I grab my car keys, the red rose wrist corsage, and head out to the garage. From the corner of my eye, I see Dad sitting behind his desk in his office. We haven’t talked since that day in my bedroom and I guess today won’t be the day either of us breaks our silence.
As I open the door to my Jeep, I hear the squeak of his chair and footsteps against the cement floor. Dad walks to his tool bench and sifts through the boxes of bolts and nuts. “Your mom told me you signed a National Letter of Intent to play for the University of Louisville.”
My muscles tense in preparation for a fight.
The letter required a parent to sign with me and I asked Mom for help. “Yes, sir.”
“She said that you’re planning on playing with the team for a year, then reassessing whether or not you’re ready to go pro.”
Feeling naked without my cap, I rub the back of my head. I could go the easy route and give him a simple yes, but I’m done saying or doing whatever it takes to appease him. “At the end of my freshman year, I’ll decide if I’m HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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good enough to go pro. I’m also going to major in creative writing. I love writing and baseball and I want to give them both a shot.”
Dad slides a drawer full of nails closed and nods his head. “Did you get her a corsage?
Girls like flowers.”
I hold the clear box in my hand. “Yeah,” I say, and lift it up so he can see. “You taught me that.”
HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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Beth
SCOTT AND ALLISON’S BEDROOM is too gaudy
for my taste. The curtains are blue silk and frilly things like flowers and paintings of flowers decorate every available space. The bed is beyond massive. Scott and Allison don’t have to go to separate rooms if they fight; they can roll over a couple times and be in different zip codes.
I sit on the overly cushioned chair in front of Allison’s vanity and watch as she pins the hair onto my head. I hate the updo, but I can’t complain. An hour ago, she dyed six stripes of temporary black color in my hair. Now my hair is an inch and a half of golden-blond at the roots, black flows over my shoulders, and black stripes even it out. “Scott is going to be pissed.”
“Yes,” she says. “He is, but I’ll deal with HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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that.”
My lips curve and when Allison catches it in the mirror she smiles too. We’ve had an uneasy truce since I came home from the hospital and sometimes I’m scared I’m going to say the wrong thing and send her over the edge. “Why are you being nice to me?”
Allison lifts the curling iron again and
shoots me a glare when I fidget. She twists a few strands that refuse to be a part of her plan.
“Because Scott loves you.”
He loved me before, but that didn’t keep her from hating every cell in my body. Not like I helped. “I’m sorry I accused you of trapping him.”
The curling rod pulls at the roots of my hair and I bite my lip. She releases the hair and little ringlets dance on the back of my neck.
Okay, I deserve the pulling—and the ringlets.
Maybe now we’ll be even.
Allison sets the iron back on her vanity. “I’m sorry…well, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you here.”
I blink. That was blunt, yet honest.
“Scott told me about his past, but it was easy to pretend it was a story until you came into the picture. I prefer life clean and simple. You HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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made Scott complicated.”
“Scott was always complicated.”
Allison spritzes hair spray on me. “I know that now.”
Scott clears his throat and both Allison and I turn to see him entering the room. I stand and Scott grins when he sees me in the black strapless dress with a skirt that ends at the knees. He frowns again when he sees my hair.
“I did it,” says Allison without a hint of guilt.
Scott’s eyes widen. “You did that?”
“You told her last weekend she could wear those God-awful shoes with her dress and I told you that you’d regret it.”
I fidget in my official Chuck Taylors. “I’m wearing panty hose.” That was a major concession on my part.
“You should put on a sweater,” Scott says.
“She’s not wearing a sweater.” Allison swats at him. “That would look wretched.”
“I don’t care how she looks. I care how
much skin is showing.”
Allison leans forward and Scott kisses her lips. I glance away. They do this more since I came home from the hospital. Not just kissing, HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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but kissing like they mean it. Kissing
because they truly love each other. She steps out of the room and Scott shoves his hands in his pockets.
I resist the urge to scratch my healing
temple. “She covered the cut with the
makeup.”
“I noticed.” He gestures to my left hand.
“How’s it feeling?”
I shrug. “Fine.” The black cast is temporary.
Trent shattered lots of the bones in my hand, wrist, and arm. I’ll have to have another surgery in two weeks. My nondamaged fingers drum against my leg. I thought I could go without asking, but I can’t. “How did Mom’s court appearance go?”
Mom and Trent had preliminary hearings
yesterday. I told Scott that I didn’t want to know what happened, but the curiosity is eating me alive.