Page 22 of When to Call a Blitz

Heidi shakes her head, not giving me a chance to ask more questions. Her hair flies around at the force of it, and when he levels her gaze at mine, I know that somehow that was the wrong way to phrase that question.

“I’m okay, I’ll talk to Isla.” Heidi finally, grabbing her tote bag before slipping on her shoes.

I watch in silence as she slips out the font door without a word. Should I have stopped her? Should I have tried to reword my question? I’m not even sure. I didn’t mean to upset her, but it’s clear she was looking for a different answer.

“Where did Heidi go?” Juni asks as she walks in the room with her homework.

“She went home. Need help on your math homework?”

Please, for the love of everything say no.

“If you’re forcing me to do it, yes,” she says with a deep sigh as she tosses it on the table.

Great.

11

HEIDI

My dad loved football. He loved it so much that when I was a kid I would be dressed in his team’s colors every single weekend. There was a day dedicated to wearing green, and then there was football Sundays.

When I was little it felt like a burden. I wasn’t ever a giant fan, and although sometimes I liked the food my parents made for the day, there was little else I enjoyed about it. The yelling, the high emotions, the cursing… it just wasn’t for me, and that was okay.

It wasn’t until I was a little older that I started to appreciate it, and when everything happened, the small amount of interest I had left too.

I haven’t really paid attention since. I’ve been to a few games with Isla and I tolerated going when Briar asked me to tag along for Elara, but overall it just wasn’t fun for me.

There was no real rooting interest and we were too far away to really make watching the men’s asses as they run onto the field to be a perk.

So of course, I think about this the entire way home from Emmett’s house. Because this is one of the first games I’ll be going to where I really do have a rooting interest. Even ifEmmett doesn’t want to be my friend, I consider him one. He’s also technically my boss? Which means I benefit from him being in a great mood. I want him to win.

But more than that, I find myself almost excited to go. What am I going to wear? Where are we going to sit while we’re there? Am I going to get a good view up in the first row of seats with Isla and Briar? Or am I going to have to hang back? What’s socially correct in this predicament?

As I pull Emmett’s Subaru up to Mila’s house, I grab my things and head inside, expecting to relax for the night.

“Heidi!Holy crap you havegotto get your ass over here and watch this episode. It’s batshit insane,” Isla yells from my couch.

There are five women shoved onto our little couch, a large blanket over them and three bowls of popcorn in their laps, the newest episode of the Real Housewives on the TV.

I forgot it’s Wednesday.

The girls come over every single week to watch our trash TV, and since our little circle has grown, the rule is: if you’re not there, the show starts. There is no waiting. If we miss a little, we can catch up on our own. There were far too many instances of being out far too late because someone was late, and we just gave up and set some ground rules.

“Coming!” I call as I drop my things by the door. Grabbing a glass and filling it with wine, I take my place on the floor in front of the girls and rip one of our small blankets out of the basket beside the couch, draping it over my lap.

The second my wineglass hits my lips I’m pelted by at least four kernels of popcorn to the face.

The episode is almost over but Izara, Briar’s best friend, quietly fills me in before going back to her popcorn.

What feels like three more screaming matches in ten minutes later, the episode ends and we sit there quietly for a second, taking in what happened.

“That was intense,” Amara says, looking around.

Isla scoffs. “It’s always intense.”

Murmurs of “That’s true,” erupt before Isla’s head whips in my direction, her trance broken.

It’s clear that I’m now in the spotlight.

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