9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Peyton
O f all the lawn games, croquet is definitely the best and yet it is so under appreciated. When I return home that night, I’m buzzing with excitement about the upcoming game. The need to brag is overwhelming, and despite my better judgment, I end up texting Max.
I have an idea for something to add to your app
What’s that?
You should add an activity titled Glutton for Punishment and the task is to make a bet that you know you’ll lose
Don’t be so hard on u
Have some confidence
Oh, that’s it. His cocky ass is about to eat some crow.
I’m confident
Confident that next weekend you’re going down
Let me introduce you to my little friend
I really should’ve waited to see his reaction in person, but I have to follow through now. I snap a picture of my monogrammed initials, PMW, on my croquet crate and send it to him.
Lmao
And with that beautiful end to our texting, I hook my phone to the charger. But before I’ve even set my phone down, a new text pings.
And here’s my little friend
And he sends a picture of his flexed bicep. Thank God it’s not a dick pick.
My picture is so much cooler
It’s definitely something
He’s jealous and worried. And he should be.
Weekly meetings have been set for the AI project, a.k.a. project Shuggazoom. Ada named the project after a fictional planet from some animated show named Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce Go! I’m completely unfamiliar with the show, and we’re using the AI to study chimpanzees, not monkeys, but the name was catchier than anything I could come up with, so I went along.
Ada sits between Harris and me at a circular conference table. We’ve left the fourth spot open in case Dr. Wahl joins us. He often pops in for part of the meeting. Harris stares out the window at the hazy summer sky, while Ada shows us clips that the AI successfully tagged as including the tool. The next step is to train it to recognize which chimp holds the tool.
Dr. Wahl slips into the meeting room. Before anyone can greet him, he says, “Shall we begin? Because I have two newsworthy items to share.”
Everything else is forgotten. I lean forward, resting my forearms on the cool wooden table. I really hope the news has something to do with funding. Ada and Harris also huddle closer, embracing the conspiratorial mood.
“I haven’t shared this yet, so keep it under your vest for the moment. Dr. Snazzeh of the Snazzeh Institute of Primatology will be visiting in a few weeks! We’re meeting to discuss collaborating on some of our initiatives that are of joint interest.”
Harris and I gasp, while Ada looks around in search of some big reveal she missed. Dr. Snazzeh is a world-renowned animal conservationist with a focus on primates, and she’s a bit of a minor celebrity, but to me she couldn’t be any bigger of a deal. Working with her has been a dream of mine since I discovered my love of biology in college.
Harris puts his hand over his heart. “Sir, if there is anything you need help with for her visit, let me know. No task is too small.”
He’s too good, a master brownnoser. I blurt out, “Me too. I’d love to help.” But even to me, my tack-on sounds too little, too late.
“Harris, I will need your help. Let’s meet this afternoon. But Peyton, I think you’re going to be busy.” Dr. Wahl throws open his arms. “There’s interest in the AI project and it looks like we’ll get funding for it! It’s looking good for Project Shuggazoid.”
“Shuggazoom,” Ada corrects as a smile slowly spreads across her face.
Ada and I stare at one another in disbelief, then she hoots. I hold up a hand, which she’s fast to high-five. First Dr. Snazzeh, now this. I close my eyes for a moment and relish the tingling sensation taking over my entire being.
“Yes, Shuggazoom. Go Project Shuggazoom. Vroom.” Dr. Wahl reaches to shake my hand.
My exuberance overtakes me, and I pump his hand in a wild handshake. Then I realize I’ve left out Harris. I turn to high-five him, but he’s reclined back in his seat. He gives me a smile, but also shrugs his shoulder. Is he doubting everything will work out? He probably just tried to put a hex on it. No matter, because Ada and I have enough enthusiasm to launch this super robot monkey right into outer space.
After another round of congratulating one another, Ada and I settle down. She walks us through the latest results. My elation keeps me flying through the entire meeting, so it zooms along at record speed. Vroom! Vroom!
After the news of Shuggazoom being funded, I feel as though I can’t lose. Which is why I’ve been looking forward to the croquet match all week. The match has turned into an afternoon outing, including a picnic. As we schlep our food and drinks along Tenth Street toward the crosswalk for a pillared entrance into Piedmont Park, I catch Max checking out my monogrammed croquet crate.
“Worried?” I ask him.
“Not in the slightest. But if you are, it’s not too late to call off the bet.” He reaches for the set. “Let me take it. Looks heavy.”
I pretend to resist, though actually I’m happy to hand off the load. “Are you sure you’re not taking them to somehow sabotage the game?”
“Look who’s worried now.” He winks at me.
I laugh a little too loud and Ashima gives me side-eye, so I calm myself. Max and I have been texting taunts back and forth, which has me overwound. I’ve never felt such anticipation, apprehension, and hilarity over a croquet game.
Once inside the park, Max and Nick beeline for the top of the grassy hill near the entrance, but Ashima drops back. I slow to keep pace with her.
“Please call off this stupid bet with Max,” she says.
“I’ve got this. And you should be happy. Cleaning up Max is all your idea.”
“He’s been brushing his hair regularly and going into the office. So really everything is fine.”
I will agree, at least to myself, that he’s fine, as in very handsome. “I like long hair on men. And he has a good thick beard. But that’s irrelevant. I’m invested now. He’s going down.”
