Read Online If You Lived Here, You'd Be Home Now by Claire LaZebnik - Free Book Online

conversationalist.
    “Plus,” she said, “I wore these stupid shoes. I don’t know what I was thinking, spike heels on grass? But I was rushing and
     trying to get the kids ready and”—she raised her foot and looked ruefully down at it—“I’ve destroyed them. And I sink like
     two inches every time I take a step.” She put her foot back down and glanced at my cruddy old Vans. “You were much smarter.”
    “I guess. It’s hot, though.” I was wearing a long-sleeved black top and the sun was crazy bright. “I should have worn something
     lighter.”
    “It was cold this morning,” she said sympathetically. “Hard to know how to dress.” She turned to Noah. “Listen, if you change
     your mind, sweetie, feel free to join Austin and Oliver. I’m sure they’d like another pal with them.”
    I didn’t get why she kept pushing it. Austin and Oliver clearly didn’t want to play with Noah, and he clearly didn’t want
     to play with them. But I guess she meant well. “Thanks,” I said. “We’ll see you later.”
    “Bye, Rickie,” she said and moved past us, weaving unevenly as her heels got sucked into the muddy grass.
    All around us kids were running and playing together, the girls grabbing each other and giggling as they moved around in small
     groups, the boys shoving each other and shouting. But Noah stayed close to my side, holding my hand even though he was getting
     a little old to do that in public. I thought aboutmaking him let go, but when I looked down and saw how closed and nervous his face looked, I squeezed his hand tightly instead.
     He had been so excited about coming—the reality couldn’t possibly be living up to his expectations.
    Reality never lived up to Noah’s expectations.
    “Look!” he said with sudden energy, pointing to the dunk tank, the carnival-type game where, if you throw a ball hard enough
     against the target, whoever’s sitting out on the platform gets dropped into a vat of water. “Isn’t that Coach Andrew?”
    I squinted up at the figure sitting on the plastic seat about five feet off the ground. “Looks like him.”
    “It would be really funny to see him get dunked.”
    “I agree,” I said. “Let’s go watch. Hey, maybe we could even dunk him ourselves.”
    “That’d be awesome!” He raced ahead and got in line behind a bunch of relatively tall girls who were giggling and whispering
     to each other.
    Coach Andrew sat squarely on the little bench, wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses, a UCLA T-shirt, and a pair of cargo shorts.
     His bare calves showed, tanned and muscular, above equally bare feet. He was calling down to the tween girl in a miniskirt
     and tank top who was about to throw a ball. “Come on, Angelica! You can do it. I know you’ve got a good arm—I’ve seen it in
     action!”
    Angelica blushed and threw and missed the target by a foot.
    The other girls burst out laughing, more in delight than derision. Each of them tried in turn. They all failed to hit the
     target but lingered nearby, whispering and eyeing Andrew’s bare legs with prepubescent delight.
    Then it was Noah’s turn. “Noah, my man!” Andrew shouted. “Show these girls how it’s done!”
    Noah promptly threw the ball straight down onto the grasswith the same sort of flailing arm motion you’d use to swat something away from you.
    “Good try,” Andrew said encouragingly. “Try it again, Noah, only stand a little more sideways, bend your elbow a little, and
     release the ball when your hand is still at its highest point.”
    Noah processed that and adjusted his body minutely before throwing the second ball. It stayed in the air a little longer but
     still hit the ground closer to him than to the dunk tank.
    “One more try,” said the skinny teenager with a bad case of bedhead who was manning the booth. High-schoolers got community
     service hours for working at the festival—I had done it myself at that age. He handed Noah his last ball.
    Biting his lower lip in