Call It What You Want

by Brigid Kemmerer

  No one saw. I still can’t quite believe it.

  Owen’s eyes glance up. “Like those kids need the school to buy them gear.”

  “Seriously,” I say. It makes me wince inside, because I was once one of those kids, and while it doesn’t feel right to align myself with Owen, it doesn’t feel wrong, either.

  He’s peeled his orange and divided all the pieces, and he’s eating them as methodically as everything else.

  The cash is searing hot against my palm.

  I slide my hand under the cover of the book and let go of the money. My heart is pounding like I’m being recorded and the cops are going to spring a trap any second.

  Owen frowns. “Dude. You look like you’re going into shock.”

  I flick my eyes at the book. “Make sure your lunch choices are more judicious this time.”

  He hesitates, then slides his hand beneath the cover, then slides it back out. He peeks under his palm like he’s caught a bug.

  He goes still. His eyes meet mine.

  This is a moment. I can feel it. He can rat me out. He can shove it back. He can storm away from the table.

  He can take the money and be complicit in what I just did.

  I have no idea what I expect. Time stretches into infinity as I wait for Owen Goettler to determine my fate.

  His fingers close around the cash. He slides it into his pocket.

  Then he shoves the book back across the table to me. “Catch up on the last three pages. It’s getting really good.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Maegan

  When I get home, Samantha is tossing balls at the rebounder again. I haven’t seen her since she stormed away from the table last night, and I wonder what kind of mood she’ll be in.

  Mom and Dad aren’t home yet, though, so if I’m going to talk to her, now would be my best chance.

  I pour chocolate milk into a cup and carry it out to her. My feet sweep through dead leaves as I walk. The air is heavy and cold, a bite with a taste of smoke from a neighbor’s fireplace.

  “I don’t really want to talk right now,” she says tightly, without turning. The ball slings against the rebounder with a hard snap.

  I hesitate. “Okay. I brought you chocolate milk, though.”

  She catches her latest throw, then turns. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were Mom.”

  “Nope.”

  She takes the cup from me and drinks half of it in one swallow. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She looks down at the cup and swirls it in her hand for a minute. “Thanks for last night, too. I really appreciate it.”

  “Last night?”

  “You didn’t tell them.” Her eyes lift to find mine. “About David.”

  No one is home, but I keep my voice quiet anyway. “No.” I pause. “It’s not my secret to tell.”

  She twirls the lacrosse stick in her hand, then chucks the ball across the yard. “If you’re going to get on my case about it, you can go hang out with Mom.”

  “I’m not getting on your case.” I pause. “I’m trying to be your sister. I’m trying to be supportive.”

  She catches the ball as it sails back to her. She looks like she wants to make a crack about my sister comment—but then she must see my face.

  She kicks at the leaves underfoot. “You want to be supportive? Want to run some drills?”

  I snort. “Yeah, okay, so you can bean me in the head? I can’t play with you.” Samantha left me in her dust years ago.

  Her face falls a little, but then she shrugs. “No, I know. I mean, I could go easy.”

  That’s like asking a blizzard to stick to flurries. “Yeah, sure.”

  But then I think of someone who probably wouldn’t mind running a few drills—and probably isn’t doing anything more interesting than watching paint dry.

  “Wait,” I say to Samantha. “I have an idea.”

  Rob arrives faster than I expect. I’m surprised to learn he has his own car. It’s a sleek black Jeep Cherokee. Not exactly top of the line, but when I get up from the porch steps to walk over to greet him, I can see the pristine interior, all tan leather and a sweet sound system.

  I can’t help staring.

  He can’t help noticing.

  His expression was easy when he got out of the car, but now his eyes are guarded, his shoulders tense. He hasn’t closed the door yet, like he might need to make a quick getaway. He speaks quickly. “It was my dad’s car first, and he bought it before … before, so they couldn’t seize it—”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation.” I have to shake myself. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have been staring.”

  “Everyone stares.” He hesitates. “It’s eight years old and it’s got over a hundred thousand miles on it, so we can’t sell it for a whole lot. And Mom says it’s better to stick with a car that we know runs well than to give it up for something—”

  “Really,” I say. “You don’t have to explain.”

  He shuts up.

  This feels like the moment I showed up at Wegmans and found him without any books. I’m always a little guarded, but Rob seems permanently set at DEFCON 1.

  Samantha appears at my side and bumps me with her shoulder. She’s got her lacrosse stick in hand, and she’s tossing the ball in the air, twirling the stick, and catching it.

