All this because I can’t get a little dirt on me? I’ll dive into a mud pit right now to get rid of this pounding in my chest, the shaking in my fingers, and the sudden urge to run to the nearest bathroom.

I pinch my eyes shut and rest my forehead against my weapon. “Please don’t shoot me, please don’t shoot me.”

“We’re on the same team, weirdo.” Pete chuckles from above me, and I feel him slide to the floor, his bulky gear bumping against mine. “You gonna hide out here till the siren rings?”

“Probably,” I squeak. I’ve found my cocoon of safety in the middle of paint war, and parking here until the all clear sounds pretty good to me.

Pete pushes into a crouch, peering over the barrels. The scent of boy body wash floats in the air between us, and a buzz zaps through my fingers. “Ugly Sweater Squad seems to be strategizing,” he says, ducking back down. “You want to wait for them to come to us?”

“I want to leave.”

His signature hyena laugh tumbles out of him, and I give him a hard shove so he doesn’t give away our position.

“Shush, you.”

“Don’t make me laugh.” He plops on his butt, stretching his long legs out. I pat his knee, pushing it so he curls into a tight ball like me.

“They’re going to see your massive feet.”

“Good.”

“You want to lose?”

“I want you to get messy.”

I roll my eyes so hard a tiny headache pounds just over my eyebrows. I take a deep, shaky breath, blowing it out in spurts.

Pete bends his knees. “Where did you learn sign language?”

The question jolts my brain, unplugging my thoughts from impending paintball death and plugging in to my family.

“Huh?”

“Been curious all day.” He grins, his smile pushing against the goggles covering half his face. Pete seems to always have a perma-grin, but they’re all sort of different. This one I don’t see often, and it’s for when he’s not teasing me relentlessly.

I lean against the barrels, grateful they are nailed to the floor and don’t move an inch or make a sound.

“My mom’s deaf.” I keep my voice low. Those ladies will creep near us eventually. “I’ve been signing my whole life.”

His brows lift, and something sparkles behind his light brown eyes. Huh… I’ve always been a blue eyes girl. Hence another reason why Zach is super fine. But Pete’s eyes are pretty, too.

“You never mentioned that.”

“We don’t talk all that much about our families, do we?” I say it smug, teasing. Pete and I know the basics of each other, and I like sparring with him. But he had no idea I came from money until a week ago, and that’s kind of a huge part of why I am the way I am.

“Was that hard?” he asks. “I mean, did you have to interpret a lot for her when you were a kid?”

I shake my head, wincing at what I’m about to say. “Uh… we had an interpreter. Like, she was on the staff.”

“Oh, right.” Pink blossoms in his cheeks, and oh my adorableness. My heart flutters at the fact that maybe he thought I had a normal upbringing for a minute. Or if not normal, at least more of a struggle.

Oh to struggle with something besides my own personality. I’d trade all my money to live a life without fear.

Well… I guess I am paying for that.

“She doesn’t need an interpreter anymore.” I nudge him with my elbow. “She got a cochlear implant when I was twelve and three months.”

He smirks. “I give that accuracy a 9.2. You would’ve gotten higher marks if you had it down to the minute.”