Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(50)

“Oh, ouch.”

“Finally he was busted in the tabloids, and I didn’t have to give him the benefit of the doubt anymore.” I didn’t have to try to make Brett Ferris love me anymore. It was like quitting a bad job. I was more relieved than sad.

“Oh, geez,” Georgia says. “I’m sorry.”

Someone plays a flourish on a set of steel drums.

“The dinner bell! Let’s eat.” Georgia leaps off her chair. “Sorry for my excitement, I have a really fast metabolism.”

She’s not the only one. Silas is already jogging toward me with a smile on his face. “Ready to eat?”

“Of course.”

On our way toward the dinner tent, we join hands, and somehow it feels completely natural to me. Silas doesn’t let go until we reach the buffet, where he hands me a plate. “Would you look at this? I’m going to weigh five extra pounds an hour from now.”

“Me too.” I’ve never seen so much food in one place. I take a portion of Caesar salad and a dinner roll. But let’s face it—I’m really here for the grilled fish tacos, the jerk chicken, savory rice, and crispy plantains. There’s a tropical-fruit salad, too.

We sit down at a table with Jason, Heidi, Leo, Georgia, and the head coach for the Brooklyn Bruisers—who I quickly learn is Georgia’s father.

“Every day is take-your-daughter-to-work day,” he says when I figure out their connection.

“Bullshit!” Georgia makes a face. “I had the job first. You’re the interloper.”

“Becca actually put a plaque on the wall of her office,” Leo volunteers. “It says, I was here first.”

“Damn straight.”

Silas pats my knee under the table and laughs at his friend’s joke. His friends all radiate health and self-confidence. It would be disgusting if they weren’t so nice.

I pick up my fork and dig in.





Silas





The satisfaction I feel sitting beside Delilah at dinner cannot be underestimated. Not only am I happy to finally feed the poor girl, but I’ve been craving this for three years—a few easy moments in her company.

I have nice friends, so that part is easy, too. For me, anyway. I get the feeling that Delilah is less confident than she lets on. Back in California, she always seemed unshakable to me. Cocky, even.

But none of us really are, right? Delilah’s confidence has its limits, just like mine.

“What does the rest of your summer look like?” Heidi asks her. “Isn’t this the season of big, outdoor venues?”

“Usually,” Delilah says slowly. “But my new album hasn’t come out, so there’s no tour yet.” She shakes her head. “I have one big concert in California, at the music festival where I met Ralph the first time.”

“Ralph!” Georgia giggles.

“I thought we talked about this,” I say, poking Delilah’s arm.

“That one was an accident. I swear.” She picks up a cornbread mini-muffin and pops it in her mouth.

“Ralph ought to fly out for that concert for old time’s sake,” Heidi says. “And he should probably take his roommates, just to be nice.”

“I could probably scrape up a few tickets in the first couple of rows,” Delilah says.

Heidi squeals.

“Maybe Silas can finally give you that surfing lesson,” Jason says. “And me too, right? I want to surf.” He tugs on his girlfriend’s ponytail. “Let me guess. You already surf.”

“Just a little,” Heidi says.

“What does just a little mean to you?” I ask Heidi. She is one of those people who is mysteriously good at everything.

“I only won one competition.” She waves a hand like it’s nothing.

Jason just shakes his head.

“Oh!” Georgia stands up suddenly. “I have to say my thing before people get up and wander off.” She picks up a water glass and a spoon, pulls back her chair, and climbs onto it. Leo braces the chair with one hand and eats another chicken wing with the other.

Georgia clinks the spoon on the glass, loudly, and heads swivel in our direction. “Good evening, friends!” she begins. “I want you all to know that last year Rebecca planned my wedding. She did everything from choosing the dresses I tried on, down to the bunches of…” She makes a motion with her hands. “What are those tight little bouquets called…?”

“Nosegays!” Rebecca calls from two tables away.

“Right! Because that’s something every girl should know.” Everyone laughs. “We all have our skill sets. Anyway—I want you all to know that I offered to plan Rebecca’s wedding. Fair is fair, right? But she would only give me one job, and that’s tonight. I planned the after-dinner entertainment! When you’ve finished your meal, please make your way to the great lawn for carnival games.”

A cheer goes up.

“No way!” I holler, because that sounds awesome.

“Yeah, if you’d left your bedroom at all today,” my roommate says, “you might have seen them setting up.”

Georgia holds up a hand, asking for continued silence. “You might notice that no dessert or coffee have been served. They’re at the carnival, too. But you have to win a ticket—or a ticket for your sweetheart—to claim something at the dessert stand. Since I’m surrounded by two hundred of the most competitive people on Earth, I’m thinking that’s going to be fun to watch. Good luck, everyone. I’ll see you over at my favorite game of all. It’s called Dunk the Hockey Player.”