glasses up her nose. “Meredith doesn’t invite people into things unless she expects to get something out of it.”

“I know.”

But when I stand to leave, Gretchen hesitates. “You’ve been around a different crowd lately.”