Page 48

“Should we start this thing?” Rhonda boomed from across the circle.

Archer stepped away from her grasp and turned around. “Yes, let’s do it.”

The Wild Pines crew remained silent as Danny and Chris unfolded the flag, then helped their moms connect it to the flagpole. Steph lifted it to the top, then pressed her hand to her heart and led everyone in the Pledge of Allegiance. Ashley sang a soft “Star Spangled Banner,” and Jorge’s face was covered in tears as his daughter finished, the group hollering and cheering by the end of it.

Archer cleared his throat. The noise settled as he stepped forward. “Okay everyone, please go to the table in small groups so we all don’t crowd—”

Austin bolted for the food table. Danny and Chris followed, as well as the rest of the teenager gang.

“—at once.” He sighed. “Dig in.”

The table spread was an impressive feat of Midwest potluck staples. Pulled pork sandwiches, grilled brats with sauerkraut, corn on the cob, slow cookers full of mac and cheese and cocktail wieners swimming in a sweet and sour sauce, fried fish, Scotcharoos, finger Jello, mini strawberry Rhubarb hand pies, peanut butter Buckeyes, and every possible kind of whipped or creamy salad imaginable. Macaroni salad, potato salad, Snickers salad. It was more than enough food for all of them, almost as if the crew was trying to make up for all of the lost potlucks of the year. By the looks on their shining faces, it was the right move. Everyone was happy and laughing as they sat down at picnic tables to eat lunch. Someone had flicked on music from a Bluetooth speaker, a few people dancing as they went to take their seats.

Archer and Tea sat at a distance with Austin and Riley. They listened to Austin rattle off ridiculous stories about summers of the past, recalling the heinous things he and Archer got up to. She sat there with a smile on her face, listening to Archer belly laugh to Austin’s retelling of the time they filled Astor’s Yeti cooler with broasted chicken and swam it to the dock to eat it, the cooler bag smelling like greasy chicken for weeks after. His shoulders relaxed as the hour passed. At one point he placed his hands down on the bench, his fingers brushing against Tea’s thigh. She knew it probably didn’t mean anything—the bench was small and he was big and there was barely any room between the two of them. But that didn’t stop her heart from hammering in her chest from the small amount of contact.

Eventually people got up from their seats and mingled, watching as Danny and Chris set up the eight boards and bean bags for the tournament. Archer took names of the different pairs and began putting them in brackets, doing his best to remain calm as Austin argued loudly with him. Archer kept shaking his head at him.

Tea tied her hair into a ponytail and walked up to them.

Austin’s eyes narrowed into slits as she approached. “You’re ruining the dream team.”

Archer scoffed. “The dream team? Austin, I have lost the past eight summers paired with you. There’s no dream team if there isn’t even a dream.”

Austin threw up his arms. “But I’m your brother!”

“That doesn’t make you the best partner.” Archer cocked his head at Tea. “She’s the dream.”

Her face flushed.

“D-dream team,” he stuttered. “She’s the dream team.”

Austin rolled his eyes, told Archer to put him down with Riley, then stalked off.

She glanced up at Archer, noticing the pink in his cheeks.

She smirked. “I’m the dream, huh?”

“Shove it,” he grumbled.

She framed her face with her hands, feigning innocence, ready to mess with him. “Am I really that dreamy?”

He rolled his eyes and dropped his clipboard on the picnic table beside him, then grabbed her chin, giving her a small yank toward him.

She gasped at his assertive touch. Her lips parted as she looked up at him.

He glared back at her. “It’s time to get your game face on. We can’t lose.”

She squinted. “My game face is on.”

He shook his head then his other hand was on her face, his thumb drawing two lines underneath her eyes.

She smiled. “War paint.”

He nodded, then added two black strikes under his eyes. “You better be as good as you were eight years ago.”

She cocked a brow.

He rolled his eyes. “At corn hole, Tea. Get your mind out of the gutter.”