Page 77 of Stealing for Keeps
“I got it, Mom,” I say when she’s done. “We’re not dating. He’s on the soccer team, and he’s friends with Vaughn.”
I don’t know why I say it. Maybe as a reminder to myself.
“No boys in your room after ten.” Dad leans over and bumps his shoulder against mine. “And no drinking. You’re only sixteen.”
“You drank in high school.”
“Which is how I know it’s a bad idea.”
A small smile pulls at the corner of my lips, and I nod my agreement, or at least my note of consideration.
“That’s it?” my mom asks, sounding incredulous.
Dad sighs. “What do you want me to do, Marie? Ground her for eternity for being a teenager?”
“Nothing. I don’t want you to do anything. Let me be the bad guy, as usual.”
Ruby and I exchange a look, neither of us wanting to be here.
“Happy birthday,” I mouth to her while attempting to smile.
* * *
After school the next day, Austin stops by my locker.
“Hi,” I say, pulling my backpack out and shutting the door. He doesn’t usually talk to me outside of lunch and art class. I glance around for any sign of Vaughn. Neither of us has outright admitted we’re still avoiding being seen hanging out alone because of my ex, but the knowledge hangs over me.
“Meet me in the breezeway in fifteen minutes,” he says.
“Don’t you have practice?”
“Yes.”
When he doesn’t expand, I ask, “How do you plan to be in two places at once?”
“I can teleport, obviously,” he deadpans. “I gotta go. See you in fifteen.”
“What am I supposed to do until then?” I ask myself, because he’s already gone, jogging down the hallway toward the back field for practice. I find Lacey in the locker room where she’s getting changed for practice. I’m antsy, excited, and a little nervous.
“What do you think he has planned?” I ask her after explaining Austin’s cryptic remark.
“I don’t know,” my best friend says as she pulls her hair up in a ponytail. “The only reason I’ve ever met up with anyone there was to exchange homework notes or make out.”
Her eyes light up with possibility.
“He didn’t ask me to meet him there to make out,” I say. Probably. No, definitely.
She looks at me skeptically.
“It’s not like that.”
She laughs, not even bothering to pretend that she believes me.
“Okay, yes, there have been a few moments.” The dance. The closet. The soccer field. The library.
She’s no longer laughing, but her lips are slammed closed like she’s fighting it.
“But nothing has happened. The night of the dance was an anomaly. We’re friends.” I really hate that word, but we’re notmorethan friends, so it’s close enough.