“Maybe we’ve gone too far.” She grimaces at me. “If either of you actually ends up shaving your head, then I’m going to feel partially responsible.”
“You’re not. Max came up with the shaving idea and I came up with the bet, so this is on us. Stop worrying. This whole fixing up Max idea has turned unexpectedly enjoyable. Don’t you think?”
“Not seeing how the bet is enjoyable, but I do like playing matchmaker. Speaking of which, I invited my yoga instructor, Holly, and she’s bringing her cousin, Kennedy, so that’s two potential women for Max.” She shifts the cooler she’s carrying from one arm to the other. “I think you should call off the bet and focus on helping me create a love match for Max.”
There are so many cringeworthy things about her statement. First and foremost, the word choice love match makes me want to vomit. Second, I’m not interested in watching Max flirt with another woman. Even though I currently don’t want a STIMP, there is a little something between Max and me. But this something must be put aside, lest I suffer Ashima’s wrath. This is her mission—I can’t mess it up. “You do your thing, Ashima, but I’m doing mine. This bet is personal now. I’m not letting Max one-up me. He thinks I’m going to chicken out, but there’s no way.”
She gives me a funny look, but our conversation stops because we’ve caught up to Max and Nick, who’ve staked a claim on a shady spot. Ashima and I spread the two picnic blankets. Her loose spiral curls bounce as she works. They’re pushed back with a large navy blue headband that coordinates with the dark trim of her blue dress and the thin contrast lines in the red plaid blankets. Her attention to little details like this never ceases to amaze me.
As for me, I’m wearing a pair of tight jean capris because they show off my butt better than any of my shorts. And I’m wearing a low-cut tank top that’ll provide a nice view of my cleavage when I lean over to hit the ball. No one said I have to play fair.
Nick rests a picnic basket in the center of the blankets and then Ashima lays out plates, napkins, and plasticware. As she sets up, I notice a man and woman approaching. They’re both carrying food and drinks and are definitely heading toward us. I guess they didn’t get the memo that Ashima is expecting ladies only.
The style of the woman’s hair—braided pigtails—says to me yoga instructor . This has to be Holly, and a twinge of jealousy roils within at how cute she is. There’s no way that Max won’t notice her. But then the man with Holly says something that makes her smile and shake her head at him, and my momentary concern disappears. Ashima’s made a mistake—Holly’s not available. And such a handsome couple they make, both with pale blond hair and blue eyes.
I’m rather tickled to see Holly isn’t single. While there is the yet-to-arrive cousin Kennedy to contend with, my hopes rise that she’ll also bring a date. Ashima slumps when she sees Holly and her date, but recovers after a deep breath and hurries to them. “Everyone, this is Holly. She has the most phenomenal yoga class on Sunday mornings.”
“Hi!” Holly waves at us all. “And this is my cousin, Kennedy.”
Ashima freezes, but the thaw comes quickly as she swoops her arm into Kennedy’s. Then she directs him toward me. “I’m so glad you could join us, Kennedy. Come. Sit here.”
Holly follows them and plops down between Kennedy and Nick. Apparently, this isn’t how Ashima wanted everyone positioned and she frowns before sitting between Max and Nick.
The look of irritation on Ashima’s face is priceless, and I cover my mouth to keep from laughing. Plus, the seating has worked out well for me—I’m now sitting between two good-looking, eligible bachelors while Holly is safely away from Max. Yet the thing I’m most pleased about is that Max scooched closer to me when Holly and Kennedy arrived.
Ashima opens the basket and resumes going through it. “I made a dish from each of my grandmothers, both Southern ladies—one from the Southern US, and the other from Southern India.” Ashima places two containers on the blanket. “Deviled eggs and Vegetable Biryani.” The yellow of yolks popping from the center of the egg whites complement the yellow rice dish.
“You should have told me. I would’ve brought some Swedish meatballs.” Holly places a prepackaged tabbouleh salad with the assortment, adding a pop of green to the menu.
“Your dishes are so colorful,” I say as I crack open my store-bought hummus and pita. The sand-colored puree is a sad contribution to the collection. I don’t comment on whether the dish aligns with my ancestry, since I know nothing of my lineage or of hummus’s.
“I brought awesome-sauce.” Max points to himself. “And I brought hard seltzer, in case I make anyone thirsty.” He looks over at me.
“To make things a little more interesting.” Kennedy slaps down a carry-out container. “Nuclear hot wings.”
“Nuclear being the spice level?” I ask to avoid Max’s comment.
“The only way to have ’em.” He pops the top to reveal a mixture of wings and drummettes covered in a red-orange sauce.
“Do you dare?” Max asks me.
The trouble with being a flexitarian is that the wiggle room leaves open decisions. With three vegan food choices, there’s no excuse to partake in the eggs or wings, but everything smells delicious and I’d like to fully participate by sampling all the offerings. And how can I refuse the call of a dare? I cave and serve myself a little of everything.
I start with a drummette. One bite and I know I’m in trouble. The explosive heat of the wing is so overwhelming I can’t even taste the salty-cream flavor expected with a Buffalo sauce. I shove a spoonful of hummus into my mouth and let the coolness sit on my tongue.
“Good, right?” Kennedy nods at me.
Hummus cakes my mouth, so I bug my eyes for a response.
