Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1)(24)

My eyes wander to my bare walls. They’re an empty canvas, waiting for me to decorate.

The boy continues, “Oh, Ma called and said to tell you to put dinner in the oven because she’s going to be late.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” To me Trevor says, “Sorry about that.”

“What happened to you?” I ask.

“Excuse me?”

“Why can’t you throw?” I think about the two purple scars down his right shoulder. “How did you get hurt?”

“Playing football.”

I keep a groan from voicing its opinion. “You’re a football player?”

“I was last year, before I got hurt.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, pretty much. So, anyway, I have to go, but did you need a ride to the movie or did you just want to meet us over there?”

“I don’t have a car yet.” Another casualty lost to the move. Even though my car is ancient, it’s still more advanced than anything they have here, so I had to leave it behind. My dad promised to get me a Norm-friendly car soon.

“Okay, I’ll come get you then.”

“Thanks. I’ll just text you my address.”

I hang up and pocket my phone with a smile. I have a friend. I’m proud of myself. I spin around and nearly trip over the basket full of clean and folded laundry near the foot of my bed. The phone in my pocket vibrates, and I answer before the number has time to register on the screen. “Calling to cancel already?”

“Cancel what?” Laila asks.

“Oh! Hey!”

“You sound happy. Why are you happy?”

I start to put away my laundry. “Because I’m going out with Trevor and his friends on Friday.”

“Aw, I’m like a proud mother bird watching my daughter fly from the nest. Fly, little bird, fly. Oh no! Don’t fall. No, that’s the ground. Addie, watch out for the ground. Man, tough luck. You’d better come back home.”

I stick out my bottom lip. “Was that supposed to be encouraging?”

“No, but it amused me. And I’m ready for you to come home.”

“Why?” One of the cuffs on a pair of folded jeans is sticking out farther than the other, so I refold them.

“Because you’re my best friend.” She sounds down.

“There’s another reason. What is it?”

“It’s just … it’s just nothing. I miss you. So tell me about Trevor.”

She can’t get off that easy. “Laila, talk to me.”

“You just keep me grounded, that’s all. Now, please do your job. So this Trevor guy is my supposed replacement?”

I sigh. “Yes.”

“You know that will never work. Boys and girls can’t be best friends. It’s impossible.”

I shake my head as if she can see me. “No, that’s not true. He fits all the criteria of a male best friend.”

“Okay, I’ll play. What are the criteria of a male best friend?”

“One: I feel completely comfortable around him, no nervousness or anxiety. Two: He’s really nice. And three: He doesn’t annoy me.”

“Wait, are you saying a love interest has to annoy you?”

“At first. And then eventually it’s realized that all that annoyance and mistrust is actually romantic tension.”

“Addie, you’re seriously screwed up.”

I add the folded jeans to a stack in the closet and then sit on my desk chair. My other line beeps, and I pull the phone away from my ear to see who’s calling. “Ugh, my mom.”

“Answer it,” Laila says.

“I don’t want to.”

“She nearly attacked me the other day at the grocery store asking how you were doing and if you were adjusting. It was pathetic.”

“If she wanted to know how I was doing, maybe she shouldn’t have left my dad.”

“You have to talk to her sooner or later.”

I bite my lip. I know she’s right. I know my dad’s right—I should call my mom. But just the thought of talking to her makes my throat close up. “I choose later.”

I hear a knock on Laila’s door. “Hey, hold on.” In the background her dad asks her if he can borrow some money. “I don’t have any, used the last of it on lunch today,” she tells him. I can’t hear his exact response, but I can tell he’s not happy. She finally gets back on the phone. I can practically hear the eye roll in her voice when she says, “My dad is killing me.”

“What did he say?”

“He owes some guy money. What’s new?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No feeling sorry for me.” She lets out a long sigh and then yells, “Dad! Doorbell.” To me she mumbles, “It’s probably Mr. Debt Collector.” There’s a pause and another grunt from Laila. “Hey, I gotta go get the stupid door. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. Be careful and don’t do anything stupid,” I say, but she’s already gone.





CHAPTER 11


PAR?A?li?a?tion: n. beyond the average humiliation I stare in the mirror, trying to ignore the nervous pattering of my heart. The strip turned out more electric blue than I thought it would. Plus it covers a larger section than I had intended. I could tell it was bad when even Laila’s eyes got wide after we dried and straightened my hair.