Page 31

Chapter 30

You’ve Been Caught

E very Thursday after our walk-through practice, it's become a thing that marketing is standing in the hallway with their whiteboard and cameras. Danica and Ross, who we’ve all gotten to know a little bit better, are standing there smiling, waving anyone and everyone who comes out to swing by and answer the question. Today it’s, “What’s one thing you hate that others do not?”

“Don’t be shy,” Danica teases as she waves her hand over the board like she’s presenting a prize in a game show.

“Oh, I’m not shy. I don’t like the smell of ground beef,” I tell her.

“Bro, that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard,” Ryder says, as he moves to stand next to me.

“No, it’s not. I think a lot of people don’t like that smell.”

“Lies,” he declares. “Hamburgers, tacos, Salisbury steak, sloppy joes, meatballs, meatloaf—makes my stomach growl just thinking about it.” He rubs his stomach.

“I like all of those things. I just don’t like the smell of ground beef.” I prop my hands on my hips and stand a little taller.

“Bro, you’re weird,” he spits out.

“Fine, what’s yours?”

He thinks about this and then shivers. “Seagulls.”

“What?” I bark out a laugh as Sully comes to stand next to us.

“They’re nasty. People at the beach think they’re all cute, feeding them and shit, when really they are dirty birds. Think rats with wings.”

“Interesting, because the sound of the seagulls' call is soothing to me. When I hear it, my brain instantly slows down my central nervous system. My body thinks it’s on vacation.”

“We live in Florida. There are seagulls everywhere at all times.”

“Exactly,” Sully says, nodding as if Rico is just now solving one of life’s great mysteries.

“I said what I said.” Rico looks at each of us, then walks off.

“Chase?” Danica asks, glancing between Sully and the board. She’s waiting for him to answer it. His cheeks turn pink. It’s weird to hear someone call him by his first name. He’s always just been Sully.

“Umm . . .” He thinks about his answer, then he blurts out, “Baseball.”

“What? How do you not like baseball?” Dylan asks, he’s standing behind us.

“It’s boring.”

“No, it isn’t.” Dylan laughs.

“Then you’ve never played it. Just standing there for indefinite amounts of time waiting and then hoping the ball doesn’t come your way. No, thanks. It’s a slow game. Bores me.”

“I love baseball. I played it in the springtime all the way through high school.” He fakes like he’s swinging a bat.

“Of course you did. But the question is, what’s something you hate that others don’t. I know people love baseball. It’s just not for me.”

“I hate marshmallows,” Dylan says as if that’s not the oddest dislike ever.

“Why?” I ask him.

He tips his chin up, letting us know there’s no discussion about his reasoning. “The texture, the taste, the squishiness, they’re sugar squares and therefore bad for you. Marshmallows are just stupid and shouldn’t have been invented.”

Everyone standing around the board laughs.

“Who pissed in your hot chocolate?” J.J. chimes in while grinning.

“They’re disgusting. I stand by what I said.” He walks off.

A few other players call out answers, and then Bryan stops next to me.

“The Destroyers,” he says as we make eye contact, and he nods at me.

I nod back, clamp him on the shoulder, and smile.

You know for certain, our interaction here will make the reel.

Good. I hope he sees it.