Call It What You Want(41)

Owen hesitates. “No. He enlisted. Army. His mom says he might not be able to come home for Thanksgiving, but maybe Christmas.”

I can’t read anything in his voice. I wonder if Owen plans to enlist after he graduates.

I wonder what I’m going to do after I graduate. I remember being hopeful about lacrosse scholarships, because I definitely have the grades to back it up. I could possibly look at academic scholarships, but I’m not sure if I could leave Mom. Besides, even if I could get a scholarship, there are other expenses to consider. Housing. Food.

“Are you going to join the Army?” I ask.

Owen hesitates, then shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s a guaranteed job and free tuition, so …”

A key rattles in the lock of the front door, and Owen swings his head around. “Crap. She’s home early.”

I draw back, startled by his sudden change. “Are you not allowed to have people over?”

“No, it’s fine. Just …” He winces. “Don’t tell her who you are. Okay?”

“Oh. Sure.”

The lock finally gives, and Owen’s mom bursts through, bringing a gust of cold air with her. She looks to be in her forties, with tired eyes and streaks of gray threading her dark hair. It’s pulled back into a tight ponytail. She’s wearing nursing scrubs with lollipops all over them, the kind you’d wear if you worked in a pediatrician’s office. She’s fighting to get her key back out of the lock.

“Hi, Mom,” Owen calls. “Why are you home early?”

“Oh, it’s so stupid. The whole bottom of my shoe came off. It’s a safety hazard, so—” She stops short when she sees me. “Oh. Hello. I didn’t know you had a friend over.”

Her voice puts the tiniest bit of weight on the word friend. I stand. I almost hold out a hand to shake hers. Old habits die hard. “Hi.” I hesitate. “I’m Rob.”

She smiles. Her eyes flick to Owen and back to me. “Rob. Hello.”

Ms. Goettler is completely getting the wrong idea here.

And what am I supposed to say? Oh, yeah, no, I’m Rob Lachlan. My dad stole your money. I’m not macking on your son. Thanks for the soda.

Owen saves me. “He’s just a friend, Ma. Don’t start printing wedding invitations.”

I cough. “I should probably go.”

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner,” she says.

“No, I promised my mom I’d be home by five.”

“Ah, so you’re a good son.” She comes over to the couch and ruffles Owen’s hair. “Maybe you could give Owen some lessons.”

You’re a good son. I almost flinch.

He shoves her hand away, then rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m home by five, too. Come on, Rob. I’ll walk you out.”

“Take my shoes by the door and toss them in the dumpster,” she calls after us. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to find a hundred dollars to replace those—”

The door swings closed, cutting her off, leaving us with cold silence between us.

“You didn’t have to walk me out,” I say to Owen.

“Nah, it’s fine. I like to keep her guessing.”

“Hilarious.”

We stop by my Jeep. Owen’s got her shoes in his hand. They’re white clogs. Some kind of nursing shoes, I guess. They look like they’ve been beat to hell, and one is completely falling apart.

“Are those really going to cost her a hundred bucks to replace?”

“Probably. They’re special shoes. She works in the hospital. They’re really strict.”

I think about the forty dollars he gave away. I wonder if he’s thinking about the same thing.

I remember when a hundred dollars was a drop in the bucket. I had lacrosse cleats that cost twice that much, and my mother never batted an eye.

I know what a hundred dollars would mean to my mother right this moment. Hell, what it would mean to me.

I think about Lexi Miter’s credit card, the number sitting unused but still saved in my phone.

I swallow.

“What’s wrong?” says Owen. “You look like someone kicked your dog again.”

I take a breath. This is more than forty dollars from a cash box. Stealing from the athletic department’s fund-raiser isn’t different from stealing from another student, but it feels different just the same.

Somehow, I can’t stop myself. “I want to help your mom.”

“Yeah? You’ve got a hundred bucks?”

“No.” I hesitate. “But I know where I can get it.”





CHAPTER TWENTY

Maegan

Friday afternoon, five o’clock. Normally, I’d be hanging out with Rachel and Drew, making plans for the weekend.

Today, I’m hiding in my bedroom with a book. My social life took a bullet last spring, but apparently I took it from gasping on the floor to DOA.

An insistent knock raps at my door. Samantha pokes her head in without waiting for an answer. “What time is Rob getting here? Is that what you’re wearing?”

“What are you talking about?”

“He said he could come run drills on Friday, right?”

“Don’t you remember Dad chasing him out of here? Or maybe the way Drew treated him? Or—”