“They’re from my favorite place. It’s just around the corner from the fire station. If you’re ever up by Lake Lanier, you gotta go to Big Cluckers.”
Max rips a big bite off a wing, making a show of being unaffected. “Good choice.” He holds the wing up. “So, you’re a firefighter?”
“Volunteer. Insurance adjuster by day. After I got out of the service, I needed something more than a desk job.” Kennedy tears a chunk of meat off a wing and continues with sauce-covered lips. “I’m an adrenaline junky. Whole family is.”
“Burning buildings and Iron Man for Kennedy. Yoga and rock climbing for me.” Holly stretches her arms overhead. “I guess we’ve both found different ways to channel our energy.”
“Holly can do all these advanced yoga moves. It’s really impressive,” Ashima says.
“I’m not so into all that Sun Salutation stuff, but Holly taught me some of the cooler moves. Check this out.” Kennedy grabs his ankle and stretches his bent leg up toward his head, then loops it behind, so his ankle presses against the back of his neck.
The move is equally impressive and disturbing. His tan cloth shorts cut into the pale skin of his leg while the seam of his shorts dig into his genitals, smooshing them into lumpy oatmeal. With his leg jacked up, the comparison of a cat bathing suggests itself, and I’ll never be able to unimagine Kennedy licking himself. I also don’t need to be this up close and personal to any man I’ve just met.
“We’re eating. Nobody wants to see that,” Holly says.
Kennedy unwraps himself and says, “Then check this. I’ve been working on my handstand poses.” He stands up and shakes out his muscular limbs. After a few hops, he crouches then springs up, launching into the air as he tucks his legs to his chest to execute a perfect back flip, including landing squarely on both feet. “Just warming up.”
“That’s amazing,” Ashima says and I agree, though neither Max nor Nick seem impressed. I give Max’s leg a reassuring pat, but he rolls his eyes in response. His jealousy has me a bit tingly, so I leave my hand on his leg.
Kennedy’s performance continues as he plants his hands and kicks up into a handstand. His voice strains as he says, “And now a one-handed tree pose.” He shifts his weight over one arm and lifts the other toward the sky. His legs spread wide with a gracefulness that belies the strength required. Once finished, he stands and gives us a bow. Ashima and I are much more enthusiastic in our praise than anyone else. Okay, if nothing happens between Max and me, then this last stunt has redeemed the grossness of the leg stretch, moving Kennedy back into the viable sexual partner category.
“Not bad.” Nick runs his hands over his legs. “I can do a double back flip, but I wouldn’t want to show up Kennedy.”
Ashima puts a deviled egg on Nick’s plate. “You’re so funny. I’d be super surprised if you could even do a cartwheel. You can barely touch your toes.”
“Shh, they don’t know that.”
“When stretching, it’s really not important how far you can reach.” Holly crouches on her knees next to Nick. “It’s much more important to have good form. Put out your legs. Let me show you.”
“Yeah, let her show you.” Max smirks, grabbing another wing. He leans back as though readying himself for entertainment.
Nick pushes backward to make room for his legs on the blanket, then bends over with his arms extended, fingers stretching and pawing at the air, only to land above his ankles. “Ashima’s right. I can’t touch my toes.”
“That’s fine. Be where you are, not where you think you should be.” Holly presses a hand to his back. “When you’re bending over, make sure you hold in your stomach to protect your back and don’t collapse your spine.”
Then she places her other hand on his stomach, which seems a bit of an invasion of personal space. The way Ashima’s face squishes up confirms this. “Keep this straight to get the bend more from your hips,” Holly says.
Nick slaps his hands against his shins. “Now I’m even farther from my toes.”
“It’s not a competition. Relax for a moment, then stretch again and you’ll be able to reach lower.”
Her hands remain on him, though I’m not sure why since I thought he’s supposed to hold in his own abdominal muscles. The tips of his ears are pink and the intensity of Ashima’s stare is a bit too focused for spectating a leg stretch. But Nick persists and with the next reach, he’s back to his ankles.
“Good. Now once more. Relax.” Holly removes her hands. “And reach.”
This time, Nick touches his toes.
Everyone except Ashima claps.
“You should come to my yoga class,” Holly says to him.
“Ashima keeps trying to drag me, but I’m more of a runner.”
“All the more reason to come.” Holly returns to her spot, arranges into lotus position, and places her plate onto the perch of her twisted legs. “Keeping limber reduces the risk of injury. Kennedy and I have a couple of marathons planned for this year. We should all train together.”
“That could be fun.” Then he rubs his hand on Ashima’s knee. “And babe, let me know the next time you go to yoga. Maybe I’ll come along.”
“Sure.” Ashima’s voice is bright, but her eyes dart back and forth as though spelling out hell no . “And you should take Max with you.”
“I’ll go if Peyton’s going. Hand me a drink, Ashima.” Max points to the cooler with nonchalance, as though he hasn’t just said something so STIMPish. “My mouth is on fire.” His plate is covered with chicken bones, a piece of pita, and zero evidence of the other food.
“Carbs and dairy are both good for cutting the spice.” I tear a piece of my pita and dip it into the dressing that accompanied the wings.
“Good point. Fine, gimme a bite.” He wraps his hand around my wrist, looking at me suggestively as he directs the pita to his mouth. My mouth drops open, but I can’t help it. Even with another available, very handsy female, he is signaling a preference for me. My heart flutters while my head tells me to cut this all off.