  “You bring your stuff?” she says. No thanks for coming or hi, I’m Samantha. When there’s a lacrosse ball involved, she’s all business.

  Rob doesn’t seem to mind. “Yeah.” He slams the door and opens the tailgate. He’s brought two sticks and a pile of pads and a helmet. All of it is dirty and grass stained.

  She’s not wearing anything more protective than a sweatshirt, so he slides a stick free. “I’m out of practice,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

  Samantha backs up, swings her stick wide, and flings the ball at him.

  His stick was hanging by his side, but he’s fast, and he whirls to snatch the ball out of the air.

  He snaps it right back to her.

  She catches it and grins. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen on her face since she got home from school. “You’ll do,” she says. “Get the rest of your stuff on. I’ll go get my goggles. Megs, come help me out.”

  I absolutely hate when she calls me Megs and she knows it. “Why can’t you get them yours—”

  She seizes my arm and drags me toward the porch. Once we’re inside, her voice drops to a hushed whisper. “Maegan. You said you were texting your calculus partner. I thought you were dragging some math geek over here. Rob Lachlan is hot. Are you dating him?”

  I snort. The idea of Rob having even a fleeting romantic interest in me is laughable. “No. And he is my calculus partner.”

  “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  “Don’t you have enough boy problems?”

  “Not for me, you idiot. Come here. Put on some lip gloss.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be getting your goggles?”

  “Like that’ll take more than two seconds. Come here. Let me do your eyes.”

  I smack her hand away. “You don’t think that will look a little suspicious? If I show up outside with full makeup on?”

  “I’ll be subtle.”

  “Sam—”

  “Maegan.” Her eyes are fierce—and also a little hurt. “Let me be your sister for five minutes, okay?”

  That shocks me into compliance. For months, I’ve felt like she was pushing me away. Has she felt the same?

  While I’m turning this thought over in my head, she’s stroking eyeliner and shadow onto my lids, then flicking at my lashes with mascara.

  Guilt has been pricking at me since she thanked me for keeping her secret from Mom and Dad, and I can’t be silent in the face of all this sisterly love. “Sam, I need to tell you something.”

  “Are you carrying his baby?”

  “No, seriously.”

  She unscrews the cap of a tube of lip gloss. “What’s up?”

/>   “Rob knows. About you.”

  Her hand goes still.

  “I didn’t mean to tell him,” I rush on. “I was upset after dinner last night, and he made a guess, and I think he was joking, but it was right on the mark, and—”

  “I don’t care.” She brushes gloss across my lips.

  “You don’t?”

  “No. Mom and Dad are the ones who don’t want the truth to get out. But I’m not a nun. I know what I did. I’m not going to dance around in a maternity shirt yet, but I’m not upset.” She hesitates. “I’m actually a little jealous that you have someone to talk to. I can’t tell anyone from school because I don’t want them to yank the scholarship until I know what I’m doing.”

  “Rob’s not—we’re not friends. I don’t really talk to him.”

  “Yeah, well, you need to change that. Look. Subtle.”

  I turn and look at myself in the mirror.

  “This looks so obvious.” I don’t wear much makeup to school, and now my eyes are dark-lined and my lips are glossy. “He’s going to wonder what’s taking so long.”

  “Trust me. He won’t. Shake out your hair.”

  “Sam …” But then I see her look and sigh. “Fine.” I shake out my hair.

  She goes to get her goggles.

  While she’s doing that, I put my hair back in a loose ponytail and head downstairs. I mean, honestly.

  Rob is out back tossing the ball against the rebounder. Black pads broaden his shoulders and cling to his rib cage, but his helmet is in the leaves beside a tree. Like Samantha, every toss and catch looks effortless; the only indicator of speed is the flip of his stick and the indentation of the elastic.

  Okay, fine. He’s attractive.

  “You put your hair back up!” Samantha says.

  “Yeah. Well. You can’t have everything.”

  “Fine, then. Have it your way.” She yanks out her pony tie and flings it on the table, shaking out her blond waves as she pushes past me to slide the door open.

  I stare after her, gape-mouthed, then get myself together to follow. I’m scowling and I’m not even sure why. I just spent five minutes telling her I’m not interested. And I’m not.

  I mean, not really.

  Okay, maybe a little.

  Samantha is skipping across the yard, her hair shining gold in the fading sunlight. Her goggles, striped with pink and blue, hang from one hand.

  Rob turns when he hears her rustling through the leaves. “Why do I need pads? Girls don’t get physical—”

  Samantha slams into him with her shoulder.

  He grunts and falls back a step. “Okay, fair enough.”

