“Seriously?” The thought burns like bile in the back of my throat. There’s no way he likes her. Right?
Laurel looks at me, then glances at Scooby. “Oh my God, remember, Sutton? Scooby-Dooby-Doo!” She says it in Scooby’s goofy voice, shaking her head from side to side. “A couple of years ago? You tried to win him, too!”
I turn brusquely away from her. “No, I didn’t.” Did she have to say it so loudly? I hate when my little sister brings up dorky stuff from my past. Okay, okay, yeah, I used to really, really like Scooby-Doo. When Laurel and I were younger—when we were actually friends—I once played Skee-Ball just like Thayer is doing now, determined to get Scooby for myself. I didn’t get remotely close, though.
I take a big step away from Laurel, indicating I want her to drop it, now. Madeline is shaking her head as Thayer pumps his fist in a dorky victory gesture. “My brother seriously needs to get over himself,” she snaps.
Suddenly, Thayer looks at me. My eyes narrow into slits, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The corners of his mouth spread into a huge, gorgeous grin. And then he winks.
A rush of something goes through me, but I turn away, pretending to fume. “Yes,” I say to Madeline. “He definitely does.”
4
FLEAS AND THANK YOU?
An hour or so later, Madeline, Charlotte, Garrett, and I sit at a picnic table outside the soft pretzel stand, where we’re devouring warm pretzels dusted in cinnamon, sugar, and butter. Some things are totally worth the calories. The smoky tang of barbecue fills the air, and crickets chirp a peaceful rhythm. A toddler wobbles past us clutching a Mylar balloon. Just as I wonder who he belongs to, a tired-looking woman with a weary smile jogs briskly after him, an overstuffed canvas tote banging against her hip as she passes. The air is cool and dry against my skin, and even though crowds around us thrum with energy, I feel relaxed and happy. I bite greedily into my pretzel, washing it down with a tart, icy lemonade.
Char presses her side to Garrett’s and lets out a happy sigh. They’re sharing an ice-cream sundae loaded with hot fudge and whipped cream. Char doesn’t need the calories and she knows it, but like I said—she eats when she’s happy. I consider pointing it out, but then realize it would be too cruel to do it in front of her boyfriend, even for me.
Garrett suddenly leans across the table, eyeing my pretzel. “Can I have a bite?”
I nod, taking another swallow of lemonade. “Go for it.”
He reaches for the pretzel. As he does, his hand grazes my own.
I stiffen slightly. Was that … intentional? Something about Garrett’s fleeting touch felt a little … flirty.
A Mama Bear feeling flares up inside me … alongside a small, smug flicker of satisfaction. I’m not proud of it, but it’s there. Maybe it has to do with being given up for adoption when I was little, but it’s nice to be wanted.
The protective feeling wins out, and I glance at Charlotte, but she’s engrossed in an anecdote of Madeline’s about finding a girl from her ballet class puking behind a port-a-potty earlier. As for Garrett, he’s licking his fingers and peering at something on his phone.
I turn to Madeline, who is finishing her story. “I guess that’s what happens when the only thing you’ve ‘eaten’ all day is an extra-large Diet Coke, spiked!” she cackles, her bun bobbing up and down on top of her head as she laughs. “That bitch has the sloppiest battement in the studio.” She slurps noisily at her own lemonade for good measure.
I lean forward to chime in when, from across the table, Charlotte’s eyes widen at something over my shoulder. “Um, hello there, Scooby-Doo!” Her voice is tinged with surprise.
I twist around on the bench to find my sister with Thayer, giant Scooby in tow. Laurel gazes at him, giggling as he adjusts the massive stuffed animal against his hip.
I bite back a smile. There’s something absurd about seeing strong, built Thayer grappling with a plush cartoon dog that’s practically as big as he is. And I’m totally jealous Thayer won him. That dog was supposed to be mine.
“I guess you weren’t kidding about wanting to win that thing,” Madeline says, toying with her straw.
“Well, I can be pretty determined when I want something,” he says, shrugging.
Underneath the table, Mads pokes me. Get a load of him.
All three of them—Thayer, Laurel, and Scooby—plop down at the end of the table. “Nisha was bummed you didn’t give the Scooby to her, you know,” Laurel says to Thayer, shaking her head. “She was all over you the whole time you were playing.”
Thayer’s face splits open into an easy, cocky grin. “Yeah, well. Can you blame her?”
I roll my eyes at Madeline.
“So who are you going to give it to, dude?” Garrett asks.
There’s a long pause. Thayer laces his hands atop Scooby’s big head. “I guess I sort of have my pick, huh?”