I pucker my lips and whisper, “I’m on to you. You’re flirting with me to get out of the bet.”
“Not at all. I’m pretty mean with a mallet.”
“Is that so? You know it’s called a wicket, don’t you?”
“That’s what I meant. I’m wicked with a wicket.”
“I’m testing you and you just failed. The metal loops are wickets. The mallet is a mallet.” I tap my finger on my chin. “Have you ever played croquet before?”
“Har. Har. You may be able to talk the talk, but the more important thing is, can you walk the walk?”
“Oh, I’ll be strutting my stuff and you’ll be wishing you never made that bet.”
“Bet?” Kennedy points at us. “I want in.”
I hadn’t realized he was listening. With all his stretching and flipping and adrenaline, he’s a wild card I do not want to play against. But this is okay—I have an easy out. “Sorry, your head is basically already shaved. That’s the wager. Whoever loses the croquet match shaves their head.” I motion back and forth between Max and me. “And it’s just between us.”
“That’s pretty daring,” Holly gives me a thumbs-up. “I used to wear my hair in a close crop. Loved it. So easy.”
“Come on. I can do something else.” Kennedy cracks his knuckles. “I can streak through the park, jump over a moving car. Whatever. You name it.”
Ashima holds up her hands to him. “Hold up, this is a relaxing day at the park. I don’t want to end the day bailing Kennedy out of jail or taking him to the emergency room.”
“Sure. You’re in, Kennedy.” Max gives me a devilish smile. Can he see I’m panicking? “But to keep it fair, you have to do something with your looks.”
Holly snaps her fingers. “I know. Kennedy has to go to work with his entire head painted up like a Blue Man guy.” She pats her cheeks. “That’d be hilarious if I taught my yoga classes all blue. I’m in too.”
“That’s…um.” I point between them, stalling as I come up with an out. “Actually, you and Kennedy bet each other separately with the blue thing to keep it fair. Max and I are sticking to our original bet of shaving our heads.”
“I wouldn’t mind going short again. I’m in for the head shave. I accept your challenge, Peyton.” She air high-fives me without noticing that I leave her hanging. Did she not hear what I actually said?
Holly looks at Nick and shakes her shoulders. “Come on, Nick, are you in?”
Max brushes some pita crumbs off his shirt. “And Ashima, right? Come on, everyone should be in.”
Ashima looks as sickly as my hummus. The peer pressure is palpable. Holly is sitting a bit too close to Nick, pulling her pigtails up and twisting her head as though modeling. I can picture her with super-short hair, and honestly, she’d look cute. Meanwhile, Kennedy has formed a bullhorn with his hands and is shouting do it at Nick. Max joins in by clapping along to Kennedy’s chant.
“Sounds fun.” Poor Ashima rakes her fingers through the ends of her hair. It really is such pretty hair. Given the overwhelming amount of time she spent on it when we were roommates, I’d hazard that it’s her most prized attribute. I need to figure out a way to keep her from losing.
The bet is racing out of my control, so I try to rein it in. “Let’s play every person for themselves. And whoever finishes last has to shave their head, or in Kennedy’s case, paint himself blue.” The most important thing will be making sure Ashima isn’t last, which will be easy, because I’m willing to sacrifice myself if necessary.
The trickier thing is making sure Max is last, but this may be possible if Ashima and I gang up. I must focus my energies on messing up Max’s game.
“Too tame,” Holly looks at Nick. “Let’s spice it up more. Let’s raise the stakes—the last person and anyone hit by poison has to shave.”
Of course, Ashima had to invite croquet ringers to our picnic. I can’t believe Holly’s dropping lines like hit by poison . I picked croquet because it’s one of those games that most people have barely played.
And the bigger problem is that Holly’s suggestion makes things completely unmanageable since there will be multiple losers, making it nearly impossible to protect Ashima.
“I’m going to demolish everyone.” Kennedy jabs his finger toward Holly and Nick, then barks like a dog.
Max smiles at me and mimics the bark. “Whoo-yeah! Croquet! Let’s freaking do it!”
Max
The croquet game hasn’t even started, and it’s out of control. This is freaking hilarious! Holly’s swaying around as if she’s out clubbing, while Nick’s flapping his arms in some weird chicken dance. Kennedy’s barking like a dog. Ashima and Peyton look like they are going to shit themselves, which is a bit of a buzzkill, but they’ve earned this for trying to trick me.
Peyton opens up her croquet set and pulls out the wicket thingies. “I’ll set up a double diamond course.”
“That’s for wimps.” Kennedy takes the hoops. “Holly and I got this. We’ll make things a little more interesting.”
I’m all for more interesting. He grabs two colorful wooden stakes from the crate, slaps them in Holly’s waiting hand, and they leave to scope the field for the course. Peyton scrambles after them until Ashima sidelines her. Nick takes off to find a bathroom, so I’m left to hold down the blankets. I consider helping set the course, but Ashima and Peyton keep shooting me looks over their shoulders. This needs to be dealt with.
I’m not going down without a fight, even though I’m undecided on who I’d rather shave their head—me or Peyton. We’ve been hitting the texts hard, and it’s definitely making me feel competitive, but it also has me into her. She snuck up on me. I had no interest in dating, or STIMPing , anyone, but we’ve been hitting it off. And I don’t want to be an asshole and make her shave her head.
