Page 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Xavier

I play a couple songs I wrote, tweaking a handful of chords, a few lines of the lyrics. But it's hard to concentrate when my brain keeps short-circuiting to that conversation last night with Cam. I want to jam with him and those other guys tomorrow, but it feels like it's too soon. Give me a breakaway on the ice, and I’ll go bar-down every time. Give me real-life decisions, and I’m faking left with no plan after that.

I'm just not ready to play with people at Cam's level. Pretty sure Maggie oversold me. Which, yeah, is ironic given how clear it's becoming that I under sold her.

Seems cliché for me to keep falling back on those things my father said to me this morning, since I don't have a lot of respect for most of his values and, in theory, don't put much weight in his opinion of me. And yet my thoughts go there. Specifically, that zinger about courage and stupidity being one and the same for me. Because I'm worried that might be the case if I decide to go through with the jam session tomorrow.

Not the first time I let Barron's words get to me despite repeatedly berating myself for it. But apparently my emotions don't give a shit about the directives my brain lays out for them. They're pig-headed little bastards, emotions; like a bunch of toddlers—doing whatever they damn well please no matter how hard you try to wrangle them.

Whatever. I'm exhausted, so I just put aside my own stuff and play covers. Hockey Dad, John Mayer, MyKey, Eddie Vedder. I play until my fingers ache and the sun starts dipping behind the dome. Until my stomach growls, and I realize I haven't eaten anything since those cheese sticks and Pop-Tarts hours ago. So, after a couple more songs, I head downstairs, following the sound of Finn's high-pitched voice and Maggie's easy laughter coming from the kitchen.

Maggie's pulling containers from the warming drawer as I approach from the stairs. Her hair is twisted into two messy buns perched high on her head, a bunch of wayward strands curling around her temples and brushing against the nape of her neck.

I slow my approach, taking in her outfit—a cropped star-print tee paired with baggy overalls. And socks covered in tiny cartoon sushi rolls. The getup should look ridiculous. Like something a kindergartener would pick out. But on her, it somehow works. She's got this effortless way of wearing things, like she genuinely doesn't care what anyone thinks. The exact opposite of the calculated outfits most girls wear around here—trying so hard to look like they're not trying at all. It’s like Maggie LeClair is starring in her own quirky indie film, and I can’t look away from the screen.

Doesn't help that the cropped shirt shows a slice of bronzed skin through the wide side opening of the overalls when she stretches to reach the back of the warming drawer. I force my gaze to eye-level as I stroll closer through the sitting room.

She straightens when she hears my footsteps and smiles.

"Xavier!" Finn's whole face lights up as he swings open the massive fridge door. "We're having mini turkey meatballs with marinara sauce for supper!"

"Cool."

"And I'm getting the veggies and dip!" He reaches into the fridge with both hands, carefully lifting out a covered tray. His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth as he concentrates on not dropping it.

I walk around the island as he takes his first tentative step.

"Here, let me help with that, buddy."

Together we transport the tray to the counter. I lift the lid while Finn bounces beside me, revealing neat rows of carrot sticks, celery, and cherry tomatoes arranged around a bowl of ranch dip .

"Look!" Finn runs his finger along the precise line of carrots. "Candice made them look like a sunshine."

"I love Candice." Maggie sighs, pulling another covered dish from the warming drawer. Her eyes flick to the bruises on my face, then down to where she knows the worst ones are hidden under my shirt. "How're you holding up, Rocky?" Her voice is casual, but her eyes read me like a book.

"Alright." I grab some plates from the cupboard, keeping my movements measured so my ribs don't protest too much.

Finn darts toward the pantry. "I'm gonna get napkins! And my special straw!"

When he's gone, I sidle closer to Maggie. Clear my throat. "Funny story…" I lean against the counter. "I was about to write a scathing Reddit review about the lack of service in the Observatory." I pull the empty Pop-Tart wrapper from my pocket and lift it."But turns out the Observatory's snack game is top-tier."

Maggie's lips quirk, her eyes meeting mine for a second before returning to the plates in front of me.

"Four stars for presentation…" I wait until her gaze meets mine again. "Five stars for thoughtfulness."

