Page 64 of Goalie Lessons

Sloane eyes me, then says, “Oh well, I guess you’re right. It’s Grayson’s credit card, after all. Might as well take advantage of it.”

Six hours later, we’re all delirious from the shopping. Callie has a gorgeous sage green dress with a sweetheart neckline, the skirt ruffled with a matte fabric and the bust covered with a glittering, shimmering, almost iridescent material.

At the shop, she couldn’t stop turning around in the mirror, looking at herself, twirling to see the fabric move around her body. The smile on her face wouldn’t drop.

The dress was two thousand dollars. When it came time to pay, I swiped my own card, only using Grayson’s for the makeup and shoes. He’ll pay for her salon appointment the day of, for her to have her nails done. If he doesn’t look too closely at his statement, he’ll never even know the difference.

When we pull back into the driveway, Sloane and I get out to help Callie bring her things in. Rather than knocking, Callie strides right inside, and I realize it’s her house.

It’s her house, and she feels comfortable enough striding right inside, pushing open the door and kicking off her shoes, dropping her bags on the ground by the front door. Something I never would have expected from the girl in the bathroom, the girl who wanted nothing to do with Milwaukee at all.

We turn the corner to see the TV flashing over the opposite wall, pink and white, orange and blue.Tangledplays on the screen, Rapunzel dancing through a field of grass, but that’s not the real sight.

My eyes lock on Grayson on the couch, slumped against the cushions, his arm around Athena. The two of them are fast asleep, and she leans fully on him, her little body covered in a pink blanket that’s wrapped up around her fist.

Sleepily, slowly, Grayson’s eyes open, landing on me first.

He smiles, says in a low voice, “Hey.”

“We got my dress,” Callie says, in that quiet voice that’s reserved for late nights, for when your baby sister is sleeping a few feet away from you.

“That’s great.” Grayson’s eyes widen, and he glances side to side, as though realizing, for the first time, that I’m not standing alone in his living room.

Callie goes upstairs, holding her dress carefully in the crinkly plastic, and Sloane glances at me, that eyebrow raised, just like I knew it would be.

“What?” I ask, already hearing the defensiveness creep into my tone when we step out the front door a moment later.

“Oh,nothing,” Sloane practically sings, hopping into the driver’s seat and starting the car. When I hop in next to her, she says, “Just yourbig, fat crushon Grayson O’Connor.”

“I do not—”

“Save it,” she laughs, shaking her head and turning to reverse down the driveway. “Astrid Foster, if I didn’t know any better, I might even go as far as saying that look in your eyes is somethingmuchmore serious than a crush.”

“Well,” I say, biting my tongue and staring out the windshield. “Good thing you know better.”

Grayson

“Hi,Mr.O’Connor?”

I jolt, looking up to see the girl standing in front of me, hand outstretched, bright smile on her face. She’s wearing something that looks like yellow overalls, her dark hair pulled up into two buns, her makeup glittering over her eyes.

Behind her, the cafe bustles. It’s an open, airy place, one she suggested for our meeting. All around me are students and remote workers, writers and friends laughing. It’s the kind of place that makes you want to come back again, and I make a note to tell Astrid about it and bring her here to point out the cool wall of plants in the back, the rack of donated clothes, the reusable jars you can take your latte home in.

“Yes,” I say, finally coming back to myself and focusing on the person in front of me. Her smile never wavers. “Hi. You’re Savannah, then?”

“That’s me!” Everything about her is sunshiny, and I realize she’s still holding her hand out to me, waiting for me to shake it.

I do, and she sits down across from me, setting her tote bag on the chair. I realize she already has her latte-in-a-jar. She must come here a lot—she seems like the type.

“So.” I clear my throat and begin, glancing down at the paper in front of me. It’s just a printed out version of her profile on the website, but I felt like I needed to have something prepared, to look like I know what I’m doing. “You’ve been a nanny…in Paris?”

“Au pair,” she corrects, still smiling. “I went over there for a year during my undergrad, loved it, and wanted to go back. Working as an au pair gave me plenty of experience with kids, and I managed to live cheap and learn a language to boot.”

“Now you’re back in the states?”

“That’s right—planning a trip to Spain next year. But I wanted to spend some time with my grandma before I take off again.”

There’s a lingeringbecausethat she doesn’t explain, and I don’t push.

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