Pivot Point (Pivot Point, #1)(6)

“We’re going to get through this,” she calls as I walk out the front door.

“And one day you’re going to understand why I did it,” I finish for her as the door shuts behind me. I don’t know how many times she’s said that line over the last week. She probably hoped that each time it was said the “one day” would get a little closer. It only seemed to push that day further away.

Once in my car, I pull out my cell phone and dial.

“Coleman,” my dad answers.

His voice alone makes me smile. “Don’t they have caller ID out there in Normville?”

“Yes, of course they do.”

“Then how come you answer that way when you know it’s me?”

“Habit. How are you?”

“Okay. My car’s being weird. Are you ready for it?” I hold the phone out the window and press my thumb against the start pad. The seats and mirrors adjust to my thumbprint specifications, and the radio starts playing my preset playlist that I have to voice command off. But the engine sputters to its halfhearted existence. “See?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound good. Is it fully charged?”

“Yes.” I tap on the dash. The green bar that used to indicate its charge level had blackened long ago. “It was powering all night.”

“Hmm. I’ll talk to your mother about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

In the background I hear a muffled, deep voice and my dad say, “Thanks. Stay cool.” Then he gives a little chuckle, and a door shuts.

“Did you really just tell someone to stay cool?”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s hot here.”

I laugh. “Who was it?”

“The mail carrier. Just got a package. But, anyway, we’ll figure out the car situation. Sound good?”

“Yes. I’d better get to school. See you lat … I mean …” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Somehow saying I’ll see you in a month didn’t sound right.

“Addie,” my dad says in his soft voice, “it won’t be long. We’ll see each other before you know it.”

I give a little hum and hang up the phone.

In the parking lot at Lincoln High, I glance at the clock on my dash. The talk with my dad put me a few minutes behind schedule. Just as I open the car door, a football hits my windshield. “Are you flippin’ kidding me?” I mumble.

“Sorry about that,” Duke says, running up to retrieve it from where it had bounced five feet away.

“Do you go anywhere without that thing?”

“If I didn’t have a football, people might not recognize me.”

As if. I look up at him. His perfectly messy blond hair and gorgeous smile greet me. Hotlicious. Was that Laila’s word? It fits, but I will never tell her or she might die of smugness. I grab my backpack off the passenger-side floor and stand. “And that would be a tragedy.”

He laughs. “I’ve just been practicing. Big game coming up.”

“Well, maybe you should practice on the field, away from people, because your aim seems a little off.” I shoulder my backpack and walk away.

“My aim is always perfect, Addie,” he calls after me.

What was that supposed to mean? That before he’d been trying to whack me in the forehead. And now he was trying to crack my windshield. What had I ever done to him?

Halfway to class Laila catches up with me, out of breath. I raise one eyebrow at her, surprised she ran in order to make it on time.

She provides the explanation: “I can’t get lunch detention today.”

“Nobody left to flirt with?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Gregory had his last day yesterday.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s so nice to have a best friend who bases her choice on whether or not to be responsible solely on guys.”

“I’m glad to see you’re channeling the my-parents-were-just-divorced-so-I’m-allowed-to-be-pissy-anytime-I-want-and-everyone-should-understand attitude so well.”

I smile. “I’m sorry I’ve been so pissy.”

“Yeah, me too. Could you work on that, please? It’s ruining my social life.” She slips her arm in mine and lays her head on my shoulder as we walk. “I’m sorry your life sucks.”

“It doesn’t suck. I’ve just been spoiled by the ideal all these years.”

“I know, your parents did you a major disservice by giving you such a great childhood.”

“I’m sorry.” I say it because I realize how selfish I’ve been. Laila has a horrible home life, and she never complains about it. Nobody would know that her father lost his job because he has a drug problem. He spends all the family’s money to support his habit while her mom works all the time in order to support them.

As if reading my mind, Laila says, “Don’t start feeling sorry for me. You know how much I hate that.” She squeezes my arm and then straightens up. “You want to go to that party Friday? I promise not to leave your side the entire time.”

My brain tries to come up with an excuse, any excuse, but I already know my Friday evening is wide open and I’m a horrible liar. “Sure. Sounds exciting.”

“You are the queen of sarcasm, my friend, but I’ll pick you up at nine so you don’t stand me up.”