I know. I was lucky to have a mom who would put her arm out, like she had for me during a minor collision with a curb.
“I feel good about it,” I said.
“Want to take another look at that bumper?”
“I mean the tryout. I don’t feel pretty good. I feel great.”
The car treaded up our driveway. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll try to do better.”
My feet slid on the gravel as I jumped out to reassess the bumper’s wound. Other than the good-sized dent beside the front wheel and a long scratch along the bottom of the passenger side, nothing too bad.
“Did you get hurt at all?” my mom called. She climbed out.
“Little shaken up,” I said. “I’m going to go to sleep.”
“I think that’s a good idea. And you’re grounded.”
I winced.
“Car accidents are a big deal, Nick,” my mom said, with her scary mom voice. “They kill people.”
“Okay, okay.”
My car keys jingled as she held them up. Darn. They’d been left in the ignition while I checked out the injuries.
“You can have these back next week.”
I deserve that. It seemed like she knew it had been an accident, but she wouldn’t let me off easy.
Head hanging low, I shuffled to my room with my soccer and interview gear heavy in my hands. I threw myself onto my bed, pulling the thick pillows over my eyes and burying into the fleece blankets.
Might as well tell Carter.
It wasn’t until my fingers hovered over the Send button that I remembered: I couldn’t be grounded.
A chill caught in my throat. The phone slipped out of my sweaty palms.
Eliza.
RULE NUMBER 14
A bro shalt never half-ass a first date.
Thursday afternoon, Carter picked at Sir Whiskerton (the name we’d given our sacrificial rat—for science) and I flipped through the lab directions. This brain dissection had already taken weeks and nothing we did made sense.
This did not bode well.
Our classmates shrieked as they dug further into their specimens, many of them now uncovering the, crap I had still had no idea what it was, even though Carter and I had gotten to it last week. Because Carter is a supernerd.
“I want to take the AP bio test,” I said, “for that PT program. I know we were already going to, but now I really want to do well.”
“You do know your class average is, like, a 71.” Carter wiped a speck of formaldehyde off his safety goggles.
“Actually . . . 69.” I was pretty proud of that.
Carter punched my shoulder. That’s the spirit.
“Good thing I have an in with the best tutor Cassidy High has ever seen,” I said.
“Gonna take some work, Mags,” he said. “It’s going to be more than putting labels on—” He squinted at the label I’d stuck in what I’d guessed was the rat’s outer intestine. “That’s the left kidney.”
“Testing you. And I know. I want to do it. That program seemed like a great fit.”
“You want to start tonight, then? Test is in February—practice tests start soon, though.”
“Tonight . . .” I wracked my brains for an excuse. Nope, can’t, chilling with your sister, wasn’t exactly something I could say.
Then again, how exactly I was even going to go out with his sister was still TBD, as I was grounded, and sans transportation.
It seemed like I was down to four options:
A. Cancel my date with Eliza, risk looking like a total flake and loser for prioritizing Carter and biology over her, and risk losing her forever.
B. Tell Carter I was busy and somehow pick up and go out with his sister without him realizing I was there or that she was with me.
C. Mrs. Doubtfire the situation and make plans with both of them in the same location, then switch back and forth between hanging out with each of them and lose a wig in the process.
D. Come clean and actually communicate with both parties.
Each option seemed selfish and unfair to both O’Connors. If I acknowledge that it’s selfish, it means I can do it anyway, right?
Dracula came by our table, plopping down our latest pop quizzes: 105 percent for Carter; 69 percent for your boy.
“Hell yeah—”
“No, Nick, not anymore.”
“Right.” I needed to do better. “Six-ish work?”
“Sounds good.” While our other classmates compared quiz grades and debated whether points were unfairly deducted, Carter returned to poking Sir Whiskerton with the scalpel.
Option C it was.
I needed to get a wig.
Coach Dad drove me home at 5:00 p.m. that evening. After I’d told him my tryout had gone well, he’d smiled the whole fifteen-minute ride.
“Atta boy, Nicky,” he said as we walked into the house. “Who’s the man?”
“Okay, thanks, Dad.” I pounded his fist.
“Mm, smells good,” said my dad when we reached the kitchen.
My mom stirred a pot of spaghetti sauce, basil and garlic taking over the kitchen. And here I was thinking she didn’t know how to cook. Her pink bathrobe was already tied tight around her waist. “Light interview day,” she said.
On the days my mom didn’t have a lot of work, she usually spent her free time napping. I guess the rest of her life took a lot out of her.
“How was school?”
“Pretty good,” I said. “But . . .” I explained to them about how I was doing in biology and that I could use some extra help. “I know I’m grounded. Is there any chance I could hang out with Carter tonight so he could help me?”
My parents exchanged a look.
“How are you failing biology?” asked my dad.
“Technically not failing . . .” technically that would be a 65.
The pot clanked as my mom stirred it more aggressively. “How about Carter comes here?” It wasn’t a question.
I hesitated. When I lie to my parents, I try to lie by omission—the stuff I tell them is true, but not the whole story. I’d learned, in my years of having to tell girls what they want to hear, that trying too hard was a dead giveaway. They gave me no choice.
