Page 100 of Plays Well With Others

“Why do you forget?” Mac asks.

Yup. Called it. But I feel certain Carter won’t mind answering. Because of how she’s asking. From a place of honesty, not judgment.

“I have ADHD,” he says, equally matter-of-factly.

“Charles has that. His teacher didn’t think it was real,” she says, then frowns. “Which made no sense to me.”

Carter frowns too. “I’m not surprised though. A lot of people don’t think it’s real.”

“Why?”

He shrugs as he slides in another piece. “Don’t know. I guess because some people think it’s a convenient excuse. When I was younger, I had a football coach who didn’t think it was a thing.”

I stop cleaning the counter mid-swipe of chocolate. That’s new to me. He never told me that before.

“Did you have to prove it was real?” Mac asks, clearly a little perturbed by this development.

“At first I tried to, especially with teachers and coaches who didn’t get it. But then I learned it’s not my job to prove it’s real. The only thing I can do is live with it. There are always going to be people who say to mejust pay better attention, orhow could you forget that. But then you learn those aren’t the people you want to be friends with.” He takes a beat before adding, “Or date.”

Did Quinn not believe him?

Mac seems to consider his answer for several seconds. “ADHD is real. It’s not the tooth fairy.”

“It sure isn’t,” he says, then snaps in another piece.

She slots in one more. “You’re better at this than golf.”

“Hey, now,” he chides.

“You can’t be good at everything,” she says. “You’re already good at football. Daddy said you’re the best receiver he’s ever had.”

My spine straightens. Carter sits taller too. His smile is radiant.

I feel like I’m glowing from this secret nugget the owner’s daughter has dropped.

“Yeah, I heard him say it to a friend,” Mac continues, then imitates her dad. “I never thought we’d find someone as good as Harlan Taylor,” she says, naming the hall-of-fame receiver who retired a few years ago. “But I’ve got Carter Hendrix now, and I’ve never been so glad to be wrong.”

My best friend fights off a well-earned grin. There’s still pleased pride curving his lips when I join them a few minutes later with molten cakes and ice cream.

This Saturday is officially the most fun I’ve had in ages—maybe because I’ve seen all these new sides of Carter.

Maybe, too, because all his facets make me melt like this cake.

33

EYES ON ME

Rachel

He has to stop.

Seriously. My heart can’t handle the sweetness.

Carter and I are braiding Mac’s hair, and I am officially, one hundred percent dead from flutters.

The only thing keeping me alive is, well, the competition.

Mac challenged us. She said she wanted to see who could braid better. So we’re giving her twin French braids. I’m right next to Carter on the couch as he weaves strands on the right side of Mac’s head, and I do the left.

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