24. Josie
24
Josie
" C an we get ice cream, Josie?" Iris asks, holding my hand as we cross through the busy parking lot. It’s Sunday afternoon and Zane’s watching the twins, so Iris and I snuck out to run some errands. We’ve gotten haircuts, picked up her new ballet shoes, and dropped off Levi’s dry-cleaning. The next stop is home, but it seems my little sister wants a detour.
"Ice cream? Really?" I ask. "You told me you were so cold that you were going to turn into a snowflake. You even made me dig through the bins in the attic to find your winter hat and gloves. And now you want ice cream?"
"Uh-huh," she answers. "Because you warmed me all up. So now I can eat it."
I ruffle my fingers through her blonde curls. They look just like Mom’s. "You are a silly, silly girl, Iris Evelyn Reynolds."
"Do silly girls get ice cream?" she asks, smiling and showing off a missing tooth.
"Hmmm…" I answer, tapping my chin for dramatic effect. "I think I have a better idea…"
"Better than ice cream?" Iris asks, her eyes wide.
We’re at my car now, but instead of getting inside, I scoop her up into my arms and walk back the way we came. This little strip mall where I buy Iris’s dance shoes has a bunch of other shops, too. There’s a beer distributor, a nail salon, a gaming store, and a place for bubble tea. But best of all, there’s a pizza shop that also serves hot fudge sundaes.
"Should we go to Little John’s and get some lunch? We can text Zane and see what he and the twins want."
Iris is bobbing her head with excitement. "Can we play games, too?"
"Have we ever gone to Little John’s and not played games while we waited for our food?" It’s impossible to resist my littlest sister’s charm. Or her dimple. Apparently, I was fated to have a weakness for dimples. And blonds.
We head inside and place our order, then make our way to the arcade. It’s dark back here, except for all the flashing neon lights. Ugh. I’ll probably have a headache later, but Iris is squealing with delight, so I can’t complain too much. She runs right over to the Skee-ball lanes and starts rolling the ball back and forth. Iris has the curse of being the youngest. She uses youth to her advantage, for sure, but sometimes it’s hard to be the smallest. She’s never tall enough to ride what the twins like, and she’s not quite strong enough to keep up with them just yet, which she hates. She’s frustrated that the rest of us can do things with ease while she struggles. That’s why I’m kind of glad it’s just the two of us today.
"Are you ready to take me on?" I ask, lifting a ball like I’m weighing it in my hand.
"You’re going down, Josie," she taunts. Iris has smack talk down to a science. Backing it up is the problem.
I lob the ball toward the target, and it hits the outermost ring, earning me 10 points. Iris tosses hers, but it only gets halfway up the ramp before it rolls right back to her.
"That was great. Try to throw it a little harder this time, okay?" I step toward her to demonstrate, but I stop when I hear my name being called. I can’t believe our food is ready, but when I turn toward the counter, I realize my mistake.
"Josie, is that you?"
I look behind me to see Ollie Jablonski, and he’s not alone. Pete’s here, too, and so are Dean and the bouncy guy—Mikalski. Instinctively, I scan the room, checking for Van. He’s nowhere to be found. That would have brought me relief a few weeks ago, so I’m unprepared for the pang of disappointment that washes over me.
"Hey guys," I say, smiling and pushing aside any feelings I have for Van. It’s a skill I’ve honed over the years. Small talk is not my forte, but I’m not worried. Pete Santos is one of the friendliest guys I know and Ollie could carry on a conversation with a wall.
"What brings you ladies to this fine establishment?" Pete asks, crouching down so he’s closer to Iris’s level. At his height, he still towers over her, but the gesture is sweet.
My youngest sister doesn’t share my wallflower tendencies. She grins up at the big guy. "It’s just Josie and me today and we’re going to eat pizza and ice cream, but first I’m beating her at Skee-ball." She ends this pronouncement with a hand on her hip, as if to challenge anyone who dares question her arcade game prowess.
Pete lets out a whistle. "You’re that good, huh?"
Iris nods solemnly, despite the fact that she’s never actually tossed the wooden ball anywhere near the ring, at least not without help. But I love her confidence, so her secret’s safe with me.