Everything about Peyton has been a head trip lately.
Luckily, since the game changed, neither of us has to shave our head. I have an out and I’m taking it, so I’m not sitting by while Ashima and Peyton make plans to gang up on me. I get another drink to move closer to them. As I edge over, no plotting is underway, but there’s plenty of blame being slung around.
“And how was I supposed to know you’d invited acrobats to join us?” Peyton hisses. “Did you swing by Cirque du Soleil to pick them up? Why settle for contortionists? Were the jugglers not available?”
“Do you need a juggler?” I ask as I join them. “Because I’m decent.”
“Go away, Max.” Ashima scowls at me.
“If you’re too scared to face me, that’s okay.” I pop the top on my drink and some of the fizz sprays me. “I won’t think much less of you for backing out.”
“Like it’s your opinion I’m worried about.” Ashima wipes her arm. I guess my drink got her too. “Did you see how Holly was touching Nick? And how cool he was with it?”
She holds her arms out wide and drops her voice down low in a bad Nick impersonation. “Sure, I’ll go to your class, Holly. I’ve never been interested in yoga in my entire life, but now that I’ve met you, I’m all over it.”
She switches to her regular voice. “I have to prove to Nick I’m as cool as Holly.” Then she kisses the ends of her curls. “I’m so sorry, my lovelies, that I’ve been forced to take this risk.”
“Give my brother some credit. Just because some woman was feeling him up doesn’t mean he’ll fall head over heels for her.”
“See, that’s what I’m talking about! She was all over him, wasn’t she? I absolutely have to play now.” Ashima pecks her hair again as if it’s her firstborn. She’s being ridiculous, but I feel bad for her.
Peyton turns her back to me. “We can do this, Ashima. I’ll help you. I’ll make sure you don’t come in last. You just have to stay away from anyone that’s poison.”
“What does that even mean?” Ashima whines.
“Do you know how there are two stakes on a croquet course?” Peyton points at Holly off in the distance, clutching the two stakes. “When someone completes the course, the last thing is to hit the end stake, but the player can choose to not and instead become poison. Then they can come back and take out other players. If you get hit by poison, you’re automatically out. Boom—shaved head.”
“Got it. Don’t hit a poison ball.”
“Well, no. It’s don’t let a poison ball hit you. Actually, it’s good if you hit a poison ball, because then they’re out. They’re the one shaving.”
“Oh, that’s good. This means no one is going to take the risk of becoming poison,” Ashima says.
Peyton shakes her head. “Did you see how giddy Holly and Kennedy were? They won’t hold back.”
Ashima shudders and takes a step closer. The way she’s huddling against Peyton, it’s like they are living a slasher film and have heard something in the bushes. I can’t resist the opportunity. I quickly grip each of their shoulders. “Don’t forget about me.” I give a sinister laugh.
Peyton shrugs me away. “Remember Ashima—make sure no one poison hits you.” She shakes a finger at me. “Focus on that and I’ll make sure you’re not last, even if it means I have to be.”
“I can’t ask you to do that!” Ashima says.
She takes a deep breath and stares right into Ashima’s eyes. “I don’t care. It’s summer. It’s a good time to try out a short cut, and by the time fall comes, I’ll have a couple of inches.”
Ashima throws her arms around Peyton, and I gotta admit it’s pretty awesome of Peyton to look out for Ashima like that. It almost makes me want to take it easy on them. Almost.
Shortly after Nick returns, Holly and Kennedy announce they’ve finished setting up the course and wave us to the starting stick. Three of the hoops have been placed a reasonable distance from one another. I’m pretty sure I can clear them with one turn.
Kennedy points to them. “We start out easy.”
“The wickets are all over the place. How are we supposed to play this?” Peyton asks.
Holly and Kennedy give each other a funny look. Holly says, “Our version’s a little looser. We laid the hoops out in a meandering path, so follow them to the end stake over there.” She points to a stake off in the distance.
Peyton throws up her hands. “How is this even croquet? Have all the rules changed? Do you still get an extra hit for going through a wicket and two for bumping someone? Or is this somehow different?”
“Nah, that’s all the same. It’s not a big deal, we just like to be creative with our courses.” Kennedy points to the first three wickets. “Like here, if you can get through all three wickets with one shot, you get three extra shots.”
“Well, that’s actually a change.” Peyton snaps up a mallet. “There’s supposed to be a max of two extra shots earned per turn.”
The protective side of me wants to tell Kennedy to back off, to let Peyton tell us the official rules, but I keep quiet because the changes probably make the game more even between me and her by taking her outside of her comfort zone. She has a monogrammed croquet set. I’ll admit that I’m worried.
“I like Kennedy’s rules better. The course, the extra shots, these get to raw skill.” I move in front of Peyton. “Unless you don’t think you can handle it. We can always call off the bet.”
“Oh, I can handle it.” She smacks her mallet head into her hand.
“Me too. I can totally handle it,” Holly says, all sexy-like while grabbing her own mallet. She strokes the handle while looking at Nick. Wow, no missing that.
Ashima throws her hands up and looks like she’s about to go off, but pulls it together and says in a sugary-sweet voice, “Ladies, can we talk for a moment?”
