Page 54 of Home Game

“So, two? Instead of one, we’ll have two, right?” Tasha’s smart-ass contribution earns her a fast glare from our coach.

“Yes, Tasha. Our band and the new high school’s band.” Coach seems purposeful in not saying their name—Vista.

“Got it,” my friend says, sticking with sarcasm all the way. I elbow her to stop, but she sticks her tongue out at me and laughs.

“Anyway, my point is we will all be fighting for shared donations. People are going to have twice as many places to drop cash, so, Peyton . . .” Her gaze lands on me. I straighten my spine and nod, not sure where this is going.

“Peyt, I know it’s your senior year, and you were maybe counting on being the parade queen, but we really can’t afford to lose you at our booth. You drive the donations every year, and if we want to make it to Florida, we need those dollars.”

I have no idea what my face looks like. I know how it feels. It feels as if a pot of boiling water was just thrown in my face and lemons were squirted in my eyes. I know the idea of being a parade queen is really not important. Hell, our parade lasts a mile and it travels down a two-lane road in front of city hall. But as stupid as the role is, I was really looking forward to it. My mom never got to do it. She was always on the sidelines. And I kind of wanted to sit on that seat and float down the road atop our football team’s float in that throne.

“Right,” I utter, my voice cracking a little.

Damn it.

I cough, embarrassed, and swallow down my disappointment. “So, we’re selling the ribbons again, right? Forhomecoming the next week?” I know we are. There are boxes of them in my family’s dining room. My parents paid for them.

I wish the school would just let my dad write a check to cover our cost for Florida, but apparently, everything needs to be equal across all clubs. He started a shit storm when he funded the stadium construction, and there were lawsuits that set a state precedent.

“Yes, that’s right,” Coach says, her expression puzzling a bit, probably because I seem so confused about things I clearly know.

Her attention drifts to my right.

“Lexi, as soon as you’re done on the float, you’ll need to join us at the booth?—”

“I’m sorry, but we’re still putting someone on the float?” I hear my voice, but I swear this isn’t me. Why am I questioning this? I know what’s happening. Lexi is riding in my place. And this isn’t about my business skills. It’s about not wanting drama at the parade because I dare to like a boy in a different jersey.

Coach’s tongue is caught between her teeth, and I glance at my friend, whose eyes are sloped and heavy with stress. Lexi didn’t ask for this, I’m guessing.

“You know what, it’s fine. Yes, Lexi, join us when you’re done,” I say, and my friend’s eyes snap to mine.

“No,” she whispers, but I nodyes.

“Eyes on the prize, right?” Fuck, I hate this feeling of wanting to cry.

“Right. Great! Okay, break us down, Peyton,” Coach says, walking away as we huddle up.

I manage to dig up enough spirit to lead us through a short cheer. Everyone lingers for a few seconds after, and I feel their eyes on me so I wave them off and smile.

“Guys, really. It’s fine,” I say.

“Daddy can’t get you everything, I guess,” Stephanie says behind my back.

And suddenly, it’s not fine.

Itwouldhave been. I would have managed. But now? Now, I’m going to make things a lot worse.

I spin around and step into her space, bumping chests. She stumbles back, clearly not expecting me to react. Of course she wasn’t. I’m always so . . .together.

“What is your deal?” My eyes bore into hers.

“I don’t have one,” she says, but she doesn’t apologize. And today? I want an apology.

“No, I think you do.”

“Is there a problem here?” Coach hollers from her office doorway,

“I don’t know. Ask Stephanie,” I snap.

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