Mom stands up and stalks out, slamming her bedroom door. I return the favor as I exit through the front.
But then I stand there, stranded on the porch. I don’t actually have any money to leave with at the moment. And who am I going to call? Matt, who I chewed out a few hours ago? Andrew, who hates my guts? I decide to walk to Asha’s, but I’m only a house away when a horn honks.
I turn around. Andrew’s in my driveway. He gets out of the car and rushes over, slowing when he takes in my expression. “Raych…” he starts, and that’s all it takes for me to burst into tears. “Hey,” he says, pulling me to his chest. “Hey.”
“I’m sorry,” I sob, grabbing his shirt.
“I know.” He tugs me toward the car. “Me too. Come on, let’s go home.”
*
After a short explanation, Mrs. R. takes me to the guest room, telling both boys to let me sleep. They follow her advice, and so do I. In the morning, she comes in quietly. “Hungry?” she asks, balancing a tray heaped with food.
The smell makes me push the blanket off my face. “Is that bacon?”
She nods. “And hash browns, eggs, fruit, and coffee.”
“Wow, thanks.” I sit up, trying to do something with my hair.
“Don’t thank me,” she says. “I’m just the waitstaff.”
“Still…” I don’t remember the last time I had breakfast in bed. My birthday, probably, a few years ago—Mom made waffles and … and last night comes roaring back.
Mrs. R. watches and adopts a false smile. “Here.” She pulls the legs of the tray down and sets it over my lap. Only the Richardsons would have a special tray for breakfast in bed.
“Thanks,” I say again, and start on the bacon as she circles the bed. She sits carefully beside me, not speaking until I finish. It’s kind of hard to eat with her watching.
“So you want to talk about it?” She picks up the tray and puts it on the dresser.
No. I don’t want to talk about anything. Ever. “I’d rather brush my teeth.”
“Fair enough.” But I’m not off the hook yet. “Honey, have you told your mother what happened?”
I shake my head. She sighs, and I’m about to tell her Carson started the fight yesterday, not Andrew or Matt, but she speaks first. “Look, you know I love you like a daughter. It’s unacceptable for her to slap you and I won’t defend that. But you have to talk to her. Nothing’s going to change if you don’t communicate.”
I nod, not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself. Mom and I can communicate all day long, but there are some things that no amount of talking can change.
MATT
Raychel doesn’t venture out of the guest room until late morning. I try to intercept her before she goes downstairs, but she picks the one minute I’m in the bathroom to leave, and judging by her expression when I catch up to her in the kitchen, it was probably on purpose. Before I can ask her about last night or anything else, my dad is pulling a stool up to the bar. “What are you kids doing with your day off?” he asks.
Andrew belches from the playroom and it sounds like he says “pooool,” but it’s hard to tell. “I thought we were grounded,” I say.
Dad studies me. “I thought spending the day with your old man might be a good punishment.”
“Old?” Raychel repeats, perking up. “Who’s old?”
“Suck-up!” Andrew shouts, coming into the room. “I dunno, old man. Depends on what you’re offering.”
Dad pulls out his wallet and peeks inside. “Well, I’m on call, but I still have two free passes to the mini-golf course at Speedway Station, since I am such a master—”
“What?” Raychel squawks. “I totally beat you!”
He holds up the passes. “But I got a hole in one.”
“So did I!” She jumps for one of the passes.
He lets her have it. “Looks like you boys are paying your own way,” he says, grinning.
RAYCHEL
It’s pretty obvious that Dr. R. is just doing this to cheer me up, but both Matt and Andrew play along without complaint. I’m grateful for the reprieve. Dr. R. gets us a zillion tokens. Andrew drags us to the go-carts and demands to race me, but it turns out what he really wants is to talk while Matt and Dr. R. take their turn. “So hey,” he says. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I was so wrapped up in my own drama that we didn’t even discuss why he showed up at my house. “Thanks for, you know. Taking care of me last night.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s the least I could do. Jesus, Raych, I just— About the party. I didn’t know.”
This is not the reprieve I was hoping for. I start to say “It’s okay” or “I should have told you,” but instead I find myself saying, “I wish you had asked.”
“I should have.” He leans against the railing. “I was … My feelings were hurt. I thought you and I…”
I blow a piece of hair out of my eyes. “I mean, I get it. We never really got clear on, like … what we were.”
The final bell rings. We look at the track and see Matt watching us. Dr. R. takes advantage and passes him at the last minute. Andrew grins, at them and then at me. “Well, let’s get clear,” he says, pulling me toward the gate.
I drag my feet. “Right now?”
He laughs. “Tonight,” he says, and gets in his go-cart. “Let’s talk after dinner.” He revs his engine, like he can’t wait.
MATT
After racing, Raychel insists that we have a skeeball tournament. The volume in the building is right at “dull roar,” which makes any conversation that’s not trash talk impossible. She throws the wooden balls viciously, staring down the rings like they’ve burned and pillaged her village or something, but every time the light on her lane goes off, she breaks into an enormous smile.
So I can’t be too annoyed at my dad for stealing our whole day. But I’m plenty annoyed with Andrew, who’s basically monopolizing her time now that they’re friends again.
When we’re out of tokens, she turns to me with that smile and tears off my strip of tickets. “Mine’s way longer,” she says gleefully.
“Not as long as mine.” Andrew lets his strip unravel to his feet.
Dad clears his throat. “Tee time, kids.”
*
On the way out to the golf course, we stop at the photo booth and cram inside. “Take a serious one for your mother!” Dad says from outside the curtain.
“Okay,” Raych says. But all the photos end up ridiculous.
On the golf course, there are a lot of jokes about balls and holes. Dad pretends like he’s not listening, then like he’s not with us, and then like he’s showering under the fountain shaped like an elephant. When we reach the Hippo Hole, which causes more snickering, Dad and Andrew are both through in two shots, but I purposely miss a few times. “Go on,” I say, waving them away. “We’ll catch up.”
Raych stands behind me, waiting. “Don’t miss,” she says right as I swing.
“I have a club.”
“That you don’t know how to use.”