Page 55 of Daydream

We’ve been chatting—okay, borderline debating about which is the better sport—with the guys sitting next to us all game. I have a football family because of Grayson, Aurora’s is obviously motorsport, and the guy who’s name I never quite caught has a brother who’s a baseball player. Thankfully we had hockey to unite us, and as silly as it was, it was fun to interact with new people and not stress about it.

As we pick up our cups from the floor and grab our purses toleave, the nameless guy stops me. “Hey, would I be able to get your number? Kinda wanna debate the whole football-versus-baseball thing a bit more. You seem cool.”

I’m so confused. I look to Aurora, who just gives me a look that says, well?

“Oh, sorry. Uh, um. No? Sorry, that’s rude. I just kinda—” I have no idea where I’m going with this.

“She’s pining for someone else,” Aurora says with a smile, putting me out of this particular misery, but very firmly into another one.

“Got it,” he says. “Was good to meet y’all.”

“Really?” I say when he’s out of earshot.

Aurora shrugs. “Tell me you wanted to give him your number, and then I’ll apologize.”

I huff. “Touché.”

As soon as I reach my car, I pull out my phone to text Henry.

HENRY TURNER

Still campaigning for you to switch to carnival games, but I guess that was a pretty spectacular win.

Thanks Cap

Where are you?

Cami is sick. I’m taking her a care package.

Where was my care package when I was sick?

I gave you dim sum and didn’t complain when you threw it all up.

Fair.

Can I make it up to you later?

Yup. I’ll text you when I’m leaving Cami’s.

The massive duck has to go in a different room.

Quack Efron lives there and you don’t.

I hate Bobby so, so much.

Hurry. I miss Joy.

There are women in Maple Hills who would give an organ to have Henry talk about them the way he talks about my cat.

After a quick visit to the grocery store, I pull into the parking lot of Cami’s building as Will’s name flashes up on my caller ID. I nearly crash my car into one of the bushes lining the concrete. After the initial shock subsides, it’s the easiest rejection of my life. He probably played today, too, and he probably saw my story from the game. I have zero desire to argue with someone who only wants to speak to me when he’s—jealous? I don’t even know—calling to try to make me feel bad about something.

By the time I reach Cami’s front door, I’ve talked myself in and out of calling him back. In because what if something has happened to him or his family, then out, because my mom isn’t also calling me. In because what if he wants to fix our friendship, then out, because if that was the case he’d start by text.

Cami’s door opens and she looks like a deer in headlights. Her red hair is braided over her shoulder and she’s wearing her pajamas. There’s been something off about her recently at work and I haven’t been able to put my finger on why. She’s quieter, I think. Her normal confident demeanor almost feels like it’s been muted.

My biggest sign that something is up with her is that she’s started being on time for work. She’sneveron time for anything. And when a guest yelled at her, she didn’t argue back even a little bit. I hold up the paper bag. “I brought you chicken noodle soup and some other healthy-looking things.”

“Oh, Halle,” she says gently. “Come in and sit down.”

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