Chapter Eleven Rowan #2
I spell it off, moving the paper in my hands in and out with each letter. When I’m done, it reveals four numbers. I hold it out for her to see.
“Seven,” she says.
Again I move my hands, this time counting to seven as I do.
“Pick wisely, Lindsey,” I say as I hold it for her to select one last number. “Your fortune depends on it.”
She smirks like maybe she thinks I’m ridiculous. “One.”
Slowly, I pull the fortune catcher back and lift open the flap for number one.
“What does it say?” she asks, peering closer and looking eager. It makes me want to draw out the moment longer. I like seeing her like this—playful and happy.
“Someone is thinking of you,” I read from the paper.
“That’s my fortune?”
I lean back in my chair. “That’s what it says.”
“I want a new fortune.”
“Yeah?” I arch a brow. “Someone thinking about you is a pretty good fortune.”
“Not it isn’t,” she fires back. “They could be thinking I’m dumb or ugly or bad at soccer.”
“It’s the last one that would really pain you, isn’t it?”
“Totally.” Her smile widens. “Give me that thing.”
I hand over the fortune catcher and she puts her fingers and thumbs in it, then holds it out for me.
“You know I know all the fortunes, right?”
She nods, giving me a “Duh, I’m not an idiot” look. “Are you going to pick a color or what?”
“Red.”
“R-E-D.” She moves the fortune catcher in and out, stopping and then tipping it down so I can see the four numbers.
“Three.”
She counts it out and then waits for me to pick my fortune.
“Two.” I fight a smile.
She hesitates like she knows I’m up to no good but then gives in and looks under flap number two. “Seriously?”
“What’s it say?” I play dumb.
“Your butt looks good today,” she says in a dry, bored tone.
“Oh wow, that’s so nice of you, Lindsey. A little forward but—”
She throws the fortune catcher at me before I can finish.
“You aren’t even a little curious what the other fortunes are?” I ask.
“No,” she says immediately, then laughs.
“Fine. Fine. You’ll just have to get a new fortune tomorrow.”
She finally lets out a small laugh as MJ leans over from the aisle across from us.
“Are you going to the game on Friday?” MJ asks her.
“You mean our game on Thursday?” Summer quirks a single brow as she stares at her teammate. “Of course.”
“No. The boys’ game.”
It’s clear that Summer had no idea about it and MJ stares at her with confusion.
“I assumed you were going to cheer on Rowan.”
“Right. Yes.” Summer shoots me a side glance.
“Yeah, babe. Don’t you want to cheer me on?” I ask in a sweet, hopeful voice.
Her gaze narrows at my question and possibly the endearment. Oops, I forgot about her hatred of the babe/baby nicknames, but her reaction is almost reason enough to keep calling her that.
“I forgot,” she says, turning her attention back to MJ. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”
“Great. A bunch of us are going to Sophie’s house after practice and then to the game.”
Summer nods slowly but doesn’t say anything.
“It’s totally cool if you come,” MJ assures her. “I promise.”
Summer’s shoulders loosen a fraction. “Okay. Sure. Sounds fun.”
MJ lets out a little happy squeal and Summer looks back at me.
I wink at her. “I can’t wait to see you wearing my jersey.”
“Wait. What?”
I laugh, then shrug. “You’ll see.”
* * *
On Thursday after school I pull into the driveway at the same time my parents are arriving home from…wherever they were.
“You’re back,” I say, grinning as I hop out of my truck. I wasn’t expecting them. Though to be fair, I never expect them.
Dad stretches and groans. His dress shirt is wrinkled, and his hair looks like he’s been running his fingers through it.
“Things wrapped up faster than we thought,” Mom says.
“Grab a bag, will ya?” Dad tips his head toward the back seat.
We take their luggage into the house and linger in the kitchen.
“How’s the first week of school?” Mom asks as she flips through the stack of mail on the counter.
“Not bad.” Good, actually. I smile to myself as I think about everything that’s happened to kick off senior year. What a ride it’s been already.
“And soccer?” Dad stares into the fridge, pushing around containers and food until he finally pulls out a bottle of white wine.
“Coach C is pushing us hard, but we’re all pumped for the season to start. One last state championship run.”
He nods, a little absently as he grabs a glass from a cabinet and uncorks the wine.
“We have a game tomorrow night.” I look at the glass he’s filling instead of directly at him. “Since you’re back early, maybe you could come watch. It’s been a while.”
Understatement of the decade. It’s been years since they watched me play. I wouldn’t say they don’t care about me or soccer, but they’ve never been the kind of parents who come to games to show their support.
“Oh yeah? Do you play at home?” Mom looks up from the mail with a smile.
I nod excitedly as the image of them in the crowd lights a flame of hope inside of me. “Yup. First home game of the year.”
“I can practically smell the burnt popcorn and hot dogs.” Dad winks playfully.
“Ooh. Maybe we should grill burgers and hot dogs for dinner,” Mom says. “I’m starving.”
“Good idea.” Dad moves back to the fridge, presumably to pull out the stuff needed for dinner.
“So you’ll come?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the anticipation from my voice.
My parents share a look that I can’t decipher. All the while my emotions bounce around. I rarely ask them anymore because I know it will interfere with something work-related, but I always secretly want them there.
“It’s been a long few weeks,” Dad says, sounding regretful as he smiles sheepishly. “I was kind of hoping for a quiet couple of nights between trips.”
“Right. Of course.” Disappointment settles heavily in my stomach. I’m sure it’s written all over my face.
“It’s only the first game of the season,” Dad says. “You boys have a long road ahead of you. Best team in the state.” He’s grinning widely like he’s proud of me or the team, or maybe it’s all just bullshit.
“We’ll make it to another one,” Mom adds.
Somehow I doubt that very much.