by Jen Malone
**This is my favorite after-soccer snack!
**They’re also really yummy with chocolate chips, raisins, or dried cranberries.
We have problems,” Lauren announces the second we’re all gathered around the bouquet of flashlights in the Purple People Eater.
“Tell me about it,” Becca says. “My face hurts and it’s freezing in here. I thought my teeth were going to fall out when that wind started blowing outside. So basically I can’t open my mouth all winter. Can’t we, like, run an extension cord out and plug in a space heater or something?” She shivers and grimaces for extra effect.
“Fire hazard,” Lauren replies. “And that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Did you get grounded more?” I ask. If it were my dad who got a call from the cops in the middle of the night, I’d still be in my room. Heck, he’d probably sit with me in class, which would seriously compound the Linney problem. So basically, while I feel bad for Lauren and Sadie, I’m really glad it wasn’t me.
“No! I mean this wedding.” Lauren whips out a stack of paper from her backpack. She spreads the pages across the floor and under the glow of the flashlights.
I peer over Sadie’s knee at pages and pages of spreadsheets, all printed on this tan-and-pink shell paper. It’s So Very Lauren.
Becca recoils from the papers. “What is that? It’s like math homework gone wild.”
“Well, this one shows how much time Sadie’s put into this wedding. If you calculate the total time with Sadie’s portion of the payment, she’s making like, six cents an hour. You know that’s breaking approximately ninety labor laws, right?”
“And probably the Geneva Convention.” Becca’s got this super-serious look on her face. I have no idea what the Geneva Convention is, but from the expression Lauren gives Becca, it has nothing to do with planning Miss Worthington’s wedding.
“This one”—Lauren points at a pie chart—“shows how much time we’ve spent on all aspects of this wedding. Seventy percent—seventy!—is in the category I call ‘Dealing with the Crazy.’ ”
“She’s not crazy,” Sadie says.
We all look at her.
“She’s just . . . picky. And maybe a little, um . . .”
“Crazy?” I suggest.
“Indecisive,” Sadie says.
“She’s a total bridezilla.” Becca reaches over and twirls a strand of my hair. I’ve got it pulled back in my used-to-be-usual ponytail because I’ve got a soccer match later on today. “I mean, she pretty much ordered Vi to dye her hair! Who does that?”
“Crazy people,” Lauren answers. “Which is why I called this meeting. We need to seriously discuss what to do about this. And, Sades, I know you’re not going to like this, but I think we should bail. She’s wasting our time, and the money isn’t worth the hassle.”
Sadie’s mouth makes a little O.
“Come on, what do y’all think?” Lauren crosses her arms and waits. “Becca?”
Becca runs her tongue over her braces. “Um . . .”
Lauren shifts her gaze to me. “Vi?”
“Uhhh . . . This is like a come-to-Jesus moment, isn’t it?” That’s what Meemaw would call it. As in the truth comes out and we all have to face it. “In that case, this whole thing with the cluck hats?”
“Cloche,” Becca corrects.
“Yeah, those. And the old-fashioned clothes. See, there’s this whole group of Ike’s family that lives in Wheatfield Corners, Iowa. And I looked it up on the map, and it’s not close to anything. At all. So, like, I don’t know where they’d go to buy this kind of stuff.” Becca was all into looking up these stores for the guests, but the list had gotten so long that I offered to take part of it. I don’t know exactly what I was thinking, since hours and hours of looking up weird little stores that sell ancient clothes isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.
“They can order online,” Sadie says.
“And this thing with the non-nut peanut-butter cake?” Lauren says. “I think that’s kind of impossible. Right, Vi?”
“Um . . . probably.” I hate feeling like the one who’s so down on the wedding. But Lauren’s right. It has been every free hour of the day, and whenever we feel like we’ve gotten something done, Miss Worthington seems to change her mind.
But quitting? I don’t really know about that. If we drop Miss Worthington now, these last two months of running around and planning and putting up with her will have been for nothing. Kind of like me dealing with Linney every day at school and never graduating.
