Call It What You Want(25)

“I’m not getting on your case.” I pause. “I’m trying to be your sister. I’m trying to be supportive.”

She catches the ball as it sails back to her. She looks like she wants to make a crack about my sister comment—but then she must see my face.

She kicks at the leaves underfoot. “You want to be supportive? Want to run some drills?”

I snort. “Yeah, okay, so you can bean me in the head? I can’t play with you.” Samantha left me in her dust years ago.

Her face falls a little, but then she shrugs. “No, I know. I mean, I could go easy.”

That’s like asking a blizzard to stick to flurries. “Yeah, sure.”

But then I think of someone who probably wouldn’t mind running a few drills—and probably isn’t doing anything more interesting than watching paint dry.

“Wait,” I say to Samantha. “I have an idea.”



Rob arrives faster than I expect. I’m surprised to learn he has his own car. It’s a sleek black Jeep Cherokee. Not exactly top of the line, but when I get up from the porch steps to walk over to greet him, I can see the pristine interior, all tan leather and a sweet sound system.

I can’t help staring.

He can’t help noticing.

His expression was easy when he got out of the car, but now his eyes are guarded, his shoulders tense. He hasn’t closed the door yet, like he might need to make a quick getaway. He speaks quickly. “It was my dad’s car first, and he bought it before … before, so they couldn’t seize it—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.” I have to shake myself. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have been staring.”

“Everyone stares.” He hesitates. “It’s eight years old and it’s got over a hundred thousand miles on it, so we can’t sell it for a whole lot. And Mom says it’s better to stick with a car that we know runs well than to give it up for something—”

“Really,” I say. “You don’t have to explain.”

He shuts up.

This feels like the moment I showed up at Wegmans and found him without any books. I’m always a little guarded, but Rob seems permanently set at DEFCON 1.

Samantha appears at my side and bumps me with her shoulder. She’s got her lacrosse stick in hand, and she’s tossing the ball in the air, twirling the stick, and catching it.

“You bring your stuff?” she says. No thanks for coming or hi, I’m Samantha. When there’s a lacrosse ball involved, she’s all business.

Rob doesn’t seem to mind. “Yeah.” He slams the door and opens the tailgate. He’s brought two sticks and a pile of pads and a helmet. All of it is dirty and grass stained.

She’s not wearing anything more protective than a sweatshirt, so he slides a stick free. “I’m out of practice,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

Samantha backs up, swings her stick wide, and flings the ball at him.

His stick was hanging by his side, but he’s fast, and he whirls to snatch the ball out of the air.

He snaps it right back to her.

She catches it and grins. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen on her face since she got home from school. “You’ll do,” she says. “Get the rest of your stuff on. I’ll go get my goggles. Megs, come help me out.”

I absolutely hate when she calls me Megs and she knows it. “Why can’t you get them yours—”

She seizes my arm and drags me toward the porch. Once we’re inside, her voice drops to a hushed whisper. “Maegan. You said you were texting your calculus partner. I thought you were dragging some math geek over here. Rob Lachlan is hot. Are you dating him?”

I snort. The idea of Rob having even a fleeting romantic interest in me is laughable. “No. And he is my calculus partner.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“Don’t you have enough boy problems?”

“Not for me, you idiot. Come here. Put on some lip gloss.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting your goggles?”

“Like that’ll take more than two seconds. Come here. Let me do your eyes.”

I smack her hand away. “You don’t think that will look a little suspicious? If I show up outside with full makeup on?”

“I’ll be subtle.”

“Sam—”

“Maegan.” Her eyes are fierce—and also a little hurt. “Let me be your sister for five minutes, okay?”

That shocks me into compliance. For months, I’ve felt like she was pushing me away. Has she felt the same?

While I’m turning this thought over in my head, she’s stroking eyeliner and shadow onto my lids, then flicking at my lashes with mascara.

Guilt has been pricking at me since she thanked me for keeping her secret from Mom and Dad, and I can’t be silent in the face of all this sisterly love. “Sam, I need to tell you something.”

“Are you carrying his baby?”

“No, seriously.”

She unscrews the cap of a tube of lip gloss. “What’s up?”

“Rob knows. About you.”

Her hand goes still.

“I didn’t mean to tell him,” I rush on. “I was upset after dinner last night, and he made a guess, and I think he was joking, but it was right on the mark, and—”