Page 62 of The Midseason Fakeout

Her cheeks turn pink, and a small smile crooks her lips.

“Wow, Bailey,” her brother says around a mouthful of food. “These eggs are good. Did you put cheese in them?”

“Yeah,” she answers, grabbing a piece of toast. “Several different kinds, actually. The Google told me.”

We eat, talking about old times. Well, it’s mostly Darrin and I talking about things we did at his house. Bailey is quiet, and it hits me that she never participated in anything we did. Not one thing. The thought is unnerving. She was a bystander in her own house.

I steer the conversation toward the couples games. “Did you see Bailey rip up that obstacle course? I was impressed.”

Darrin nods. “I didn’t think she had it in her.”

“Hey.” She shoots her brother a look.

He shrugs. “Just being real. The crowd next to me was yelling ‘Baidan, Baidan,’ so I guess you guys have a nickname now.” He rolls his eyes.

“Baidan, huh?” I ask, stomach flipping. “I like it.”

“You know,” Darrin offers, glancing between the two of us. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve felt a little sick to my stomach here and there about my sister dating my best friend, but all in all, not bad. Three out of five stars.”

“Three?” Bailey asks, choking on her orange juice. “That doesn’t sound good at all.”

“It could be a one.”

“Okay, but this breakfast is a five,” I state, shoveling more eggs into my mouth.

Bailey reaches over and squeezes my arm. “QB1 needs his energy.”

Darrin hisses. “That comment was like a two out of five. I threw up in my mouth a little.”

Bails’s whole body shakes with laughter, and she has to set the orange juice down before spilling it. “I can’t wait for you to get a girlfriend so I can rate everythingyoudo.”

“No sense in getting a girlfriend.” Darrin shrugs. “It wouldn’t last long.”

He studies the two of us, but I refuse to think about the context. This is their life. They can do what they want with it.

Bailey stares down at her plate, and I squeeze her leg again, my fingers playing absentmindedly over the soft material of her leggings.

My phone pings, and I take it out of my pocket with my free hand to find a text from West.

You good?

Good. Never better.

While my phone is out, I check the time. Three hours before game time. My stomach starts to squeeze with nerves. I hurry and finish my plate, pushing past the pregame nausea. This is a big game. My parents are here. My girl. My best friend. Excitement ramps up as I move to the sink to rinse off my plate.

Bailey comes up behind me. “Anything else I can do?”

“Yeah,” I tell her. “Meet me at the fence before the game so I can give you my jersey to wear.”

“Yeah?”

I turn to lock eyes with her. “Of course.”

She looks like she wants to say something, but she just nods.

I leave a few minutes later, throwing myself into my game time routine. Locker room, warm-ups, Coach’s talk. The closer it gets, the more I start to buzz.

There’s nothing like the excitement of a game. I live for moments like this. For a game I adore.

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