Page 40 of Triple Play

Something about the way I say it makes both her and Felix crack up. Shira mimes writing something. “I’ll add that to the list.”

“Uh,” I ask, “what list?”

“The Blake Forsyth is good at everything list. We started it this morning. So far we have baseball, cooking, hair cutting, and ordering breakfast. Now driving.”

“Hey, I can be bad at stuff!” I protest.

Felix snorts. “Like what?”

I bite back my real answer: Being a good brother, the kind of son my parents wanted. The kind of partner Shira deserves. All stuff too serious to say out here in the sunshine.

“No one’s perfect.” And then I climb back into the car.

For the next hour, they both sit in the back—Shira behind me and Felix behind the passenger seat that we shifted up as far as it would go—as Felix explains calculus.

At first, I listen intently, telling myself it’s just in case Felix says something inappropriate. In reality, I mostly listen to the rise and fall of their voices.

“What’re you having trouble with?” Felix asks.

Shira snorts. “Everything.”

“Define everything.”

Shira’s sigh is followed by the sound of Lilac’s springs, like she’s slumping in her seat. “Everything I learned in high school is just missing.”

“You took calculus in high school?” Felix asks.

“Sure.” She says it like it’s not a big deal, like it’s not the kind of thing you take when you’re guaranteed to go to college. What happened? I don’t ask.

Their conversation goes on, enough math that I tune it out, concentrating on the roll of the highway and the flow of traffic and the weather that gets warmer with each mile south. Home, or at least closer to it than Massachusetts.

I’m drifting mentally enough that I almost don’t hear Felix say, “Do you remember that time when…” followed by Shira frantically shushing him.

Huh, weird, but maybe they’re talking about some New England thing. “How’s math?” I call to the backseat.

“Good,” Felix answers, just as Shira says, “Excruciating.”

“Try another practice problem,” Felix suggests.

“Try another practice problem.” Shira mutters it under her breath. “This won’t work for me. I’m a visual learner.”

“Here”—Felix taps something on her paper—“solve it this way.”

Shira sighs. “You sure you want to do this? I’m pretty hopeless.”

And I’m about to intercede when Felix says, “Hey, don’t talk about my friend like that.”

I glance in the rearview. Felix meets my eyes—he’s smiling conspiratorially. It’s a good look on him. Not smug, exactly, but like we’re in on a secret together. Maybe it’s because he’s flirting with her right in front of me…or maybe because he clearly believes in her the way I do. I can’t bring myself to resent that—that he can help her when I can’t. Besides, what’s the harm in them being friends?

He catches me looking. “Eyes on the road, Blake.”

So I turn my attention back to traffic, regretting, just for a second, that this trip will be over tomorrow.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Blake

“I’m sorry, sir, there appears to have been a mix-up with the reservation. We very much apologize for the inconvenience.” The clerk at the nicest hotel in Fayetteville—which isn’t really saying a whole lot—frowns apologetically from across the check-in desk. “We’re doing construction on a few of the floors. Sometimes rooms are listed as available that aren’t.”

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