Puddin'(20)

My heart stops. I swallow and take a deep breath. “He could be at school for any reason.”

She looks at me pointedly. “You should’ve stopped them.”

“I’m not anyone’s mother. And I didn’t see you trying to be the voice of reason.”

“They listen to you,” she tells me.

“We’re both co–assistant captains,” I remind her. “They listen to both of us.”

“Cut the crap,” she says. “You know they don’t listen to me the way they do with you.”

My little world is on the verge of being hit by an asteroid, and still some part of me feels satisfied to hear her admit this. I hate myself for it.

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Our faces were covered. There’s no proof. As long as everyone can keep a secret, we’re all in the clear. And you can keep a secret, can’t you, Mel?”

Later that afternoon, we have an emergency practice to make up for poor attendance this morning. Not all of them were there last night—it was mostly juniors and seniors—but word spreads fast enough that everyone might as well have been there.

We all meet on the bleachers outside the track. With so many voices talking at once, it’s nearly impossible to get anyone’s attention.

“Hey!” I shout. No one even blinks.

“Y’all!” Sam barks.

And they all freeze, turning to her. It’s a reminder, even for me, that she is still very much the team captain.

Sam motions for everyone to move it in.

All our bodies press together to create a tight, sweaty circle.

“You wanna know what makes us great?”

“Jess’s pirouettes?” says someone.

Sam smiles, and just that small act of normalcy sends a wave of ease through our huddle—myself included. “Well, that, and the fact that before we’re a team, we’re a sisterhood. And sisters have each other’s backs. No matter what.”

And that’s all she needs to say. Mentally, I file this moment away. This is how a captain does her job.

After a grueling practice, including a three-mile run, we all collapse on the grass at the center of the track ring.

“Okay, ladies,” says Sam. “I’ve lined up a car wash at one of the Clay Dooley service-repair departments for next Saturday.”

“Oh,” I blurt.

Sam and Melissa both eye me.

“Sorry,” I say. “News to me.”

Sam smiles. “Callie’s boyfriend, Bryce, was sweet enough to set that up with his dad.” She glances to me. “He told me just before lunch. I’m sure he meant to tell you first.”

I nod, feeling unease about the whole team witnessing this interaction. The admiration I’d just felt for Sam melts into suspicion. “Totally,” I say, trying to shake it off.

It’s weird that Bryce forgot to tell me, but it probably slipped his mind. I guess he just wanted to help out after seeing how stressed I was last night, so I can’t fault him.

Sam clasps her hands together. “And not to be too mushy or anything, but the end of the year is almost here, and it’s my last year as a Shamrock. I’m going to miss y’all so much. Once a Shamrock, always a Shamrock, right?”

The whole team whoops and cheers.

I lean over to Melissa. “And Shamrocks don’t snitch.”

After practice, Bryce drives me home. I haven’t told him about last night. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but I’m playing it safe for right now.

He takes the long way home through downtown Clover City. A few of the shops are boarded up, and while much of downtown maintains its mom-and-pop charm, a few places have been replaced with chain stores and restaurants.

I hold my hand out the window, letting my fingers drag through the warm breeze, and this is the first moment of real calm I have all day. But it’s gone faster than I can count. “Hey,” I say, “so you set up a car wash for the dance team and forgot to tell me?”

He grins. “Just trying to do my part to get my girl to Nationals.”

“Well, you couldn’t tell your girl about it instead of letting her find out in front of the whole team?”

He shakes his head. “You’re making this into a thing. I just texted Sam because I knew she would be the one you’d have to run everything by anyway.”

I start to argue, but instead I take a deep breath. I’m on edge today. That’s all.

In the alley behind my house where he always drops me off, we share a long kiss that is quickly turning into more when my stepdad knocks on the passenger window.

The two of us knock heads as we disentangle.

Keith opens the door, ducking down to speak to Bryce as I gather my backpack and purse.

“I’d invite you in,” says Keith, “but tonight is family dinner.”

Bryce nods. “Understood, sir.”

I squint my eyes at Bryce for a minute, and I find myself almost making a comment about how he never makes any effort to call my real dad sir. Both Keith and my dad work blue-collar jobs—the kind of things Bryce will never find himself doing. The only difference between them is that one of them is white and the other isn’t. But I shake it off and decide it’s just more paranoia. Bryce isn’t racist.

Keith shuts the door behind me, and I follow him in through the back gate.