Her smile softens. "I figured, you know… It's been a crap twenty-four hours."

"Hasn't been all bad," I shrug, leaning in a little closer. "Tasted my first Bruise Buster Ball last night… which was pretty sweet."

Her eyes go wider, and she does this closed-mouthed laugh thing.

"Shit." I chuckle. "That sounded way dirtier than I meant it to."

She shoulder-checks me lightly. "Maybe because you keep calling it a ball instead of a boulder."

"Yeah." I rake my teeth along my lower lip. "Must be that."

This time we both laugh.

"You want a straw, Xavey?" Finn pops his whole body between us, and I choose not to examine why I'm disappointed at the sudden separation.

"I'm good, thanks."

"You sure? I have a really cool straw that's like glasses you can wear."

"I'm sure, dude." I ruffle his hair with one hand as I lean across the counter and toss the Pop-Tart wrapper into the garbage drawer with the other.

"You want one, Maggie?" Finn asks lifting onto his tiptoes to peer over her arm at the platter of meatballs.

She takes a step back and gives him her full attention. "You're asking if I want a straw that I can wear like eyeglasses while simultaneously using it to suck back my chocolate milk?" She cocks her head and gives him an exaggeratedly pointed look. "Heck yes. Of course I want to borrow your drinking-straw glasses!"

Finn's grin bubbles over into a giggle. "Okay, Maggie. I'm gonna get them for you." He rushes back into the pantry.

I pull in closer again. "Well. Now I feel like a stick-in-the mud for turning down the tacky glasses straw."

"Good." She flicks my chest. "You should."

Pretty sure I have never in my life had a girl dismissively flick my chest before. It sure as hell has never registered on my radar as a thing that's even mildly attractive in any way. Which is why I'm confounded as to why it suddenly is right now.

"Okay, guys," Maggie says conspiratorially, once Finn returns with the neon green glasses straw. "Here's what I'm thinking." She hooks the two arms of the glasses demurely over each ear, and Finn inhales a sharp breath as he anticipates whatever she's about to say next.

I'm pretty intrigued myself. Pretty intrigued with this girl in general, if I'm being honest, now that I'm considering the possibility that her sunny disposition and the way she is with my brother might be the real deal. That she might be different than all the other nanny clones who've inserted themselves into our lives over the years. Like she’s some kind of plot twist in a movie I thought I’d already figured out.

"I'm thinking we pile all this food on a couple trays…" she leans in. "We take the trays into the Games Room and eat in there while we have ourselves a mini tournament. One versus one with each of the games in there. Third person takes on the winner of each match. We tally the results and then…" She pauses for dramatic effect, killing it at pulling us both in. We're totally hanging on her every word. She finishes, "The losers have to compose and perform a song cele brating the winner." She straightens then claps her hands once as her eyes bounce between Finn and me. "So… Are you guys in?"

"Yesssss!!!" Finn leaps in the air, knocking my side in the process, his elbow jabbing straight into my ribs.

"Ohmygod, are you okay?" Maggie curls him into her arms and away from me, reaching out to rest a hand against my bicep.

I nod, tentatively stretching my back, not trusting myself to say any words just yet without them coming out as one long unflattering hiss.

"Sorry, Xave," Finn mimics Maggie, resting his tiny hand next to hers against my arm.

I laugh. "Guys, I'm okay." No hiss. Actual words, thank Christ. So I risk adding, "And yeah, count me in."

I've got this in the bag.

These two hyper cats are going down.

The throbbing in my ribs takes a back seat as we settle into our tournament. Finn's infectious energy fills the Games Room, his squeals echoing off the walls while the arcade lights flash around us. And Maggie's energy rivals Finn's.

"No way!" Maggie's jaw drops as I score another point in air hockey. "How are you doing that?"

I smirk. "Raw talent."

She narrows her eyes, dropping the puck. "Show me…" Her competitive streak could probably fuel a small jet engine.

I demonstrate my signature shot, a little jerky because of my damn ribs, but still impressive. But Maggie's a quick study. Within minutes, she's matching me point for point. This girl is hardcore—definitely not the amateur I expected. And evidently also has a black belt in making me eat my assumptions .

