Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1)(61)

Before I think better of it, I say, “What’s that?” They all freeze and look at me. My brain races, searching through the Norm Products unit we had to take in school.

“What, people don’t get headaches in California?” Stephanie asks with a sneer.

We get headaches; we just don’t need a pill to cure them. And for injuries too serious to self-cure, we have Healers. “Tylenol? Oh, I thought you said Lionel.” It’s the lamest cover-up ever. I blame my inability to tell a decent lie on my dad and his power.

“You’re from California?” one of the girls asks.

“Yes.”

“I have family there,” she says. “What part?”

It might be my guilty conscience making them look like a pack of velociraptors ready to devour their meal, but it’s also possible they suspect my lie. I clear my throat. “Near Disneyland.” I point to the ice chest on the patio. “I’m just going to get something to drink.”

“Yeah, okay. Rowan should be here soon,” Stephanie says, like that’s the only reason I came.

I sit on a lawn chair sipping water while the backyard fills up with people. The more crowded it gets, the more nervous I get for Trevor. When Rowan arrives, I try to express my concerns to him, but he’s too busy being the life of the party and at one point turns to me and says, “Addison, relax. Have fun. We’re at a party.” I realize it’s pointless.

Eventually the music is turned down and several people start shushing everyone. “He’s here. He’s coming.”

When Trevor walks through the back door and everyone yells, “Surprise!” he looks genuinely shocked.

“Wow, Stephanie, thanks,” he says. “What’s the occasion?”

She blushes and gives him a hug. “We’re just all so excited for you. Today is a big day. The first day of getting back on track to your future.” She gestures to the grass, and a couple big spotlights come on. I watch his face. What starts off as a genuine smile tightens to a forced one.

“What’s all that?”

“You’re going to show us what you’ve got.”

I want to scream, You don’t have to, Trevor, but I know he’s a big boy and can make his own decisions. Stephanie takes a few steps back and yells, “Give me a T!” The other cheerleaders jump up and fall into formation behind her while they finish spelling out Trevor’s name. I have to keep myself from laughing out loud when Trevor meets my eyes and gives me the are-they-really-doing-a-cheer? look.

When the cheer ends and Stephanie says, “What’s that spell?” The whole party starts chanting Trevor’s name. I instantly feel like the worst friend ever. I should’ve called him, warned him about this, but I was too busy worrying about myself. Even I hadn’t realized how many people would be here, how much pressure Stephanie would put on him.

He raises his hand, and the crowd quiets. I think he’s going to give a speech about how flattered he is but how he can’t do this. Instead he says, “Looks like I have some footballs to throw.” There’s another loud cheer. He walks slowly over to the bin, his normal casual swagger gone. There has to be at least thirty footballs. He picks one up and spins it between his hands.

“There’s your target,” Stephanie says, pointing to the other end of the yard. Her giddy look of anticipation makes me want to rip her hair out. He brings back his arm, takes a step, and releases the ball. It spirals beautifully through the air and lands inches from the desired target. A deafening cheer from the crowd assaults my ears because I’m too anxious to mentally muffle the noise.

Stephanie picks up another ball and tosses it to him. He throws again. His fifth ball makes it into the bucket, but not without its cost; he’s in pain. His whole body has tensed. His face looks painted on for how fake his smile is. And Stephanie keeps handing him ball after ball.

I can’t stand it any longer. I’m feeling nervous and guilty. I jump out of my seat, ready to yell, when Trevor says, “I can’t do this, Stephanie.”

A low muttering of exchanged comments ripples through the onlookers.

“Of course you can. You’re doing it.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. Thanks for this though.”

Considering how many kids are in the backyard, I’m surprised at how quiet it has become. I grab Rowan and pull him to his feet. “Rowan wants to try throwing some footballs. He thinks he can get way more than one into the bucket.” When Rowan doesn’t move, I elbow him in the ribs.

“Yeah, I totally can.”

Stephanie shoots me a look of such rage that I’m surprised I’m still standing. I raise my eyebrows and then say, “Brandon.” He’s sitting next to Katie and looks up when I call his name.

“Yeah?”

“You versus Rowan. Loser has to do a dare.”

Brandon laughs. “Okay, you’re on, Rowan.” This suggestion seems to loosen up the crowd, and soon everyone is talking and laughing again. Stephanie stomps off, and Trevor goes after her without a single glance back. I wonder if he’s mad at me for my attempt to take the pressure off. When Stephanie comes back, alone, she walks straight up to me and in a cold voice says, “You may think you’ve won, Addison, but when he remembers who he is, he’ll come running back to me.”