Page 31 of The Future Play

“Ugh. Really? Can you two ever behave?”

“Sorry, Mom,” Josh says.

I give him the finger. “I’m not your mother. In case you forgot, I’m youryoungersister. And somehow the most mature one here.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Pete says, walking over with paper towels to clean up the mess.

I snatch one from him and dab at my dress.

“Says the person who still comes over to his parents’ house for every meal because he doesn’t want to cook for himself.”

“Mom likes it when I’m here.”

I snort at that. “Uh huh.”

“You’re just jealous that she likes us better,” Josh says.

He’s teasing me. I know he’s teasing me. He’s my brother. That’s what they do.

But the words cut like a knife. I know my parents love me, but those mean voices in the background love to ask if he’s right.

“Don’t be a dick,” Pete says to him.

“Hey, I was defending you.”

“And you don’t have to be an ass to do it.”

I put on my sassy, confident exterior. “I didn’t realize Josh was capable of anything else.”

He glares at me, then opens his mouth to say something, but I quickly hop over the sticky mess of orange juice on the floor and head for the back door.

“Have fun, boys. I’m meeting Rae and Jace for brunch in Binghamton. I’ll see you later!”

Then I hurry out of the house before either of them can say another word.

I’m ready to go back to campus and live with my girls again.

I’m allowingmyself one full week of summer mode before I jump back into business mode.

I say that as I hurriedly type out a caption to the cute graphic I’m posting on my socials. Jace and Rae should be here any minute, but any extra minute is a minute to get things done.

Full week off my ass. I’d never give myself that kind of time unless I was horribly sick. Even then, I’d probably still be planningsomething. My brain never shuts up. I’m overflowing with ideas.

If someone could pay me to pitch event ideas to them and then put them on, it would be my dream job.

No sooner have I hit the bright blue button to post today’s graphic when a text pops up on my screen.

From Jamie.

A little burst of excitement rushes through me.

We haven’t seen each other since the weekend he came up for the baseball game, but we’ve texted—sometimes flirtatiously—since then. It’s easy to be flirtatious with him. Easy to let my guard down, and that’s not something I normally do. Especially not romantically. Though romantic might be a stretch. But there’s definitelysomethingbetween us.

Baseball Boy: Heard you’re home for the summer. Thanks for the postcard.

Me: I thought people only send postcards when they travel.

Baseball Boy: Whatever. But seriously. You don’t write. Call. Text. Send a carrier pigeon. It’s like I don’t matter to you at all.

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