The Hard Count(71)

“Hold still,” Izzy says, jerking my shirt forward more.

“You’re going to stretch it out,” I huff.

She stops scrubbing and puts her hand on her hip, her lips pursed while she looks at me.

“Your shirt is covered in today’s lunch special. Do you really think a little stretching is going to be the worst thing left behind?”

“Sorry,” I shrug.

She rolls her eyes and continues scrubbing, and after a few minutes, I notice the smirk on her face.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“You…Nico,” she says.

“We’re funny?”

“Yeah…kind of.”

I stare at her eyelids while she looks down at my shirt, her fingers working away the last remnants of the stain. She flits her eyes to mine eventually, then tosses the wet towel into the trash and takes a step back.

“That’s as good as it’s going to get,” she says.

“Thanks,” I say, standing and straightening my shirt with one hand and rubbing my tailbone with the other. I catch my friend’s reflection in the mirror, and raise my eyebrows at her when I notice she’s still smirking.

“You know what that girl said when she marched out of the cafeteria with her friends behind her?” Izzy says.

“No, what?” I ask, not sure I really want to know.

“She said she couldn’t believe Nico Medina was hitting it with some skinny white girl,” Izzy says, laughing out the last three words.

My brow pinched, I turn my attention back to my reflection, my hands around my waist, measuring. I guess I’m skinny. And I know I’m white. I’m practically freaking clear, my arms and legs are so pale.

“Quit judging yourself, Reagan. That’s not why I told you that,” she says, and I glance back to her in the mirror. She shakes her head and breathes out a small laugh. “It just made me think. There is always going to be someone who doesn’t like the idea of two people together. Black, white, Latino, gay, rich, poor—it’s all just shit we make a big deal out of, Reagan. Shit…I don’t like the idea of your brother dating Katie Loftgrin.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my forehead because—my brother? Izzy?

“Yeah, well…so what. I have a crush on your brother. I don’t really want to date him, but it doesn’t mean I want someone like Katie dating him,” she says, her eyes darting around the bathroom as she realizes just how much her voice echoes in here. Her cheeks redden.

“Izzy?” I whisper, turning to face her for real.

“I’ve kind of liked him since we were kids. And maybe that’s the only reason, really. And it’s stupid, my beef with Katie, but you know what? I don’t think your brother should be with a girl whose family is so rich that they literally own a jet. I don’t think he should date a girl who has no concept of the game of football.”

“Izzy, you don’t really understand football…”

“Oh, I understand it enough!” she interrupts me.

I pull my lips in tight and try not to laugh at her, at how ridiculous she’s being, but I can’t hold it in, and when I finally do laugh, she rolls her eyes and starts to pick up her things.

“I didn’t tell you so you’d make fun of me,” she says.

I grab her arm to stop her.

“I’m sorry,” I say, still smirking, but slowly regaining control. “I know…I know you didn’t. Why did you tell me?”

“I told you because people are prejudiced for a lot of stupid reasons. That girl? Her name is Lexie, and she thinks you’re too white to deserve the boy she likes. She’s from West End. He’s from West End. You’re…not. How could you even begin to get their world?” my friend says.

“I know…” I begin, set to agree with her, but she shakes her head, cutting me off.

“No, that’s not it. Reagan, your world…Nico’s world…same f*ckin’ world. You come from different parts, but who cares? You meet in the middle. You meet here, this place—we’re all going to Cornwall. Nico came here from West End. You’re here because your dad’s the coach. I’m here because my parents went here. We all have our own stories, and they part and intersect in many different places. It’s what makes us individuals. And no matter who we decide to tie our story to, there is always going to be someone who thinks they know the secret about why someone fits or doesn’t fit.”

My friend reaches forward, taking the hem of my shirt in both of her hands and pulling it out to study it, to see if the stain is gone. She says the rest with her eyes down.

“Some people are racist. Some people are jealous. Some people are just f*cking ignorant,” she says, her eyes coming up to meet mine as her fingers let go of my shirt. “Don’t let someone else dictate how your heart feels about someone. I will never say a word to Katie Loftgrin, no matter how…jealous…I am of her relationship with Noah. I won’t, because all of those reasons I make up to hate her? I know I’ve made them up without really knowing her story. And I know it isn’t fair. I strive to be better than that.”

“You may just be the best human at Cornwall,” I say to my friend.

She chuckles as she steps closer to the mirror, pulling her lip gloss from her purse and touching up the pink, dragging her nail along the corner of her mouth to make sure the line is perfect.