"It’s an honor to meet a future champ. I’m Pete, and these guys are my friends. We go to the same school as Josie."
"I’m Iris. And I go to kindergarten." Her voice carries with the regality of a queen as she shakes Pete’s offered hand.
"Athletic and academic? It’s a killer combo." This comes from Ollie, who smiles broadly, before turning toward the hallway. "Dude," he calls, "get over here. Look who we ran into."
I’m not sure if my luck has run out or if I should book a trip to Vegas. Van walks into the arcade looking as handsome as ever. He wears the same thing he always does, a hockey hoodie and sweats, but he looks better than anyone has a right to.
"Josie?" He stares at me and for a moment, I’m caught up in his gaze. We haven’t talked since Thursday night, and I’m guessing the guys came here to grab some food after their road trip. I’m not coy on the best of days, so I’m unsure of what to say, how to act. Van and I came clean with each other last week. We shared secrets and forgiveness. But what does that mean? Are we friends now? I’d like to think so, and yet that isn’t a title that really fits.
He’s standing directly in front of me and I can tell there are a million questions spinning through his mind, too. He never gets to ask them, though, because Iris interrupts.
"He looks like a movie prince," she tells me, but her little voice is loud enough that there’s no doubt everyone in this room heard her.
Van blinks, registering for the first time that I’m not alone. He takes a step back and crouches down, just the way Pete did.
"Beckett Vandaele, at your service," he says, with an exaggerated bow of his head. Iris curtsies in return.
"Does that mean you have to do anything I say?" Iris asks.
"Anything," Van replies. "But nothing illegal, please. I don’t want to get tossed in the alligator pit again. The last princess I helped made me steal a crown, and I’d rather not do it again…unless you really need me to."
Iris can’t contain her giggles. "I already have a crown, but will you help me beat Josie at Skee-ball?"
Van’s head pops up and he looks right at me. "You told me you didn’t play any sports."
"This definitely doesn’t count," I reply. "Iris, the guys probably?—"
Before I can tell my sister that the hockey team most likely has to head back to campus, Van’s shaking his head. "We’re not going anywhere until the game is over, Jos."
Iris is overjoyed at the attention and I can’t blame her. Van psyches her up and gives her tips as though he’s been coaching pro Skee-ball in his spare time. All I can do is ogle him. It’s hard to resist Van under normal circumstances, but when he’s making my little sister happy, I have no hope of fending off the attraction.
Van puts the ball in Iris’s small hand before guiding her arm back. Just before he’s about to help her execute the perfect toss, he stops. "Oh, no. I almost forgot. Iris, did you bring any tissues?"
She shakes her head. "No. Do you have the sniffles?"
"The tissues aren’t for me," he says, his blue eyes sparkling. "They’re so Josie can wipe up her tears when she loses."
The look of pure delight on Iris’s face is worth all the awkward, fluttery feelings in my stomach.
He winds her arm up again, guiding her through the motion. It’s the perfect throw, except for the fact that Iris never releases the ball. But Van’s unbothered. "Yep, just like that," he coaches. "You ready to let this one fly?" he asks as my sister nods eagerly.
The third time is definitely the charm because Iris opens her hand just as Van gives the directive. The ball sails through the air in a perfect arc before landing in the smallest, farthest ring. Van lets loose a cheer and does a celebratory dance. Iris follows suit, but hers ends with a pirouette.
It’s my turn, and I can feel my cheeks heating. There’s not a competitive bone in my body, and the fact that Van’s friends are watching makes me more self-conscious. I toss the ball and score 10 more points, so now it's 50-20, Team Dimples.
Van and Iris take another shot, this one earning them 40 points. Ollie’s got a cheering section going and I’m outnumbered, but I don’t mind since Iris is having fun. I reach for the next ball, but the feeder is empty. From behind me, Pete clears his throat and tips his head to the left. "Step aside, partner," he says, winking.
Van does a double-take before his face breaks out in a grin. "It’s like that, is it?" he asks his friend.
"Hey man, Josie and I go way back. I met her first, you know."
There’s an ominous chorus of "ooooohhhsss" from our makeshift cheerleaders, but I just roll my eyes. Technically, Pete has a point. He and I met a few months before we started at Bainbridge. Well, “met” is a generous term. We both tested for the Legacy Scholarships before freshman year began. So, basically, we sat in the same room for an hour and took a test. But that all happened before either of us met Van, so he’s not exactly wrong.