And if I’m being honest, I kind of like having something that I can throw myself into to forget about Dad’s job and Linney’s nasty comments. That thing used to be soccer—until everything got weird with Lance, and Linney made the cheerleading team. Now she’s at the games and even a lot of the practices.
“I’m still weirded out by the hair-dyeing thing,” Becca says. “And she called me Red. What does that mean, exactly? Is she gonna ask me to change my hair? Because nuh-uh. No way. No how.” She runs a hand over her shampoo-commercial-smooth hair. “Although . . . I have been wondering what I’d look like with bangs. . . . Maybe it would distract from the braces. What do y’all think? Bangs? No bangs?” She fans out the ends of her hair across her forehead.
“Bec-ca!” Lauren picks up the spreadsheets and taps the edge of the stack so they all line up neatly. “You can talk about your hair later. Right now, we need to decide: Wedding or no wedding? Just think about everything else we could’ve been doing! Not only could we have booked some parties with normal people and made money by now, but we wouldn’t have gotten in trouble. I might not have gotten that B. Becca might have written twenty songs about Philippe—”
“Hey! Who says I want to write about Philippe?” Becca says.
Lauren ignores her. “And, Sadie, things might not be so weird between you and your mom.”
“And that’s why we can’t quit! I mean, not the only reason, but I can’t let Mom think we aren’t able to handle this. We have to show her that we’re just as good at making a wedding happen as she is.” Sadie’s got her hands flat on the floor on either side of her.
“We have put a lot of work into it already,” I add. “And we’ve only got a couple weeks left, right?”
Lauren turns to Becca. “Don’t you want more time to write songs? I know I need more hours to study.”
“What are you talking about?” Becca asks. “Studying is practically all you’ve been doing since you got arrested and thrown in the clink by the po-po.”
“Becs, we didn’t get arrested. It was just a headlight thing,” Sadie says before she turns to Lauren. “Even if we were planning other parties, you’d still have to take time away from school stuff. And besides, since when does Lauren Simmons quit anything? Did you quit It’s All Academic when Anna got named captain and you didn’t?”
“Well, no. But that’s not the same—”
“What about when that summer weekly came in and demanded a tour of the marina for, like, a whole day and then didn’t even end up docking his fancy-pants yacht here after all?” Becca says. “You didn’t tell your dad that you weren’t going to work there anymore.”
“Wait, I thought you were on my side. You like working for Miss Worthington?” Lauren asks Becca. “What about the hair-dye thing?”
Becca waves her hand. “She can talk all she wants. None of us are changing our hair for her. What I know is that we’ll be washing our hands of her in two weeks. After she pays us, good riddance.”
“No quitting now, Lauren.” I jump in. I can’t stand Miss Worthington either, but no way did I just spend hours and hours researching silly hats for nothing. And if I had all that free time back, I’d probably be thinking too much. About Lance. About Linney. About the dance. About Lance-and-Linney. About Linney hanging on Lance like a shadow ever since the dance. And about Dad, who hasn’t mentioned that I asked him to quit his job, even though it’s been two weeks. He’s just been acting normal, which means he’s not go
ing to change his mind and quit. I feel like I should understand that, especially after Lauren brought up the possibility of us quitting the wedding. But I’ve tried, and I still don’t understand it. Even though it’s nice to have him around more, I’m miserable at the same time.
“We’re in this till the end.” I put my hand over the flashlights, palm down.
Sadie and Becca stack their hands on top of mine.
“Come on, Lo,” Becca says.
“Tough it out,” I add. Like I’m toughing out my school/Dad situation.
Slowly, as she rolls her eyes, Lauren drops her hand on top of Sadie’s. “Fine. But I have to devote at least three hours per night to school, okay? I don’t care if Miss Worthington is floating out to sea with those six hundred paper lanterns she was dead set on last week and I’m the only one who can throw her a life vest. I can’t get another B.”