Nick and Kennedy take the hint and meander through the course, but I follow Peyton.
“Not you, Max.” Ashima shoos at me. “Why are you always around?”
“I’m not letting you plot against me,” I say.
“We’re not.” She loud whispers at me, “Go away.”
“Like I can trust you.” I plant my stance wide. I’m not letting them recruit Holly to go after me. “Not moving.”
“Fine. If you insist on staying, then don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Ashima turns from me. “Holly, why aren’t you talking to Max more?”
“Is there something we’re supposed to be talking about?” Holly gives me a puzzled look. I shrug because I don’t know what Ashima’s talking about either.
“You said you were interested in meeting more single men.” Ashima slaps my shoulder. “And here’s Max, the single man I wanted you to meet.”
“He is?” She looks between Peyton and me. “I thought Nick was the single one.”
“No, Nick’s my boyfriend.” Ashima points to herself.
“Oh… Oh! I assumed Nick was the single brother because Max and Peyton seem like a couple.”
“What!” Ashima runs her hands down the side of her face. “I’m so screwed. Nick and I don’t even seem like a couple?”
Peyton and I are both standing there looking stupid. She snaps out of it and grabs Ashima’s hand. “You and Nick are an awesome together. You were busy unpacking, so you weren’t sitting with Nick when Holly came.”
“That’s true.” Holly nods. Then she points at me. “Plus Max and Peyton were looking all, you know, lovey-dovey at each other.”
“Don’t be silly,” Ashima says. “They’re friends.” Then she mops at her forehead, looking as awkward as I’m feeling. Everyone’s silent.
Lesson learned—I do not want to be part of lady talks.
But I should say something. Things aren’t really clear between Peyton and me, but the moment is calling for me to make a move. I could say things are evolving between us. Or maybe I should take her hand.
“Right. Friends,” Peyton says, her gaze darting all over the place, but avoiding looking straight on at me. “Max and I are only friends. He’s single and available.”
Ouch! Never mind. I guess it’s clear that I was wrong about there being something between us.
I take a step back. “Well, friends , I guess we should get back to playing.” I clap my hands together. “Holly, walk us through the course.”
“Okay, sure.” Holly gives me a sad look as she passes, but I keep my expression flat.
We follow her to a small grouping of trees, and she points at the next set of hoops. “Right, so this is where things get a little more interesting. We’re calling this the haunted woods.”
No one says anything as we move to where they placed three more wickets inside the cluster of oak trees along the edge of the hill. Peyton tries to catch my eye, but I refuse to look her way. The grass in the shady area is thin, showing the pebbly soil beneath. Tree roots sprawl along the surface, adding to the bumpiness of the terrain.
Holly skips ahead of us. “But the trickiest section is along the Edge of Doom.” A single wicket sits on the farthest edge of the trees. The area around it has a slight slope. Overhit and the ball will roll to a steeper decline and end up at the bottom.
“And we end in the Land of Lumps.” She waves her hand over to where the final two wickets and the end stake are in a bumpy section of grass.
Nick and Kennedy join us. Kennedy runs his hand over the top of his buzz-cut hair. “And my goal is to make you all look as good as me.” He points at each and every one of us, as if he could single-handedly take us all out. After Peyton’s comment, my goodwill has disappeared. Bring it, Kennedy. I’m happy to have the competition.
With that, we start the game, and everyone picks a mallet. Apparently, mallet color determines order, so Nick goes first and I’m last. But I view this as an advantage, because I can come in from behind and create Maxim havoc.
Nick clears the first loop, which earns him a second turn, but on the next hit, he’s snarled by a clump of weeds and misses the wicket.
“Oh, so close.” Kennedy clucks his tongue. “And you’re going to need one turn to get lined back up.”
“Okay, cuz.” Holly points her mallet at Kennedy. “Let’s see what you can do.”
“Gladly. Watch and learn.” Kennedy walks up and down the row several times, then takes several practice swings.
“Nervous, cuz? Afraid you’re going to lose to me again?”
He ignores Holly’s jeer and takes several practice swings.
“He’s so nervous he’s sweating.” Nick points at the side of Kennedy’s head. There’s a bead of sweat running along his cheek, but I’m a sweaty mess too. The day is hot as balls.
Shit, Kennedy is intense. He doesn’t say a single word and launches through the first and second loops, landing shy of the third. If Peyton wasn’t sweating before, then she is now.
“That’s two bonus shots.” He pumps his mallet up in the air as he struts to his ball and sends it sailing through the next hoop. “And another. Still at two shots.” The next two shots line him up to tackle the oak trees.
Holly and Peyton also clear the first three hoops, though neither cover as much distance as Kennedy. Ashima taps away at her ball, barely making it through the first two hoops and landing short on the third. I’m last and I aim my first bonus shot to hit Nick. My ball comes to a rest against his.
“I forget how to do this. I put my foot on my ball and then hit it, right?” I ask.
Kennedy rushes over, rubbing his hands together. “Exactly, and give it a good hit.”
My mallet makes a solid thwack as it strikes my ball, followed by the crack of the balls striking together, sending Nick’s ball rolling off to the side, back toward the starting stake.
“Gee, thanks, bro. Like I wasn’t already last.”
“Made you easy pickings. And I get another shot.” I make it through the second hoop, then I line up for Ashima.
