Page 38 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

Ipark on the curb outside the red brick ranch and take a deep breath full of the five kinds of bacon I got from The Local Waffle. Some people smell lavender to relax, but apparently, I’m my own brand of weird.

I’m actually about to see the inside of Rhoads’s house. Showing someone where you live is intimate, like letting them gaze at a piece of your heart. I haven’t brought a boy home since Graham, and even then, I waited until we’d been exclusive for a full two months before letting him inside the front door.

Not that Rhoads is bringing me home. This isn’t the same thing. It’s not like I’m meeting his parents or anything.

My heart skips. It’s a weekend. What if his parents are home and I do meet them?

Before I left my house, I’d swiped on sunscreen and a bit of tinted chapstick and called it a day. I’m not trying to impress him or his parents. I’m just here to prep for our upcoming test, do some soccer training, taste test bacon, nothing more.

I glance down at my sweatpants and hoodie, a bit nauseated at the thought of meeting the parents of a boy I’m not even dating looking like I just left the locker room. Maybe it’s good we aren’t dating. If I’m this worked up over the possibility now, I can’t imagine the train wreck I’d be if I actually was his girlfriend.

My car beeps as I lock it, and I adjust the hood of my Cardinal Ridge High soccer sweatshirt. I ring the doorbell and will myself to be normal.

A chorus of giggles bounces through the house, and footsteps stomp down the stairs. “Don’t crowd the door,” a young girl’s voice says, seeping through the cracks in the door frame. “We don’t want to scare him off.”

A click issues, and then the door swings in, revealing a girl of about twelve or thirteen. Dark brown bangs hang across her forehead, barely brushing her long lashes. “Oh. You’re not the pizza guy.”

“Uh, nope. Sorry,” I say.

Disappointment deflates the girl’s posture. She calls over her shoulder, “It’s not him.”

A Black girl with braces and a pale redhead peek out from behind the door. “Bummer,” says the Black girl. “What if they send someone else?”

The brunette stands a little taller. “I specifically requested the cute guy from the football team. Carla, my assistant dance coach, works there, and she took my call. She promised she’d send him.”

“Okay, cool. Hannah, you want to paint our nails while we wait?”

The redhead shrugs, and they both disappear into the house.

“I’m a friend of Rhoads,” I say, suddenly nervous I have the wrong house. “He does live here, right?”

“Yeah, he does,” the brunette with the bangs says. “He’s not home yet, but he should be back soon. Are you Chloe?”

“That’s me. You must be Rhoads’s sister. Danielle, right?”

The girl smiles. “Dani. Rhoads is the only one who still calls me Danielle. Anyway, you can come in, hang out with me and Maya and Hannah. He should be back any minute.”

“Sure. I must be early. I thought he said noon.” I step inside the small entryway.

Dani closes the door behind her. “He sometimes loses track of time when he’s with his best friend, Jenson. I couldn’t hang out in that guy’s room for five minutes without getting bored, but Rhoads spends a lot of time there. Want a soda or something?”

I almost say yes, then hear Anita yell at me in my mind. I am still in season, after all. “No thanks, I’m good.” I follow Dani through a narrow hallway. Photos of Rhoads and Dani cover the walls in mismatched frames, chronicling school, Rhoads’s soccer, and Dani’s dance throughout the last few years.

Dani’s two friends sit at a large round table, a bunch of bottles of nail polish spread out in front of them.

“I want bright red,” Maya says. “Teen Tops Magazine said it’s seductive.”

“I’m going with a chic pink,” Hannah says. “Subtle and sparkly.”

I lean awkwardly against the counter.

“So, you’re friends with my brother, huh?” Dani asks.

“Yep. We’ve got an econ test coming up.” I lift my textbook for emphasis. See, I have a good reason for being here. Not that they need convincing. I, on the other hand, apparently do.

I set the takeout box on the counter and place my backpack and string bag on the floor at my feet.

The doorbell rings, saving me from my awkwardness. All three young girls shriek and jump up.