She Drives Me Crazy(28)

There’s nothing to do but smile and pretend to be thrilled with this family introduction. Mom and Dad beam at Irene; Irene’s parents beam at me. Mrs. Zander literally claps. Danielle hides her laughter behind her hand.

“Let’s get your picture together,” Irene’s dad says, pulling out his phone. He’s slender and speaks with an accent. He has Irene’s mouth.

“Oh, we don’t need to—” I start.

“No, Dad, we’re fine—” Irene tries.

But of course the parents have their way. There are suddenly five phones trained on us, because even Mrs. Zander is getting in on the mix.

“Why are you standing so stiffly?” Irene’s mom chides. “Hug each other! Do something!”

Irene and I trade looks.

“Um, we’re not really into PDA,” I say.

“Yeah, we’re not huggers. It’s so tacky,” Irene adds.

“Really?” Danielle says. I recognize the twinkle in her eyes: She’s about to have some fun. “But I see you hug all the time. I love watching you hug. It’s like all the love in the universe coming together.”

I’m ready to throttle her.

“Come on,” my mom says. “Just one little hug and we’ll leave you alone.”

And that’s how Irene and I end up with our arms around each other, forcing smiles for the cameras. Her shoulder is warm. Her hair tickles my face. I find myself holding my breath.

“Oh! Don’t move!” another voice shouts at us. “It’s for the newspaper!”

The goddamn Cleveland triplets have walked into our picture party. Now all three of them are snapping photos that will no doubt end up on social media.

But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, I think, because Tally will see them.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Irene says, releasing me. “It was lovely running into you all, but I have to, um, finish my Senior Horizons homework.”

“Same,” I say.

And with that, we bolt.

Mom and Dad are predictably eager on the drive home. They won’t stop talking about what a cute couple we make. They spend as much time talking about Irene as they do about the actual college session.

“It’s good to see you with someone who deserves you, Scottie,” Mom says. She reaches behind the passenger seat and squeezes my hand. “I like how genuine that girl is.”

I snort without meaning to. But if I think about it, I guess Mom is right. Irene has never been anything but herself.



* * *



I finally get my car back that weekend, thank God. It’s a lot easier pretending to date my nemesis when we don’t have to spend every morning and evening trapped in a speeding metal box together.

Our first regular season game takes place in early November. Danielle works us hard at practice, and I work myself even harder at home, refining my shots in the driveway each night. Googy leads the charge to make posters publicizing the game but is forced to take hers down after she paints a pair of basketballs inside a bra.

Nevertheless, word gets out: There’s a sudden buzz about the girls’ basketball team because of my relationship with Irene. When she unilaterally changes the cheerleading schedule so the squad will cheer for our games instead of the boys’, the buzz only increases further. To seal the deal, I give her my team picture button before school one morning.

“You actually expect me to wear this?” she asks, regarding my button like it’s the most heinous thing she’s ever seen. “It’s just so corny.”

“God, prima donna, just wear it on your backpack. It’ll make you a walking advertisement for my team.”

The button has the desired effect: On the evening of our first home game, the bleachers are packed with students and fans. It’s the largest crowd we’ve ever drawn—maybe the only thing that counts as a crowd at all. When my teammates peek through the locker room door, they return with radiant expressions on their faces. The only one put off by the show of support is Danielle.

“I can’t play with all those people watching me,” she says nervously. She starts to disappear into herself, sinking into the locker room bench, almost like she’s going into Danielle Vision. “So many people. So many eyes.”

“You’ll be great,” I assure her. “You’ve been killing it at practice with people watching.”

“That’s, like, twelve people,” she says, staring at the lockers. “This is our whole grade.”

“Hey.” I shake her shoulder. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but buck up. Either you want us to be dynamite—which means more people cheering for us—or you want us to suck. You can’t have it both ways.”

She swallows and lets me pull her off the bench. “Fine. Just—don’t let the announcer call my name.”

“I literally have no control over that,” I say, laughing at her.

“Shhh,” she says, walking to the door robotically.

When our team runs onto the court, there’s a huge roar from the crowd. I find myself blushing in a good way. Irene and her squad are stationed at the sidelines, working their magic. I almost wish she would turn around and throw me a knowing smirk.

Googy wins the tip-off, and the ball lands in my hands, and before I know it, I’m sailing down the court like I own the damn thing. Before the other team has time to finalize their defensive formation, I pass the ball to one of our open forwards, who sinks an easy jump shot.