Page 43 of Power Play

My sister is the best, but she can be brutal. And she is fiercely protective of the rest of us. Especially me. She took the mom thing very seriously when my mom died. She made Dad put her down as my other emergency contact for school. She took me prom-dress shopping, and she held me when I had my first break-up my junior year. She bought me the pregnancy tests when I missed my period.

And she sat in the room with me while I gave birth. Never having done it herself, she stayed calm and cool and collected, coaching me through it like a pro.

But she’s blunt. And sometimes she says what everyone else is thinking.

In this case, she’s saying whatIhave been thinking. I’ve just been ignoring my own thoughts.

“Sorry, Lo,” she catches herself. “You know I love Levi. I just…let’s just be careful, okay? I know he’s a dreamy hockey star, but…you just deserve the world in a man, little sister. His world is very different from yours. From ours. From Harper’s.”

I nod, not saying anything.

“I’m not saying don’t do it. I’m just saying…”

“To be careful,” I finish for her.

“Yes,” she says. “Be careful. I don’t want to have to kill him. Professional athletes are much bigger fish than Crooked Creek’s finest that you’ve dated before. More people will go looking for his body if he disappears.”

I laugh.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you, too, boo,” she says. “Dad says tonight is pizza night?”

“Yep,” I say. “And he invited Levi.”

“Oh, perfect,” she says. “I can get a front-row seat. Scope him out. What does Dad think?”

I swallow.

“Dad…Dad doesn’t know yet,” I say.

“What?”she says. “So he just invited him over to hang and has no idea he’s banging—”

“Stop,” I say, laughing. “He’s notjustbanging me—well, at least he won’t be. I don’t think. I think…I think we’re actually, like, dating.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see if I decide he’s worthy,” she says, and I shake my head. “Alright, boo. Let me get home. I’ll see you tonight. Love you.”

“Love you,” I say, hanging up and heading to Harper’s school.

A few hours later, I’m pounding dough like it’s my job. Harper is clicking around the house in her new princess heels that Demi bought her for absolutely no reason last week, and my dad is blasting music through the surround sound that he’s had in the house for as long as I’ve lived here.

I love pizza night.

Normally.

My mom started the tradition when we first moved in with the Calways. The older three were a little hesitant about us becoming one big happy family. We hadn’t spent a single night together with all six of us—till my mom asked if we would help with pizza night.

She taught us all how to make the dough from her mother’s recipe. She gave us each our own bowl and bought us each the specific topping that we wanted. She taught us how to make the homemade sauce her mom used to make to go on top, and we put together our individual masterpieces. She and I made one together, and the older three made their own.

And from then on, once a month, we had pizza night. Where everyone would come in from wherever they were, and for a few hours, it was just us.

The Calways.

Some days, I really miss my mom.

When she died, my dad kept it going.

My favorite part is making the dough. That was Mom’s favorite part. I remember when she used to stand behind me as I stood on a chair, helping me squish the dough and mix in the flour. She’d take a dab of the flour and tap it on the tip of my nose, just as I do to Harper now.

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