Page 65 of Play Maker

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Micah says then looks at Mags. “What do people even do around here?”

“Lots of football. Not just the team but our high school sports are the best in?—”

“Lame,” he says.

“Mic!” Greer yells.

“Fine, whatever, sorry. Where’s my bed?”

“So,” I say, walking her back toward the door, “if you need anything that’s not here—tools, batteries, food, a friend—my number’s on the fridge, and I’m right next door.”

“How do you get food around here? Send the order Morris code?” Micah calls as he heads up the stairs.

Mags snaps, “No, you dipshit, there’s a fridge full of the best homecooked food you’ll ever eat, and this kick-ass place is attached to a restaurant run by a five-star chef that”—gasp—“didn’t want to work in a city anymore because of customers who have zero manners!”

Grandma Maggie clears her throat. “My namesake and I are going to take a little walk. Let’s go, Mags.”

Greer throws her head back in laughter. “I adore that one.”

“Glad someone likes Barbies,” Micah says and slams the door behind him.

Riley clears her throat. “Might wanna tell him that’s the master.”

“I’ll be down here, ensuring he doesn’t try to hike his ass back to the city.”

Mom stands up from where she was talking to Evie, who clearly missed or ignored what just went on.

Evie stands up and walks over to Riley. “Are there owls here?”

“Sometimes.”

She nods solemnly. “Good. They’re smart.” She looks at Greer. “A smart move.”

“Yeah, baby girl, I think so, too.”

* * *

When Hudson and Skinner walk in, I wait to see Kolby, but he’s not with them.

“You lose your buddy?” I ask, trying to act like it’s not freaking me out.

“Got pulled into the office. He’s catching a ride back. Probably about his contract,” Skinner replies, but his eyes, they’re fixed on Mags.

Mags, who is pacing, red in the face, waving her arms like she’s about to call a town hall meeting.

“I’m sorry, but Ihatehim. Hate him. He called me Barbie.”

Skinner laughs. “She’s a bad babe. You see her movie?”

She literally shakes her fist at him and continues, “I’m so far from Barbie I might as well be in Siberia.”

Does that even make sense?I think but clearly don’t ask, because, no, it doesn’t.

Neither does Mags. Hell, I’m not even sure Mags is here anymore.

Mom is at the table with a mug of chamomile, looking like she is watching a show, too amused by this. Grandma Maggie is leaning on the counter, calmly shelling pistachios like we’re at a picnic and not a breakdown.

I’m trying to do two things at once. I’m stuck wondering if Kolby’s okay and worried Mag’s heads gonna blow, becauseyeah, Micah definitely pressed every one of her buttons on purpose. Cool as a glacier. Hadn’t even said a word and had her spinning like a weather vane in a wind tunnel.

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