Page 76 of Bombshells
My mother was the mystic in the family, but these days I’m a believer, too.
* * *
Late that night I pick up my phone and find a selfie of Anton wearing an exaggerated frown. Its caption: You didn’t answer. And now I have a bad case of textpectation.
Please tell me you beat Providence, he adds.
I look back over our conversation and see all my cheery responses to him. Even though I’m sad about being friend-zoned, I can’t help myself when it comes to him. I want his attention.
So of course I’m going to reply. Especially because I can’t resist telling him my news. I take a screenshot of the gold star on my phone, and text it to him with: And guess who guarded the net?
My phone erupts with congratulatory gifs. Monkeys beating on their chests, movie stars clapping. Fireworks. But his words mean even more to me. That’s the best news I’ve heard all week. Well done, Sylvie. Way to show them all.
* * *
When the news gets out, everyone is thrilled for me. My dad sends a dozen roses to my Brooklyn apartment, and Bryce leaves me two phone messages.
The glow hasn’t worn off at all by Wednesday, when I’m sitting in One Girl Cookies, waiting for Fiona, and texting—yet again—with Anton. He must have found the cache of photos that Rebecca took in Providence with her giant lens. He’s taken a series of photos of me and photoshopped them.
In the first shot, I’m obviously yelling something to a teammate, but he’s put a golden crown on my head and labeled it, The Queen.
The second photo has me diving for a puck, and he’s put a superhero’s cape fluttering from my shoulders. That one is my favorite.
There’s one more of me making a save with my stick, and there’s a thought bubble overhead, announcing, Not today, Satan.
It’s cute and thoughtful, and it gives me a big old heartache. Anton Bayer is a catch. But he doesn’t want to be caught by me.
Fiona pulls out the chair opposite me just as another photo appears on my phone, and I say, without looking up, “Omigod, he is so hilarious.”
“Who is?” asks a deep voice.
I glance up fast, and it’s not Fiona who is sitting down across from me. It’s Bryce.
“Oh,” I squeak. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He gives me a funny smile. “You look happy. Care to share?”
I put my phone face down on the table, and I take a deep breath. I’m still annoyed with him for discussing me with Anton. But I don’t want to explain why, so for once in my life I’m not going to let my temper rule me.
“Sylvie, what’s the matter?” he asks. “You don’t return my calls.”
“I’ve been busy,” I say in a voice that doesn’t offer further discussion.
He tilts his rugged chin, inviting me to give more details. “You are still mad at me. About the party. I am sorry.”
I do not want to talk about that, either. “Look,” I say, tracing the edge of my phone with a finger. “I really have been busy. I’m kind of seeing someone.”
His eyes widen immediately. “Oh.” He swallows. “A guy?”
“Yes.”
He avoids my gaze. “You met him here in Brooklyn?”
“Yes.”
“Who is it?”
I wait until his cool blue eyes wander back to mine. And I wonder what I should say.
