Page 35 of Changing the Playbook
But I see through it now. The slight tension in her neck. The way she’s angled her body just enough that she’s not quite facing me. How her laugh at Andy’s jokes is a beat too quick, and asecond too long. And while she does it, she’s so busy making sure everyone else is OK, she’s invisible to them.
Her friends are lost in their own drama. Andy’s chattering away, thrilled to have a new audience. But I see her. I see the exhaustion she’s hiding, the way she keeps her phone close like she’s waiting for bad news, the careful distance she maintains even while being friendly.
“Yo, Mike!” Cooper waves a hand in front of my face.
“Sorry, what?” I turn to him, realizing he’s been trying to get my attention.
“Schmidt’s party tomorrow night. You coming?”
“Can’t.”
The table has emptied while I wasn’t paying attention. Maya’s friends vanished at some point. Kellerman disappeared with the blonde. Most of the team has scattered to chase their own entertainment, leaving just Andy, Sophie, Maya, Maine, and me.
Maine pushes himself up from the table with dramatic flair. “Well, children, it’s been educational watching Mike’s complete inability to?—”
I nail him in the shin under the table, hard enough that he’ll have a bruise tomorrow.
“—to hit those high notes in ‘Happy,’” Maine recovers, rubbing his leg. “By the way, what’s your next attempt at voluntary humiliation?”
I hesitate. The truth—that I’ve signed up for an open-mic poetry night—is basically handing him ammunition for the next decade, when he’s already got an entire truckload of material to use against me since I started my ‘try new things’ campaign.
“Open-mic night,” I say anyway, because apparently I’m incapable of lying to save my dignity.
Maine’s face lights up. “Stand-up comedy? Because watching you bomb at that might actually kill me. I’d die happy.”
“Poetry, actually.”
The silence that follows is beautiful. Maine stares at me like I’ve announced I’m joining the priesthood.
“Poetry?” he finally manages. “Like ‘roses are red, violets are blue, I suck at everything, someone please love me too?’”
Heat crawls up my neck. “The therapist said?—”
“To try things you’re bad at, yeah, we get it.” Maine claps my shoulder. “You’re going to be spectacularly terrible. I’m so proud.”
Sophie, who’s been having a sidebar with Andy, suddenly turns to me. The polite mask slips, replaced by genuine curiosity. “You write poetry?”
“God, no. I can barely write my name legibly,” I admit. “I’m just going to read other people’s stuff. Probably badly. Definitely awkwardly.”
“That’s actually brave,” she says, and there’s no mockery in it, no careful distance. “Most people run from things they know they’ll fail at.”
I realize she’s looking at me like she did that first night—curious, interested, present. I’m about to respond when Maine announces he’s leaving to “pursue other entertainment options,” which knowing him could mean anything from more karaoke to trying to start a conga line.
Maya checks her phone and asks Sophie if she wants to share an Uber. Sophie hesitates, glancing at me before saying she’ll stay a few more minutes. Maya gives her a knowing look and a thumbs-up before heading out, which makes Sophie blush.
Andy makes her own excuses about needing to call Declan back, though not before giving me a thumbs-up behind Sophie’s back that’s about as subtle as a hockey fight. And then it’s just us, the bar winding down around us, and I’m desperately trying to think of ways to keep this going.
Because I can’t let her disappear again.
“Next Thursday at Grounds for Thought,” I say. “If you want to watch me crash and burn in person. Though honestly, you’re not missing much if you skip it.”
The invitation hangs between us. I watch her process it—telling herself this isn’t a date, because shetotallytold me that’s off limits, which means it’stotallycasual andcompletelymeaningless.
“Sure,” she finally says.
I blink. “What?”
“I said sure.” A real smile spreads across her face. “It sounds entertaining.”
