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She points at me and tells me to stuff my mouth with the white sugar pillows. While the camera records, I load in so many marshmallows my cheeks stretch to their limit. My reflection in the lens reminds me of a chipmunk that’s raided a Costco bag of nuts. Harper leans forward, looks at me, and snort-laughs.
Amanda gives him a sweet smile and sings, “Watch and learn.”
Harper immediately straightens, and the smile slides from his face. She hands me an index card and tells me to read it aloud. Harper has to guess what I’m saying in three tries. Whoever guesses right the most times wins … bragging rights, I guess.
She gives me an encouraging nod.
I glance down at the card and try to read, “Tape to tape.” It comes out sounding like, “Mmph, day da day,” and Harper frowns in concentration. I try again, but it’s even more unintelligible this time. “Tay day.”
Harper’s frown deepens. “Did you say, ‘Take the train’?”
Shaking my head, I try again. When that doesn’t work, I try rearranging the marshmallows but end up swallowing one and nearly choke. Harper starts laughing, and it’s catching. Soon we’re both in hysterics, and I blow a few marshmallows from my bulging cheeks. Our production crew can barely hold it together. They want spontaneous, and they’ve got it. Pure gold.
When it’s his turn, I hear something that sounds like, “Bah-cheh, foh-cheh, pay-cheh.”
“Blackjack? Four decks? Patience? Are we supposed to be in Vegas at a blackjack table?”
He gives me an epic eye-roll and repeats the nonsensical words but ups the volume, as though yelling is going to help. It doesn’t.
His third time through, he puts a supreme amount of effort into enunciation, and I get the first one. “Backcheck?” He gets all animated and points at me, then rolls his hand in a keep-going motion.
“If the first word’s backcheck …” Logic leads me to the next two. “Forecheck, paycheck!” We both raise our arms in triumph. Harper yells, and marshmallows go flying.
We go through a few more rounds, and I swear we’re getting better at guessing, but I have no clue who’s ahead because I’m not keeping score.
When my turn comes around again, I stuff my cheeks and accept the card from Amanda. My eyes bulge as they record the words. I stare at her, trying to figure out if she knows my secret or if it’s merely a stroke of fate. From the innocent look on her face, I decide it’s an eerily timed coincidence.
“Mmm daydin yo shishter.”
Harper’s expression morphs into another glower, and I try not to suck in a breath as the seconds count down—I don’t want to inhale another marshmallow.
“Did you say you’re … taking my picture?”
Another head shake. “Ahm daydin yo shishter.”
Amanda giggles, and Harper tries again. “You’re training my sister?”
I point excitedly, though I’m not looking forward to his reaction when he finds out what I’m actually trying to say.
Then he nails it. “Are you saying, ‘I’m dating your sister’?”
Heat sears my cheeks, but I nod slowly. Harper high-fives me, and Amanda claps. Even the camerawoman cheers.
We read off a few more cards before Amanda’s satisfied with the clip. She lets us watch it, telling us which parts they’ll edit, then thanks us profusely. Harper and I leave the studio and make our way back to the locker room in silence.
Fate’s busy messing with me today because our timing has us exiting the building at the same time and striding toward our vehicles—which are only one empty parking space apart. In the spot on the other side of my truck is a guy in a black hoodie polishing an unremarkable Honda Civic. Someone probably hired one of those traveling car wash services, though it’s more common to see them working on a luxury vehicle around here.
My mind’s meanderings are interrupted by Harper, who turns to me and almost smiles. “Thought we did all right in there today.” I shrug in response, and Harper feels compelled to add, “But don’t go thinking this makes us friends.”
“Fuck no,” I snort. “You won’t catch me making that mistake.” Cocking my head to the side, I ask in the most neutral tone I can muster, “Since day one, you’ve had it in for me. Why? What did I do to you?” I might know the answer because Jackie let it slip that her brother resents his best friend going to the other team in the trade, but I suspect Harper’s dislike goes deeper than that. I want to get to the bottom of it. If I understand the problem, maybe I can solve it and we can at least tolerate each other. It would mean everything to Jackie and might mean I can stay with the team—and her.
Harper stares at the ground for an awkward beat or ten and raises his gaze to mine. His eyes remind me of his sister’s, but the shade’s closer to the pale green body of a praying mantis. Ironic that while Jackie’s eyes bring to mind spring leaves, I’m comparing Harper’s hue to that of a carnivorous insect.
“I don’t know, man,” he finally answers—not that it’s any kind of answer at all.
“You know I didn’t want the trade either, right? I liked my life just the way it was in SoCal. Plus, that team’s record is a hell of a lot better than ours.”
He looks toward hoodie guy, and another long, uncomfortable beat passes. “Feels like that’s turning around,” he mutters before leveling his gaze on mine once more. “You hoping to go back to your old team?”