"Yeah, yeah. All right, Team Smartypants," Van calls, "bring it."
Pete does just that, executing an expert throw and earning us 50 points. We go back and forth a few more turns until things get ridiculous—and why am I surprised when they do? I may not socialize with the hockey guys, but they are famous on campus for their antics. They start out by distracting Pete and me when we’re ready to throw. Ollie’s making bird calls and Deano’s pretending to sneeze. Iris thinks these guys are hilarious, and I know she’ll give Milo and Tillie an earful of what they missed when we get home. When those tactics stop working and Pete has evened the score, the guys resort to desperate measures. They start gathering balls from the surrounding games and tossing them in, taking turns round-robin style. They reach a thousand points in a matter of minutes and the machine starts to spew tickets. Iris is overjoyed, especially when Mikalski declares her the "Undisputed Skee-ball Queen." Iris loves the spotlight as much as I hate it, and she’s lapping up their over-the-top praise.
I snap a pic of her parading around with a napkin dispenser that Ollie has no doubt told her is a coveted trophy.
"You want a re-match, Jos?" Van asks, standing beside me.
Before I can stammer out an answer, I hear my name being called at the food counter. Reaching for Iris’s hand, I remind her to thank each of the guys before we pick up our order. I thank them, too, but I duck Van’s gaze under the pretense of getting Iris settled into the booth. She’s five, not two, but I’m plating her pizza like it’s a difficult task that requires absolute concentration.
They’re on their way out when Van turns back toward me, smiling. "See you tomorrow night, Jos," he calls and my cheeks heat.
Iris’s little jaw drops. "You’re going on a date with my Skee-ball teammate?"
"No," I assure her. "Van and I…study together."
Iris looks at me like I’m passing up a prime opportunity and I bite back a smile. I swear my youngest sister is five going on twenty-four some days.
As we eat our lunch, I’m mentally cataloging all the things I need to do at the house tonight before Levi rolls back into town tomorrow, and then I start a to-do list for when I’m back at school.
"He’s going to be a famous singer, right?" Iris asks.
"What? No, Van plays hockey," I correct.
My sister blinks at me impatiently. "Not him, Levi. Do you think he’ll be famous? Because I told Kennedie that Levi went to Cassia’s house to sing and she didn’t believe me. I told her he had to go on a plane and everything. And he took his guitars. And that proves it. But then she said her dad goes on a plane sometimes, but he just takes his golf clubs and that’s probably what Levi did, too. But I told her he didn’t. I said all about his music and everything and she didn’t believe me, so we’re not best friends anymore."
Before I can say anything, Iris launches into a story about how she and Kennedie are the reigning hopscotch champs on the playground. I don’t dare ask how they’ve earned this title while on the outs. Nope. I don’t want to know. I pick apart my pizza crust as Iris continues her monologue, filling me in on all the latest scuttlebutt from the kindergarten hallway.
I’m doing my best to keep up, but my mind keeps wandering back to Van. That’s nothing new, but seeing him with Iris today was unexpected. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s so good with kids. He’s charming. It’s what he does, but it’s not permanent. He’s going away next year—we’re on different paths. And I’m still not completely sure that this attraction goes both ways. If I knew our future was Skee-ball Sundays, maybe I’d take the risk and find out. Okay, I totally wouldn’t. But I’d be tempted. It’s a moot point, though. His future is a hockey career and my future is a PTO parent.
"Josie, can we?" Iris asks.
"What, sweetie?" I return, chastising myself because I should be focused on Iris instead of mooning over Van.
"I said can we get ice cream now?"
A glance at Iris’s plate shows she ate two bites, so the answer is no. She knows she needs at least five bites because she’s five, and it’s pizza for crying out loud—it’s not a hardship to eat pizza!
"Yes," I say, boxing up our food. I’m going against all the rules right now, but fuck it.
We’re getting ice cream. With extra hot fudge.Because that’s what you do when you realize you’re hopelessly in love with your ex and that even though there’s zero chance you’ll get back together, your feelings for him haven’t changed at all.