Page 19 of The Friend Game

“Geez, Syd, way to bite the hand that feeds you,” she comments with an elbow to Sydney’s side.

“I mean, it makes sense to me,” I pipe up.

“Definitely more sense than throwing peanuts at someone,” Luke comments with a wink at me. Brooke and Jill both look at me in confusion.

“Peanuts? Did you throw peanuts at someone, Hannah?” Jill demands. “Why would you do that?”

“What? No. I didn’t.” I blush, and Luke laughs. “What’d you find when you googled him?” I ask Sydney quickly, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. Secretly I’m a little thrilled to have a private joke with Luke, but I want our joke to stay that way. Private, I mean.

“Oh my golly!” Sydney exclaims. “Well, obviously you all know he’s a pastor, which is really why I got in the car with him. I recognized the name of your school, Jill. But did you know he played football at the University of Arizona? And that he’s a philanthropist of the highest order. Last year he organized not one, not two, butthreecharity 5ks. One for breast cancer research,” she ticks off on her fingers, “one for the local homeless shelter, and one to help raise scholarships for low income kids to participate in various after school activities and clubs.”

“Wow, you found out all of that in a ten second Google search?” Luke looks embarrassed. Meanwhile I’m itching to take my own phone out and do some googling of my own. Luke played football in college? I bet he looked amazing in those pants.

Plus, there’s the philanthropy stuff, of course. I’d like to know more about that too. Even if it is just more proof that he’s too good for me. The only philanthropic thing I’ve done in recent months is round up to the nearest dollar in the checkout line atthe grocery store when they were collecting money for the Diamond Children’s Hospital.

I'm sure my thirteen cents went pretty far.

“Well, I may have clicked on a few of the links that came up in my initial search while we were driving here.” Sydney shrugs. “I got curious. Anyway, thank you again for the ride.” She taps Brooke on the shoulder. “He was also kind enough to carry in the box with the dance team's sweatshirts.”

“They’re finished!” Brooke hops up in excitement. “I want to see!”

Sydney laughs. “They’re in your office upstairs; let’s go. Chelsea and Betsy have the tables covered for a few minutes.”

“Can I see too?” Jill hops up. “Ellie’s been asking when hers is going to arrive.”

“Yeah, c’mon.” Brooke nods.

Jill looks down at me. “Hannah, you better stay here and keep Pastor Abbott company.”

My sneaky sister. If I weren’t grateful for the time alone with Luke, I’d be really annoyed with her for being so obvious about arranging it.

“So,” I venture once we’re alone, “you’re a football guy.”

“So,” he replies, taking the seat next to me, “you’re a karaoke singer.”

I wince. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Luke laughs. “I’m not. You’re quite a performer.” He leans forward, and I tellmy hands to stand down. Just because his forearms are now in touching distance, doesn’t mean I’m allowed to touch them. Luke is basically the living version of the dinosaur at the museum. I can look all I want, but I can’t ignore the ‘No touching’ signs posted around the exhibit or I’ll get kicked out.

“Side effect of having two sisters,” I tell him. “We grew up competing to see who could be the most dramatic. Taking to the stage comes naturally to all of us.”

Luke chuckles. “Pretty sure I could never go up there and sing.”

“What?” I blink at him in surprise. “But you’re a pastor. Seventy-one percent of your job is standing at a pulpit and preaching to a crowd of people.”

“I wouldn’t say seventy-one percent,” Luke says with mock thoughtfulness, “more like sixty-eight and a half percent.”

“Ha. Ha.” I swat him on the forearm, and whoops, there I go, breaking the museum’s no touching policy.

Best rule I’ve ever broken.

“Nah, but standing up in front of a group of people and talking is way different thansingingin front of a group of people. Besides,” he glances around the room, “I’m fairly certain everyone here would boo me off the stage if I did go up there. I’vebeen told I have the singing voice of a dying banshee.”

“W-what?” I sputter. “Someone actually said that to you?”

“My sixth grade choir teacher,” Luke says with a nod. “At the end of the first quarter she recommended I switch to band.” His face is casual, more amused than hurt, but I still feel deeply affronted on behalf of the 11-year-old version of him.

“Well,” I announce, “did she ever stop to consider that her method of teaching might have been part of the problem? If I learned anything fromSister Actit’s that every voice can be part of a choir if the director knows her stuff.”

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