“If you keep wasting your time hitting other people, you’ll never catch up with me.” Peyton points to her ball. “You’re in a good position to go through.”
“Good point, friend ,” I say a bit too bitterly. “Or maybe I should bump you instead?”
“If you can catch up.” She blows off the edge to my response with a flirtatious shoulder lift, but quickly looks away. Things are extra awkward now.
I put some extra oomph into my hit and my ball flies through the wicket, ending within easy striking distance of Peyton. Next hit, I bump right into her.
“Have to make sure I take you out now… friend .” I scout out the most difficult spot I can place her. There’s an oak tree by itself. “That tree looks like a good spot.”
Her ball hops along the ground, skipping over the roots, rocks, and branches to stop on the backside of the oak, putting it directly in her way. Afterward, Peyton pulls me to the side. “Are you mad at me?”
“Nah. We’re friends. Right?”
“Remember the fundraiser—you made a big point about us being friends, not BFBs.”
“Okay, but haven’t we moved past that point?”
“I don’t know, but I do know you’re not my STIMP.”
Ugh, that stupid acronym again. “Well, thank God for that.” My response came out too fast for me to second-guess it.
“And you’re giving me a hard time?” She crosses her arms as she walks away.
Great. Everything about this game sucks. On the next few rounds, everyone laughs and jokes except Peyton and me. All the fun banter of our texts is long gone.
And it turns out Kennedy is a croquet machine. He increases his lead as he plows over anything in his path, not bothering with knocking any opponents back. I suspect his focus is on becoming poison and causing as much chaos as possible.
At the Edge of Doom, Ashima takes a hesitant shot, lining herself up to go through on her next turn. If she had hit harder, she could’ve made it through the wicket, but she’d have run the risk that her ball would continue rolling right down the hill.
And this leaves her open for me to take her out. This is tempting—frankly, she’s earned it with her meddling—but also too cruel. So instead I’ll seize the opportunity for some combo action to catch up to Kennedy. This is probably my last opportunity to catch him. If I glance the side of Ashima’s ball before going through the hoop, I’ll get two hits from the tap plus the hit from clearing another wicked wicket.
To look extra professional, I practice my swing the way Peyton does with the mallet between the legs.
“What’re you doing, Max?” Ashima asks.
“Don’t worry, I won’t take you out.”
She steps closer. “Seriously, don’t do whatever you’re thinking of doing.”
“O ye of little faith.” My ball rolls forward, on a perfect trajectory to brush the side of hers, but it bounces over a small rock, which lines it up for a direct hit. My ball smacks into Ashima’s head-on, and comes to a stop, while hers rolls forward, curving downward as gravity pulls it over the edge. Ashima chases after it, screaming no.
“Ah shit!” I throw down my mallet.
“That was so unnecessary! I can’t believe you did that!” Peyton drops her own mallet and rushes down the hill.
“Wow, you’re taking no prisoners.” Holly frowns at me.
“Come on, like you wouldn’t have done that.” Kennedy puts his mallet behind his arms and stretches his back.
“To you, of course, but not Ashima. It’s pretty obvious she’s the only one stressing about losing.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose. I meant to bump her for the extra hits,” I say. “I should probably go down there.”
Kennedy yells out behind me, “Dead man walking.”
At the bottom of the hill, I find a red-eyed Ashima pressing her palms to her cheeks as she stares up the hill. “You’re the worst, Max. There’s no way I can make it back up this hill. Why do you hate me so much?”
“I wasn’t trying to knock you down the hill. I was trying to side bump you to get the two free shots.”
She picks up her mallet and swings at the ball, sending it bouncing upward, but then it rolls back down. “This is impossible. And even if by some miracle the ball were to stop halfway up, it wouldn’t matter. I’ll be too far behind everyone else.”
The slope looms over us. Nearby people are doing wind sprints up and down its face, but even they’re tiring, the steep incline winning out over all. Ashima pulls at the ends of her hair. “I have to shave my head! I’ve never ever in my entire life been bald! Even as a newborn, I had a thick head of hair.” Her face turns splotchy, and tears roll down her face. “You win, Max. You’ve been trying to tear Nick and me apart, and now you’ve won. Are you happy?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Whatever, Max. You hate me.” Then Ashima looks at Nick. “And once you see me with a bald head, you will too.”
I toss my mallet to the side, fed up with the bullshit of this stupid game. “I don’t hate you.” There’s no way she believes that. Sure, I give her a hard time, but she gives me crap too.
Nick takes her hands in his. “I don’t care about your hair. I’ll love you no matter what.” He wipes the tears from her cheeks. “And you don’t have to shave your head. It’s only a game.”
“Like you’d want to be with someone who’s a big wuss.” She rubs her nose with the back of her hand. “See, this is why Max has won. If I shave my head, you’ll think I’m ugly. If I don’t, you’ll think I’m a loser. Either way, I’m screwed and you’ll leave me.”
“That’s not what I want,” I yell out, though no one’s listening to me.
“I don’t care what you do. I support whatever you decide.” He crushes her against him and rubs her back. “And I’ll never think you’re ugly. If you don’t want to shave your head, then don’t. I won’t think less of you for it. This is just a silly bet.”
I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, Ashima. I don’t hate you. And I’m definitely not trying to ruin things between you and Nick.”