“RSVP!” I shout.
“RSVP!” they echo.
“We just have to set limits, that’s all,” Sadie says as she stands up. “Somehow.”
“I think she’s stuck with us, no matter what.” Becca hands the bucket of flashlights to Lauren. “It’s too late for her to find another wedding planner now.”
“Okay, so the next time she makes some outrageous demand, we have to talk her out of it. Right?” I wrap my arms around myself as Lauren clicks off all the flashlights and stows them on the PPE’s countertop. Becca’s right. It is freezing in here. I guess that means fall has finally arrived in Sandpiper Beach.
“Right,” Lauren says. She leads the way up the narrow stairs. “No more running when she calls. Okay, Sadie?”
“Well, I mean, if it’s not a big deal, and I’m not doing anything anyway, I don’t mind, really.”
“Sadie!” Becca stands on deck with her hands on her hips. “The whole point of this going-to-church—”
“Come-to-Jesus,” I correct her.
“Yeah, that. The whole point was to make it clear that things have to change! And it has to be all of us making the change. Including you.”
Sadie hops off the PPE onto the dock. “Okay, I promise.”
“All for one, and one for all, y’all,” Becca says with a big grin. The second she smiles, the wind gusts. “Oww.”
• • •
The sun has warmed everything up and the wind’s died down by the time the game against the Live Oak Beach Coquinas starts. Our Pirate Pelican mascot is dancing along the sidelines. I always thought he was one of the worst mascots in the history of team mascots—until I saw the Coquina. At least the Pirate Pelican can look a little fierce. The Coquina just sort of . . . stands there. Because it’s basically a clam in a shell, it doesn’t really have legs or arms or anything. At the bare minimum, they should have stuck an eye patch around its shell. At least the Coquina is so big that it hides the one person I really don’t want to see—Linney. But I know she’s back there, probably moving a single strand of honey-gold-highlighted hair back into place and glaring at everyone.
As I take my position on the field, I scan the bleachers for familiar faces. There, right in the very front, are Lauren, Sadie, and Becca. And Dad. I wave at them, giving myself a second to enjoy the fact that Dad is here to watch me, and then I get my head into the game. We win the coin toss and give the Coquinas the kickoff to start.
I move through the actions, focusing on the ball and the strategy. At one point in the first half, I’ve got the ball. I keep it close, moving straight toward the goal. I have one focus, and that’s to make that ball connect with net. Nothing else matters.
Even though I’m zeroed in on where I’m going, I’m still completely aware of the guy next to me in his purple Coquinas uniform. I maneuver this way and that to keep him away from the ball. But just as I get into kicking distance to the goal, he leaps in front of me and steals the ball away. I kick out to get it back and completely wipe out, landing smack on my back as he moves away with the ball.
“You okay?” Lance reaches out a hand. This summer, he would’ve cracked some joke about me tripping over my own feet. And then I would’ve said something really smart-alecky back. But now he just asks if I’m okay.
I kinda miss the old Lance.
“Yeah, just give me a second.” I lie there on the grass, trying to catch my breath as the referee blows his whistle for play to stop. I roll my head to the right, just in time to see Dad stand up, looking really concerned. My friends stand too—until Sadie pulls her phone from her purse. Then she sits down. It’s probably Miss Worthington, asking if we can relocate the entire wedding to Outer Mongolia or someplace.
One of the referees comes jogging over to me. I’d better get up before they think I’m really hurt.
“Let me help you,” Lance says, sticking his hand out again.
“I’m fine. I don’t need any help.” I dig my palms into the grass and push myself up. I know he’s my teammate and is supposed to show concern and all, but I’m not falling for it. Especially since he’s already turned away from me and is looking right at Linney in her Pirate Pelicans cheerleading outfit. She’s leading some kind of chant, out in front with the other girls behind her.
I don’t really care what Linney’s doing or not doing, so I nod to the referee to show him I’m okay. I’m just about to wave to Coach Robbins when I hear it.