"Boom!" She throws her arms up after scoring. "That's what I'm talking about!" She follows it up with a victory dance that—not gonna lie—is way more distracting than the creatively high-octane trash talk she's been tossing my way the past half hour, then points a purple-sparkly-tipped finger at me. "Just a heads up, Mister Rockwell, I expect at least two key changes and some impressive high notes in the song you'll be composing in my honor." She lets out a little squeal, like she's already won the whole tournament. "Oh! And that thing musicians do where they tap on their guitar to make those kinda drumming noises at the same time as they're strumming."

I cross my arms, biceps popping. "Okay, first of all, I don’t do ‘high notes.’ My guitar and I have a strict no-falsetto policy." My tongue pushes into my swollen upper lip. "Second of all, key changes are overrated—kinda like your victory dance."

"My victory dance is stellar, you're just—"

"Third of all," I cut her off, taking a couple of steps closer, so we're just a foot apart now. The scent of strawberry shampoo hits me as I tower over her, but she doesn't back down an inch. If anything, her chin tilts up higher, those hazel eyes challenging me. I finish, "Seems to me you're putting the horse before the cart, LeClair."

"Oh, don’t worry, Rockwell." She leans in even closer, and I can feel the warmth of her breath brush against my jaw. "My cart’s got turbo boosters—you’ll be eating my glitter dust all the way to your sorry demise."

Leave it to Maggie to turn smack talk into a Broadway production.

"Glitter dust might be cute, but I’ll take horsepower over sparkles any day."

"So manly," she mocks.

Maggie’s sarcasm is sharper than my aim, and twice as fun to dodge.

"So adorable." I tap my finger on the end of her nose in a move I intended to be condescending but reeks of flirtation.

"Finn tugs on each of our elbows. "You guys, it's my turn now, right? I get to play Maggie 'cos she won."

"Yep." I take a step back and hand him my striker. "Just… go easy on her, okay, pal? We need to make her keep feeling like she's got a shot at this."

Maggie and I do both dial it back for him, but the second he's done, our competitive spirits flare up again. We both rev the handlebars obnoxiously on the full-motion seats of my favorite vintage motocross racing game. Maggie's got serious skills, but I've spent countless hours in here perfecting these games.

"Dance Dance Revolution!" Finn points to the machine. "Please?"

I groan. "Really?"

Maggie's joyful smile dims suddenly. "I don't think so, Finny. Remember your brother got injured? And his ribs hurt a lot so—"

"You think a few bruises are gonna keep me from winning?" I stride toward the two side-by-side dance games.

"I'm serious, Xavier." Maggie's brow furrows. "Your ribs—"

"Aww, look who's worried about me." I hop onto the dance platform, ignoring the sharp stab in my side. "Or maybe you're just scared I'll destroy you."

"That is not what this is about." She crosses her arms, but I catch the competitive glint in her eyes.

"Sure. I get it. Performance anxiety's rough." I turn on the machine. "No shame in backing down."

Poking her competitive pride is quickly becoming my new favorite pastime.

"Oh my God, you are impossible." She steps onto the platform beside me, lopsided hair buns bobbing. Her stare is laser-focused, like a predator deciding whether to play with its food or go straight for the kill. "Fine. But when you're crying later because everything hurts, remember this moment."

"The only crying will be you weeping over your crushed pride." I scroll through the song selection. "Pick your poison."

"'Butterfly' by Crazytown." She grins wickedly. "Expert mode."

"Classic choice." I hit select. If DDR were an Olympic sport, I’d be going for gold—bruised ribs and all. Because I've got a hell of a competitive streak too. "Get ready to see how it's done. I practically lived on this machine in eighth grade."

"Eighth grade?" She snorts. "That's cute. I was state champion three years running. "

The arrows start flying across the screen. Even with my ribs screaming, muscle memory kicks in. Turns out pain’s just a background track when you’re locked in a battle of pride and DDR. My feet hit each arrow bang-on. Maggie matches me almost step for step, her movements fluid and precise.

