catches up. âWhat are you doing, sister?â His ever-present smile is a scowl when he looks at Chaz. There is some serious backstory here.
Mary Carlson puts her hand up on her brotherâs shoulder. âJust talking about the game. Nothing more.â
âHate football,â he mutters and turns red in the face.
Chaz clocks him on the shoulder. âAh, B.T.B., you still sore about that tryout? That was in middle school. We didnât mean nothing by it.â
âDonât care about football. Donât like your words.â
Chaz lifts his hands. âWhatever, man. Listen.â He drops his arm over Mary Carlsonâs shoulder. âI like your sister. I want us to be friends. I need you to let that old mistake go.â
B.T.B. shakes his head in tight little movements. I take his hand to try to help him calm down. I donât know what these guys did to him, but I hate them for it already.
Mary Carlson deftly maneuvers out from under Chazâs arm. âBarnum. You know what Pastor Hank says about forgiveness. And look.â She smiles at Chaz and my heart plummets, because I swear itâs the same you and me against the world, babe smile sheâs flashed at me. âChaz and I are friends now.â
Chaz gloats, then gives Mary Carlson a head-to-toe checking-out. âNo, man. Your sis here grew up. I have, too.â He calls to the guy holding Jessicaâs hand. âRight? Bully no more.â
âYeah, man, youâre the heart and soul of political correctness and charity.â Jessicaâs football player laughs as he answers.
Chaz holds up his hand for a high five with B.T.B. âSee, man? Iâm cool.â
B.T.B. leaves him hanging.
I lean in and whisper, âBuddy, I know youâre like your elephants with that memory and all, but your sister is right. People can change.â If Iâm going to be my fatherâs daughter, then I have to be the bigger girl even when I donât want to be.
âStill donât like Chaz.â
âCome on.â I tug him away from the girls and the football players. âYou get to ride in my car and give me directions.â One look back and my gut clinches.
Chaz has stopped Mary Carlson, a hand on each of her shoulders, his handsome face staring down at her. They are the all-American couple crowned for every high school event. Sure, itâs easy when Iâm hanging out with Dana and all the out kids in Atlanta to pretend like there might be two prom queens or two prom kings at any high school across America. But this image is the cold, hard reality.
A kick of fear reverberates up my rib cage. Fuck. I canât keep doing this. What was I thinking saying yes to an overnight with a bunch of youth group kids? I canât pretend to be something Iâm not. Even if Iâm not pretending, omitting is damn close to a full-blown lie. I canât believe I agreed to this. I canât believe Dad asked. I canât believe fucking Three and her uptight homophobic mother. Thereâs no way Iâll be able to keep pulling this off.
âAre you coming, Jo . . . anna?â B.T.B. is smiling again and waiting for me to unlock my car doors.
I take a deep breath. Ten months, only ten months, and then Iâll surround myself with people who accept me. None of this fear or uncertainty. Even as I think it, I know itâs bullshit. But at least it wonât be high school.
At the game, itâs just us girls again. Gemma holds to her word and has her cell phone snapping pic after pic after pic, and when I look at the screen that she passes down therow, I canât even. Other than the fact Iâm the only one with short hair, itâs your prototypical five-girl selfie.
âYou want to go with me to get something to drink?â Mary Carlson asks.
I look behind me, thinking sheâs talking to one of the other girls.
She laughs. âYes, you.â She grabs my hand.
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