Page 43

The slam of Bailey’s locker door makes me jump. “I’m out, hoes. Have a nice dinner.”

I don’t know if it’s paranoia, but I swear there’s something suspicious in her eyes when she looks back over her shoulder and waves before leaving the room. She’s one of the few players who’ve been on the team as long as I have, which means she’s one of the few people who were there for The Lisa Experience.

I know she lost friends because of it too. Anyone who stayed on the team did. A whole social circle got ripped in half when everyone was forced to choose between me and Lisa.

“I was thinking Pita Pit.” Hope steps up beside me, one strap of her backpack slung over her shoulder. “I’ve had a Pita Pit craving all day.”

I edge away from her on the pretense of closing my locker. If we’re going to keep hanging out, I need to be more careful.

“Pita Pit sounds good.”

“And then maybe we could eat in the park?”

I agree before I can stop myself.

Just a casual summer evening spent having an impromptu picnic in the park with a girl who’s kissed my neck.

Nothing non-platonic about that.

* * *

I roll down the top of my pita wrapper and take my first bite. Hope and I are sitting on a bench at Citadel Hill with a very platonic two feet of space between us, marked by the backpack I dropped onto the bench as soon as I sat down.

“Mmmm!”

Hope is already three bites into her pita and clearly satisfying her craving.

“’At’s ’ood!” she says around a mouthful of food.

I laugh and turn away from my view of the harbor to face her. “You seem happy.”

“Mmmm!” she repeats. She closes her eyes and does a contented little wiggle with her shoulders.

“You deserve a celebratory pita. You were great today.”

She swallows and tilts her head to the side. “You sure? I thought maybe Coach was just trying to be nice and, like, supportive of my nonsense rambling.”

“He’s nice, but he’s not that nice. You were amazing with your results and with the girls. You brought the best out of them. That’s hard to do in a practice, never mind a tryout.”

She shrugs. “I just wanted them to have fun. It’s hard to tell what someone’s strengths are if they aren’t feeling comfortable. I guess some people work well under pressure, but I think you can do more when you feel safe.”

She’s gotten quieter now, showing that contemplative, almost reserved side of her that doesn’t appear during practice or when she’s hanging out with the team.

“That makes sense.”

It sounds like she’s speaking from experience, like there’s heartache hidden in the way she helps other people, but I don’t know how to ask about it.

We spend the next few minutes eating and watching people in the park. The sun is making its way down to the edge of the water, streaking the waves with gold that filters up through the city streets. We sit above it all, looking down the green lawn in front of us that’s dotted with picnic blankets and beach towels like a patchwork quilt.

I’m the first to break the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

“It seems really hard for you to believe you did a good job today. Is that true?”

She’s done with her pita now, and she curls the wrapper up into a ball with her fist before sighing.

“Yeah, I guess that’s probably true.”