Ashima snuggles into Nick’s side. Peyton goes beside Ashima and rubs her shoulder.
Nick shakes his head at me. “Sorry doesn’t fix this, Max. This is so like you. I don’t know how you always make so much trouble.”
“Hey! It was an accident,” I insist.
Nick steps away from Ashima and starts toward me, like he wants to take a swing. If he wants to fight, then bring it. I’m so sick of them treating me like I’m a screwup.
“Whoa, hold on everybody. We’re all getting a bit too worked up over nothing.” Peyton stands between Nick and me with her arms spread wide. “We never said what the boundaries are, but down here definitely seems out of bounds.”
Ashima adjusts her headband. “And?”
“You have to move the ball back in bounds. One mallet head from the boundary line at the point where it went out, to be exact.”
“So, back at the top of the hill! See, nothing to worry about.” Nick picks up Ashima and spins her around.
I’m jittery, so I take a deep breath. Okay, this is good news. Who knew the rules could get me out of hot water? I pick up Ashima’s ball and hand it to her. “Gotta move it back in bounds.”
“Yes, I do.” She snatches it from me and hurries up the hill with Nick following behind. I’m left floored that Ashima thinks I’d want to ruin things for her.
While I stand there, Peyton frowns at me. I grab her hand, so she’ll stay. After sinking so low, I no longer care about her stupid friend comment. “Hey, thanks for saving me back there.”
“I was saving Ashima.” She pulls her hand free and jabs a finger into my chest. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“I swear I wasn’t trying to knock her down the hill.”
Peyton squints at me like she’s trying to scare me. It takes all my willpower not to laugh. Really, this game is getting to be too much. She bites out, “Doesn’t matter. Changes nothing. I came to win.” She has on serious game face and it’s intimidating.
“Cut me some slack! I like Ashima. I’m not trying to ruin her life.” I go over and pick up my mallet. “It was an accident.”
“Max, this is like when a bully takes a baby’s toys to tease the baby and then whoops —the bully breaks it. Everybody’s ticked because the bully was inconsiderate to take the toy in the first place. The accident wouldn’t have happened if you would’ve been considerate. You know Ashima is freaking out about this game.”
She huffs up the hill, and I follow behind, slowly eating my crow. Great, I’m the inconsiderate, jerk bully.
When we get to the top, Rambo Kennedy looks a bit disappointed and Ashima is swinging her mallet over the newly defined boundary line.
“I caved on boundaries,” he says. “But I’m not holding back on poison.”
He points his mallet at me. “Better watch out there, killer.”
And for the rest of the game, this seems to be everyone’s general mood—time to gang up on Max for his stupid mistake. Maybe I deserve it, but I won’t lie down for them. On my next turn, I pound my ball and it hurtles to within a couple of feet of Kennedy’s. Finally, I’ve caught up with the machine. But at his turn I realize my mistake. He hits his ball through the last wicket, turns around, and whacks his now poisonous ball right into mine.
Ashima lets out a hoot and does a little dance around me. Everyone else cheers her on. Payback sucks.
I hang my head. “Goodbye, my friend.” I rub my hand over my beard. “You kept my face warm and my shirts clean of crumbs.”
“The face warm part may be true, but the clean shirt part, not so much,” Ashima jokes, but I can’t look at her. This hurts. I hate losing and I’m bummed about my hair.
“Kennedy, if I hit you, you’ll lose. Wouldn’t you rather hit the stake and not take the chance?” Peyton asks.
“That sounds like a challenge to croquet chicken.”
“Bok. Bok.” Peyton slaps her mallet head.
“Oh, you’re going down.”
“Not if I hit you first. And it’s my turn.” She gives her ball a mighty thump, but Bumpy Town slows its progress. Ashima and Nick rush around the ball, calling out to it to roll a little farther when it slows and looks like she’s going to come up short. It ends with a light tap and, just like that, Kennedy is out. He takes the loss like a champ and shakes her hand.
The game wraps up with Holly becoming poison and exacting family revenge by promptly killing Peyton. Holly then uses her two bonus shots to go after Nick, but comes up short, leaving Nick an easy shot to take her out. Then it’s Nick and Ashima left and being a smart man, he plays awful and Ashima wins.
When her ball taps the final stake, I expect her to erupt into squeals and hollers, but instead her lip quivers as though she’s going to cry again.
“You won!” Nick grabs her hand and thrusts it into the air. “Promise you won’t dump me when I shave my head.”
She laughs and pushes his hair flat against his scalp. “You’ll look good.”
They get all lovey-dovey and everyone one looks nauseated as they turn away. Peyton skulks alone in the trees, dodging under branches to wrestle free the wickets. As we pack up the equipment, I toss her my ball. “Looks like you and Ashima won. I have to get rid of the hair and beard you hate so much.”
“I don’t hate it. Actually, I like it, but I’m much more concerned about having to shave my head.” She lets out a big sigh.
I clap her on the back. “Sucks to be you,” I tease her.
“That it does.”
“Hey, I don’t expect you to shave your head,” I say.
“Oh, I’m doing it.”
“Look, I get it. It’s true. This is a bigger deal for you. I’ll still keep up my end of the bargain, but you don’t have to.”
“A promise is a promise. I’m doing this.” She lugs her croquet set up. “Do you have clippers?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Let’s get this over with.”