Little Do We Know(18)

“Seriously?” I pointed at the gigantic white number thirty-four on my chest. That alone seemed like more than enough school spirit for one person.

Charlotte went back to braiding, and when she reached the end, she handed me her compact. “Take a look.”

I spun in place, turning my back to the full-length mirror. “Wow. Sorry I ever doubted you.”

Charlotte was messing with another loose piece when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” I expected it to be Mom. I turned around and started to ask what she was doing home so early, but I saw David standing there instead. “Oh…Hi.”

“Hey.” He folded his arms across his chest in that buff-dude way, like he was trying to impress us with his bulk. “I just got home from New York.”

I squeezed the compact as hard as I could.

“I’m looking for your mom. I heard voices and thought she was in here with you. Hey, Charlotte,” he said.

“Hey, David.” She said it way too cheerfully.

“Gig in the city. Home at eight.” I always answered D-bag with the fewest possible words. He didn’t deserve full sentences.

“Oh, okay…I didn’t realize it was going that late or I would have stopped at my loft on the way home from the airport.”

His loft? Pompous dickhead. I squeezed the compact even harder.

“When is her big fundraiser?” he asked casually. “Is that this Friday?”

He knew the answer. Aside from the wedding, that fundraiser was practically all Mom had talked about for the last month. Was he actually trying to make polite conversation?

“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled.

“Good. I wanted to be sure I was going to be in town. She’s planning to stay at my place afterward.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Are you heading out?”

“Big lacrosse game at school,” Charlotte told him.

“Cool. Well, have fun.” He closed the door. I didn’t let my breath go until I heard it latch.

“David’s so nice,” Charlotte said. “I don’t understand why you don’t like him.”

I felt sick to my stomach.

“He’s not David to you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You seriously want me to say, ‘D-bag is so nice.’”

“Yes, I do, but without the inaccurate ‘nice’ part.”

“You know, he’s going to be your stepdad in a few months. You should probably stop calling him D-bag.”

“Never.” I stared at her in the mirror.

Charlotte stared back at me. “You did catch that, didn’t you?” She rested her chin on my shoulder. “Someone’s got the whole house to herself on Friday night.”



When I arrived at the stadium, all Luke’s friends were clustered together in the bleachers, decked out in green-and-white Falcons gear and impossible to miss. I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Calletti right away, and they waved. Aside from their group and a few other parents scattered around, the bleachers were fairly empty.

“Where is everyone?” I asked Addison.

“It’s California lacrosse, not Texas football.”

As soon as I sat down, Lara leaned forward. “Oh my God! Your hair looks amazing. Did you do that by yourself?”

“Nope, all Charlotte.” I pulled my phone from my back pocket and clicked on her Instagram account. “You should check out her stuff. Her tutorials are really easy to follow.” I handed my phone to Lara. She watched, and then passed it around so everyone could see.

And then I unzipped my sweater, showing off what I’d done to Luke’s jersey.

A professional seamstress had been at the theater earlier that day, altering the costumes for Our Town. I showed her Luke’s jersey and asked her if she could do anything to fix it, and her eyes lit up. “Give me fifteen minutes,” she’d said. I watched her cut the whole thing along each side and sew it back together, transforming it into a cute, form-fitting dress.

“I want to do that to Dominic’s!” Ava said. She’d tied the bottom of his jersey on one side, at her hip.

“Come by the theater during lunch or after school. The sewing machine is all set up. I’ll do it for you.”

The horn blew and the announcer’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand this game,” I admitted as the two teams ran onto the field.

“It’s like ice hockey,” Addison said.

“Yeah, I don’t have a clue about ice hockey.” She looked at me like I just told her I had eleven toes. “What? I don’t have a sporty family like you do.”

My parents never watched sports when I was growing up. I couldn’t remember a single time my dad threw me a ball or even tossed me a Frisbee. But apparently, things had changed, because when I went to visit him and his replacement family last summer, he took us all to a Chicago Cubs game. They had season tickets and everyone was totally into it. I didn’t know when to cheer, so I just sat there nursing a Coke and working on my tan.

Addison pointed straight down at the white line that cut the field in half. “Okay, stay with me. There’s Luke. He’s a midfielder, so he and two other guys on the line can run the whole length of the field.”

She pointed to the three players on the far right. “Those are the attackmen. They stay close to the cage and try to score.”