"Not bad for a lumbering jock," she pants between combinations. Coming from her, it’s practically a compliment.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." I nail a particularly complex sequence, adrenaline coursing through me to counteract the throbbing along my entire right side as my combo counter keeps climbing.

Finn bounces between us, cheering us both on equally. "Go Xave! Go Maggie! Go Xave! Go Maggie!"

The song builds to its finale, and despite the pain shooting along my ribs with every breath, I'm not about to let up. This is the most fun I've had in a long time.

After three more rounds of DDR, we move on to the arcade games, and watching Finn's face light up as he destroys me in Mario Kart is awesome. Maggie's turned out to be a decent opponent too—she actually beat my high score in Galaga, which I'm definitely not bitter about.

We're deep into Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles when I notice Maggie shifting from foot to foot behind us. I'm playing as Leonardo while Finn button-mashes Michelangelo through a sea of Foot Clan soldiers. I deliberately miss a few blocks, letting my health bar drop.

"Hey, Xavier?" Maggie's voice has lost its playful edge. "Can I talk to you for a second? In the hall?"

I glance over my shoulder, caught off guard by her serious tone. "Uh, sure." I ruffle Finn's hair. "Think you can handle these bad guys solo for a minute?"

"Yeah!" He doesn't even look up from the screen, totally absorbed in the game.

I follow Maggie into the hallway, the arched ceiling towering above us. The contrast between the neon glow of the Games Room and the dim corridor makes me blink. Something about her expression sets me on edge—it's not her usual sass or even annoyance. This is different .

"What's up?" I lean against the wall, trying to appear casual despite the way my heart rate picks up. The last time a girl pulled me aside like this, it was Piper Shen pleading her case about maturity and manning up and 'growing up already' and how apparently the virtues of monogamous relationships and commitment are linked to all of those things. Then listing seemingly every girl at SH Prep's disappointment in me and my refusal to at least give a real relationship a shot. Like she was acting on all their behalf as some sort of spokesperson or something.

No idea why any of this would even come to mind in relation to a conversation with Maggie LeClair, but there it fucking is.

Maggie shifts closer, her voice low. "Don't let Finn win this one."

"What? Why?" I straighten, wincing as my ribs protest, confused at the direction of her thoughts. "He's five."

"Exactly. And you've let him win every single game tonight."

"Because he's five, " I repeat, like she's missing the obvious.

She shakes her head. "Remember what I said in the Observatory? About boundaries? This is the same thing." She’s turning my fun zone into a life lesson, and I want to resent her for it.

The alternative is too much like Finn yelling at me yesterday that he hates my guts.

"You're not doing him any favors by making everything easy," she presses.

"It's just a few arcade games, in—"

"It's more than that." Her eyes lock with mine. "Don't you want him to be the kind of guy people want on their team? Or that other kids want to play games with without worrying he'll pitch a fit the second he doesn't come in first place?"

The words hit hard. I can't keep the images my mind conjures of Finn getting shunned, standing in some gym alone, last kid picked in dodgeball or hockey or whatever—and it hurts. It's not what I want for my brother. I want him to be the guy surrounded by friends, the one people are drawn to and include in their adventures. Hell, friendships are what got me through some of the toughest times.

"Shit." I run a hand through my hair, nodding once .

“Right now, sure. But like…” She gestures toward the Games Room with a tiny shrug. “If no one ever beats him, he'll never learn how to not be the sorest loser ever. You want him to be that kid? The one who throws a fit because someone else scored higher?”

I let out a slow breath. Okay. That actually hits.

“He’s got to learn that not winning is normal,” she adds, softer this time. “And that it doesn’t mean he’s not awesome. Just… not first. And that’s fine.”

"You're right. I know that, but…" I glance back at Finn. "Man. I hate seeing him disappointed."

She nudges my arm. "Focus on the end game. How letting him lose without a parachute is the only way to let him figure out how to land."

I nod slowly. "Yeah." A smirk tugs at my lips as I look up. "But just so you're aware… this little chat." I motion between us. "I was thinking about letting you win, but now…" I push my hands in my pockets, rocking back on my heels. "You're going down, LeClair."

Her eyes spark with challenge. "In your dreams, Rockwell."