“He’s hosting a study group at the library,” I said. “Would going there be okay?”
“You can’t be failing biology,” said my dad, “We have the L-W game coming up, the school won’t let you play.”
“I’m not failing. I need extra help.”
My mom gave a reluctant sigh. “Home by nine. How are you getting there?”
“I was thinking that I could drive?” Even though my parents had their mad-cop/disappointed-cop routine now stitched into their DNA, maybe, possibly, my dad wasn’t disappointed? For once?
He put his hands up in defense. “Whatever helps you get there.”
The garlic began to overwhelm our kitchen. The smoke detector beep beeped in protest.
My mom fanned the stove. “Bike tonight. You can have the car back this weekend.”
Sigh.
“Reward for good interviewing.” My whole body jostled as my dad ruffled my hair. I caught my balance on the kitchen table.
“You can’t fail bio,” said my dad. “Need you for L-W.”
“I’ll be fine.”
L-W meant Littleton-West, a.k.a. the most important game of the regular season, according to my dad, since our rivalry with them went back to before he’d even started coaching twenty years ago. Leave it to my dad to think of my school performance in terms of athletic eligibility.
Now the hard part. I took the stairs two at a time up to my room. Somehow, I had to get ready for my date with Eliza in a way that made it look like I tried for her, only in a way that no one else would be able to tell I tried.
A quick shower helped c
alm my nerves, though my razor still shook as I tried to do a light shave (though I wouldn’t have been able to do more than that anyway). I threw on some musky aftershave, my favorite jeans, a relaxed T-shirt, and, at the last minute, my Red Sox hat. The majority of the times I’d flirted with Eliza, I’d worn my hat. Who knows, maybe it served the dual function of keeping me casual and irresistible.
At 5:30, I hurried down the stairs, with my bio notebook and a fleece blanket stuffed in my backpack.
“See ya at 9:30,” I called. Carter’s house was a ten-minute bike ride away, but I had to pick up some things first.
At 5:40, I reached the grocery store. Time to pick out the ingredients for a perfect first date.
At 5:52, my backpack was full, making it difficult to bike up the half-mile hill to the OCs’ house. The sun was finishing its descent into the night, but the dark yellow and orange backdrop would still suffice.
At 6:01, I texted Eliza that I’d arrived. Ringing the doorbell was too risky, since Carter might have answered it. I paced at the bottom of their back porch.
“Hey!” Eliza scanned the driveway, to make sure we were alone. “Where are you taking me?” She hopped down the porch stairs, stopping abruptly. “I don’t know the appropriate way to greet you.”
“Come here.” I grabbed her hand and led her to a thick, mossy tree on the edge of their property. Its trunk took eight people to wrap their arms around, and its sprawling branches provided great hiding spots (especially when playing with water guns). The last light was enough to see each other with, but not enough for anyone from inside the house to see outside.
Carter and I had spent many afternoons trying to see who could climb the highest in that tree without Ms. O’Connor seeing what we were up to. It would have given her a heart attack.
My backpack dropped onto the grass, crunching the leaves of fall. I pulled out the blanket, a few types of cheese, some crackers, grapes, bite-size brownies, and sparkling apple juice.
“Thought we could hang out here.” I gauged her reaction.
“Who knew Nick Maguire could be such a romantic?” Her cold hand squeezed mine.
We leaned against the tree, with her head pressed against my shoulder. She skimmed my cheeks with her fingertips.
“You smell good.”
My skin tickled where her warm breath touched it, and even more when Eliza lightly kissed my jaw. I stayed put, half hugging her, playing with the ends of her sweater. When she didn’t pull away, I slipped my pinky under it, brushing her bare skin. I found the waistline of her jeans and had to stop as quickly as I’d begun. I didn’t want to freak her out. And I didn’t want to do this here.
“I need to tell you something,” I finally said.
“M’kay,” she bit her lip, as if she were teasing me for not kissing her.
“Okay, you need to stop that,” I whispered. She stepped away, laughing lightly. She knew she had me.
“I happen to be tanking my biology class—” I started.
“Hang on. Tell me over fake wine and cheese.” She took in the boss spread I’d arranged on the blanket. “We need plates and napkins.”
She tore off, back into the house.
“Can you bring back some cupcakes?” I called.
A gate creaked in the near vicinity. It was hard to tell exactly where, as the backyard was shrouded by darkness.
“Cupcakes for what?”
I paled.
Carter came closer, dripping wet and wrapped in a Mickey Mouse beach towel. Right—sometimes he liked to swim in their heated pool after practice to relax and stretch out more.
Whoops.
Their back door slammed closed—Eliza must have gone inside without hearing him.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Great timing, I was just coming to find you. Told Eliza I was coming over and she thought it would be fun to have a study-picnic. I thought she informed you.”
“It’s almost November, Nick. It’s freezing.”
I dropped onto the blanket so he wouldn’t see me squirm. Cold had kind of been the point. Warm, cozy blankets, stars, Eliza . . .
