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Game,I want to say. But I know better than to make waves.

My mother unlinks her arm from mine and pats Susan on the shoulder. “That’s an excellent idea. We should let the boys talk. I’m sure they have plenty in common.” She turns to Bill. “Tell me about your latest project.”

The four of them wander off, leaving Harrison and me standing in awkward silence. I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you doing?”

He meets my gaze with icy eyes. “Playing nice.”

“Nice? You’re acting as if we don’t know each other.”

He rubs his hand over his mouth and scowls. “Because it’s easier this way.”

“Easier?” I uncross my arms and take a step closer to him. “Easier than what?”

“Explaining how the star catcher knows me. That would invite more questions than either of us is prepared to answer. I mean, do you want to tell your parents that you were arrested in a pink mankini?” My face contorts into a horrified expression. Harrison snickers. “That’s what I thought. And I can’t exactly tell my parents whyIwas arrested, now, can I?”

“No, you can’t.”

I rub the back of my neck, unsure of what to say. He has a point. As much as I am curious about Harrison—about the possibility of us—this isn’t the time for me to swoop in and save him from his oppressive parents. We’ve been navigating this world our whole lives. We know its dangers all too well.

“So, what do we do? Pretend that this is the first time we’ve met?”

He shrugs. “Could be fun to wipe the slate clean and start over. At least this way, my first encounter with you will involve clothing and a flaccid penis.”

I blush. I sputter. I throw wood.

He chuckles at my reaction and holds out his hand. I focus on his long fingers. They’re thin, leaner than Charlie’s, but just as intriguing.

Our palms connect, and we shake. Less firm, more friendly this time.

“To new beginnings,” he says before letting go and beckoning me to follow him to his table.

Chapter 17

The Next Roger Clemens

Charlie

Gettingready for the Kappa Sig party means tearing through my closet for a shirt that doesn’t smell like mothballs. My phone buzzes on the bed. It’s Roy, FaceTiming me. I pick up without hesitation, and Roy’s face fills the screen, all serious, as if he’s about to deliver bad news, though I know he’s not. It’s how he always looks.

His black hair is buzzed shorter than it was this morning, but his five o’clock shadow is as present as ever.

“I listened to your game on the radio,” he says. “Sounds like it went well.”

I scoff. “Well? Try fucking awesome! After all that worrying this morning, it turns out I’m the next Roger Clemens.”

He nods slowly, expecting nothing less from me. “Good to see you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks.” I flop onto the bed, holding the phone above me. “How’s life at the hardware wonderland?”

“Hell, as usual,” he says with no emotion whatsoever because that’s Roy for you. “Chet’s been doing better, so that’s a plus.”

Ah, Chet. The bane of Roy’s existence at the hardware store. He’s a sophomore at Bomont High, along with our cousin, Liam. They’re both sixteen but couldn’t be moredifferent.

Chet’s a stocky dude. He’s got this military-style buzz cut that makes him look like a thumb with eyebrows. And let’s just say he’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. The guy plays football, though, which is cool, I guess.

Liam, on the other hand, is on the swim team. He’s lean and brainy, the complete opposite of Chet. And for some reason, the universe decided to do an experiment and see what would happen if you took these two guys and made them best friends.

I don’t get it, to be honest. I mean, what do they even talk about? I imagine Chet probably goes on about the latest play he fumbled while Liam tries to explain the intricacies of a butterfly stroke technique. It’s a mystery to me.