“Kick that ball! Don’t fall!”
No way is Linney directing that cheer at me. She couldn’t do that, not here, in front of everyone.
“Hey, boys!” she shouts, looking directly at me.
“Hey, what?” the other cheerleaders yell back.
“Kick that ball! Don’t fall!”
I’m pretty sure my cheeks are going pink. Lance is still watching her. I can’t see what he’s doing, but he’s making some kind of motion with his hands. Probably clapping or something.
I really can’t believe that I ever liked him like that, even a little.
The referee blows his whistle again, and the game swings back into action. I’m so focused on playing that I don’t hear anything beyond the shouts of my teammates until halftime.
I follow everyone over to the sidelines and grab a bottle of water. Up in the stands, Dad gives me a huge smile. I grin back. Even though no one’s scored yet, it’s still been a good game. It’s nice to have him here, even if it means I have to see him in that navy-blue uniform tomorrow, sweeping the stairs at school.
Next to him, Lauren and Becca wave. Sadie’s not there—she must’ve had to go to the bathroom or something. Since we agreed not to jump when Miss Worthington called, I know she couldn’t have run off to do anything wedding related. My heart fills up when I realize that everyone I love the most is here, just to see me.
I’m leaning against the fence, talking strategy with Katie Asselin and the twins Ben and Jack Molanari, when the cheerleaders take the field. I have all the respect in the world for the girls who do crazy flips and stunts that I’d probably break my neck trying, but Linney is the last person I want to see. Especially when I’ve got half a game left to play.
Ben’s showing Jack, Katie, and me how to do a Cruyff turn (using his fingers as legs) when the cheerleaders burst into another cheer.
“Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate?” they all shout in unison.
“Lance, Lance, goooooo, Lance!” And that would be Linney.
From over by the water bottles, Lance’s face goes beet red. I smirk—just a little. Totally serves him right.
“Vi, what do you think?” Ben asks.
“Oh, um, that’s good,” I say, even though I wasn’t paying attention to him at all. Which is So Not Vi. Why I am more concerned with Linney than I am with the game?
I try really hard to listen to Ben, Jack, and Katie debate more strategy, but I keep getting distracted. After embarrassing a bunch of other guys and girls on the team, the cheerleaders move on to something about . . . violets?
I slowly turn my head until I can see Linney leaping around in the middle of the field.
&nbs
p; “Why have a violet when you can have a rose? Cheer for the Pelicans from your head to your toes!” Linney shouts. Then she jumps up and touches her toes. Because obviously. “Roses are so pretty, and they always win. Violets are the last pick, and they stick like a pin. Cheer for the Pelicans to score a ten!”
I can’t believe it. She totally made that cheer up. Besides being really bad and not making any sense, it’s so clearly about me. I’m the violet and she’s, what, the rose? It almost makes me want to laugh, except I wonder if anyone else has gotten it.
Lance looks right at me. He gets it. He frowns and shakes his head.
Please. I don’t need his pity. Being pitiful is So Not Vi. I look back up into the stands, at the people who really matter. Dad’s watching Linney too, and he doesn’t look all that happy. Maybe this is good. . . . After seeing how awful Linney’s being, in front of everyone from parents to the team from Live Oak Beach, maybe he’ll finally get how hard his job is making school for me. And maybe he’ll quit.
That itty-bitty glimmer of hope makes me just a tiny bit happy—for a second. Then I remember that if Dad didn’t have this school job, he wouldn’t be here at my game. And we wouldn’t get to take the kayaks out as much as we can now, and I’d go back to eating a lot of dinners by myself.
Linney repeats the whole entire awful violets/roses cheer. I’m not so sure now that I want Dad to go back to construction. Having him here—with me—is one of the best things ever. I love that he’s sitting there, with my friends. Except, wait . . . I look to Dad’s left again, where Sadie, Becca, and Lauren should be.