“This is stupid,” he said when I stayed silent. “We’re gonna need some more light.” He paused. “And I need a coat. Guess she forgot about daylight savings time too. I’m gonna go change and get some lanterns. Thanks for helping her set this up. This is a real fancy way to study.”
“Only way I know how.”
Carter left me to guard the charcutenanny—or however you say that word—and the distant chirping of bugs trying to mate.
“Don’t rub it in,” I muttered.
I don’t know what I really expected; of course there was no way I’d have been able to pull off running between the O’Connor siblings without either of them figuring it out.
Now it would be a devil’s three-way in purgatory: my date with Eliza, with Carter as the third wheel; my study sesh with Carter, with Eliza as the third wheel; and Eliza and Carter’s sibling life, with me as the third wheel. Weirdness all around.
Carter found our picnic, I texted Eliza. It is now a homework party and he is joining. Rain check?
When the O’Connor siblings returned, we situated ourselves equidistant from the food. Tiki torches, left over from one of Ms. O’Connor’s catering events, lit up our textbooks. Carter had decided to start teaching me about biology by teaching me about chemistry, and had his old chemistry textbook open to the periodic table. I was trying to make it seem like I was less stupid than I was. Eliza had her nose buried in her history textbook, sighing with boredom every two or three minutes.
I had to do something to get her involved, and fast, or this could be the last date I took her on. Girls probably don’t give you a second date after their brother crashes your first one and you don’t tell him to leave. As a guess.
“Carbon is the element that leads to life,” said Carter, “which makes it possible to create organic compounds. That’s kinda important, because we’ll for sure have to take organic chem in college.”
“Okay.” I half listened to him and scanned the periodic table for a joke.
“It’s important to know how many isotopes—”
“I have an idea for a compound,” I said. “What it’s called when you combine sodium, bromine, and, um, oxygen?”
“That’s a new one.” Carter flipped through his notes for the answer.
“No, like I combined the element symbols together.”
“Na, Br, O?”
“Nah, Bro.”
Eliza looked up from her book. She didn’t give me a reaction. No problem, I was ready for her.
“Also,” I continued, “copper and tellurium.”
“Cu-Te,” said Carter, “yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”
I gave Eliza a high five, which she halfheartedly returned.
“Who’s been calling you cute?” I asked Carter.
Carter coughed, annoyed that I was flirting with Eliza. Or rather, trying and failing. “Helium, helium, helium,” said Carter.
“What?”
“He He He,” Carter punched my shoulder. “Oof, he can dish it, but he can’t take it.”
Eliza stood and picked up her materials. The blanket tugged under her sneakers. “I’m cold,” she said.
“I guess that’s it for tonight,” said Carter. “I think this went well. Hopefully you know more now than you did two hours ago.”
“Sure.”
Carter closed his notebook. Eliza shifted her weight from one leg to the other. At the same time they asked me, “You need a ride home?”
Talk about a Sophie’s choice. On the one hand, I was blowing my date with Eliza. On the other hand, I had to overcompensate about this picnic weirdness and demonstrate to Carter the cardinal rule of manhood: Bros before hoes.
Carter looked at Eliza and she shrugged. “Figured I ow
e him from when Nick took me shopping.”
When I didn’t jump in, Carter yawned. “That’s okay. I got it.”
“Thanks, man,” I said.
Eliza and Carter shared a minivan, which I’d ridden in enough times to know it would not only fit my bike but it would fit my bike and an entire store’s worth of peanut butter cups. I speak from experience.
Carter helped us pack up the picnic, still assuming it was Eliza’s idea to put it together. I waited for him to realize the blanket he’d folded up wasn’t actually his sister’s. Carter kept yawning.
“Who you staying up late with?” I asked, remembering too late that Eliza (who did know) wasn’t supposed to know that Carter had a thing for her best friend.
Somehow, that made me think about my mom and her stupid, arbitrary rules.
Shoot. The library was supposed to be closing soon, she was probably looking for me.
I checked my phone, which was lit up with notifications. It’s late. Plz come home. Then, thirty minutes later, my mom called me out. Nick.
“Hang on,” I said, as Carter handed his homework to Eliza for her to take in the house. “I need a picture of you and the book.”
Carter looked at me like I was asking him to rake sand at a beach.
“My mom thinks I’m at the library.”
“Why?”
“Yes, Nick,” said Eliza, “why does your mom think you’re at the library?”
“I’m supposed to be grounded,” I admitted. One on one, I had a chance to defend myself—but not against both of the O’Connors at the same time.
“You know, I could have actually met you at the library.”
“Then I wouldn’t have gotten do to this,” I joked, attempting to make it seem like I was kidding. Hopefully, Eliza would get the subtext.
“Anyways, thanks.” My phone flashed at Carter and our homework. I’d need a way to explain the tiki torches. At least she could see that I was studying.
Used to me having to answer to my mom, Carter was already halfway to the car. Eliza gathered the torches.
“Look,” I said. “I know this didn’t turn out exactly the way we wanted—”
The Bro Code Page 17
