Call It What You Want(26)

“I don’t care.” She brushes gloss across my lips.

“You don’t?”

“No. Mom and Dad are the ones who don’t want the truth to get out. But I’m not a nun. I know what I did. I’m not going to dance around in a maternity shirt yet, but I’m not upset.” She hesitates. “I’m actually a little jealous that you have someone to talk to. I can’t tell anyone from school because I don’t want them to yank the scholarship until I know what I’m doing.”

“Rob’s not—we’re not friends. I don’t really talk to him.”

“Yeah, well, you need to change that. Look. Subtle.”

I turn and look at myself in the mirror.

“This looks so obvious.” I don’t wear much makeup to school, and now my eyes are dark-lined and my lips are glossy. “He’s going to wonder what’s taking so long.”

“Trust me. He won’t. Shake out your hair.”

“Sam …” But then I see her look and sigh. “Fine.” I shake out my hair.

She goes to get her goggles.

While she’s doing that, I put my hair back in a loose ponytail and head downstairs. I mean, honestly.

Rob is out back tossing the ball against the rebounder. Black pads broaden his shoulders and cling to his rib cage, but his helmet is in the leaves beside a tree. Like Samantha, every toss and catch looks effortless; the only indicator of speed is the flip of his stick and the indentation of the elastic.

Okay, fine. He’s attractive.

“You put your hair back up!” Samantha says.

“Yeah. Well. You can’t have everything.”

“Fine, then. Have it your way.” She yanks out her pony tie and flings it on the table, shaking out her blond waves as she pushes past me to slide the door open.

I stare after her, gape-mouthed, then get myself together to follow. I’m scowling and I’m not even sure why. I just spent five minutes telling her I’m not interested. And I’m not.

I mean, not really.

Okay, maybe a little.

Samantha is skipping across the yard, her hair shining gold in the fading sunlight. Her goggles, striped with pink and blue, hang from one hand.

Rob turns when he hears her rustling through the leaves. “Why do I need pads? Girls don’t get physical—”

Samantha slams into him with her shoulder.

He grunts and falls back a step. “Okay, fair enough.”

Ugh. I’m going to have to go back into the house.

What is wrong with me?

But then Samantha turns. “Hey, Megs? I forgot to put my ponytail tie back in. Loan me yours?”

Oh, she is something else. If I don’t give her mine, I’ll look like a weirdo.

I mean, more of a weirdo than I look right now, standing on the porch, staring at them.

I carefully unwind the elastic and shake out my hair, then walk it over to her. My cheeks feel warm, and I can’t look at Rob. I’m super conscious of the eye makeup suddenly. “Here you go.”

She winds her hair up, and I watch, because otherwise I’m going to be looking at Rob, and he’s clearly looking at me.

I don’t understand how this got all awkward.

Because of my sister. That’s how. I wasn’t even thinking of him that way, and then she had to go into makeover mode.

Then he says, “I know some great drills, but we need three people.” All casual directness. “Do you play at all?”

Oh. He was looking at me because he had a lacrosse question.

“No—I mean—not really.” I stumble all over my words like I’m falling down the stairs again. “Not enough to play with the two of you.”

“Okay.” He shrugs and turns back to Samantha. “What did you have in mind?”

Then they’re lost to the game and talks of drills and ground balls and defense. They run the length of the yard, throwing the ball back and forth to each other from all angles. I’ve seen Samantha play a billion times, so today my eyes are locked on Rob. I can see why he and Connor would have been thinking about scholarships: he’s as athletic as my sister, and the ball whips back and forth from his stick like he’s got it on a string.

Then they start a new drill where they’re running parallel, then one of them chucks the ball way out into the grass, and they race to see who can get it off the ground first.

Samantha is more aggressive at first, shoving Rob out of the way, and I can tell he’s trying to go easy.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” I yell to her.

She ignores me and puts her shoulder down and gets him right in the gut.

He yields and lets her scoop the ball off the ground, but he’s smiling, spinning the stick in his hands. He got rid of his sweatshirt twenty minutes ago, leaving his arms bare. My eyes are transfixed by the way his biceps move.

He’s breathing hard, but he says, “I feel like I’m at a disadvantage here.”

“Why?” says Samantha. She’s breathing equally hard, blinking sweat out of her eyes. She doesn’t smile. “Because of the baby? I’m not a china doll. Play for real or get the hell out of here.”

My sister, the master of tact.

Rob loses his smile. “Fine.”

“Fine.” She twists her stick, then tosses the ball far ahead. They sprint for it.