  Ugh. I’m going to have to go back into the house.

  What is wrong with me?

  But then Samantha turns. “Hey, Megs? I forgot to put my ponytail tie back in. Loan me yours?”

  Oh, she is something else. If I don’t give her mine, I’ll look like a weirdo.

  I mean, more of a weirdo than I look right now, standing on the porch, staring at them.

  I carefully unwind the elastic and shake out my hair, then walk it over to her. My cheeks feel warm, and I can’t look at Rob. I’m super conscious of the eye makeup suddenly. “Here you go.”

  She winds her hair up, and I watch, because otherwise I’m going to be looking at Rob, and he’s clearly looking at me.

  I don’t understand how this got all awkward.

  Because of my sister. That’s how. I wasn’t even thinking of him that way, and then she had to go into makeover mode.

  Then he says, “I know some great drills, but we need three people.” All casual directness. “Do you play at all?”

  Oh. He was looking at me because he had a lacrosse question.

  “No—I mean—not really.” I stumble all over my words like I’m falling down the stairs again. “Not enough to play with the two of you.”

  “Okay.” He shrugs and turns back to Samantha. “What did you have in mind?”

  Then they’re lost to the game and talks of drills and ground balls and defense. They run the length of the yard, throwing the ball back and forth to each other from all angles. I’ve seen Samantha play a billion times, so today my eyes are locked on Rob. I can see why he and Connor would have been thinking about scholarships: he’s as athletic as my sister, and the ball whips back and forth from his stick like he’s got it on a string.

  Then they start a new drill where they’re running parallel, then one of them chucks the ball way out into the grass, and they race to see who can get it off the ground first.

  Samantha is more aggressive at first, shoving Rob out of the way, and I can tell he’s trying to go easy.

  “Are you sure you should be doing that?” I yell to her.

  She ignores me and puts her shoulder down and gets him right in the gut.

  He yields and lets her scoop the ball off the ground, but he’s smiling, spinning the stick in his hands. He got rid of his sweatshirt twenty minutes ago, leaving his arms bare. My eyes are transfixed by the way his biceps move.

  He’s breathing hard, but he says, “I feel like I’m at a disadvantage here.”

  “Why?” says Samantha. She’s breathing equally hard, blinking sweat out of her eyes. She doesn’t smile. “Because of the baby? I’m not a china doll. Play for real or get the hell out of here.”

  My sister, the master of tact.

  Rob loses his smile. “Fine.”

  “Fine.” She twists her stick, then tosses the ball far ahead. They sprint for it.

  He’s faster, but not by much. This time, when Samantha tries to shove him away, he ducks inside her movement, his stick flying out to capture the ball. She tries to jab him in the side, but he twists and shoulders her away.

  She refuses to yield. Their legs tangle. They go down.

  Oh, crap. I’m on my feet.

  The porch door behind me slides open. My father’s voice booms across the yard, some mixture of worry and anger. “Samantha! Are you okay?”

  Then he’s rushing past me, still in uniform.

  Double crap. I go after him.

  By the time he gets to them, Rob is pulling Samantha to her feet.

  They’re both red-faced and breathing hard, but she’s smiling. “That was awesome.”

  Rob’s eyes are wide and concerned. “Are you all right?” he’s asking her. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to—”

  “You’re damn right you didn’t mean to,” my father says. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  Rob falls back a step, but he doesn’t flinch from my father’s eyes. “Maegan invited me.”

  Uh-oh. Dad turns his eyes to me. “Are you crazy.”

  So rhetorical there’s not even a question mark. I babble anyway. “Samantha was bored. She wanted to play. Rob is my math partner—”

  “Enough.” He turns to Rob. “Do you know what you’re doing? You could really hurt someone.”

  “It was an accident,” Rob says. “We got carried away.” Then he tacks on, “Sir.”

  “Well, it’s not going to happen again.” He glares at Samantha, who hasn’t said a word. Her breathing has returned to normal. Any joy has died from her eyes, leaving nothing but righteous anger.

  “What on earth are you thinking?” my father demands.

  “I was thinking I wanted to play a game,” she snaps. She shoves her lacrosse stick into Dad’s chest, and he catches it automatically. “No one got hurt. Not even the ‘little problem.’ ”

  He looks like he wants to break the stick in half. His jaw is clenched. “Come inside. We’re going to talk about this.” He looks at Rob. “And you are going home.”

  Rob takes a step back. He nods quickly. “Yes, sir.”

  “No.” Samantha loops an arm through Rob’s and holds him there. “He’s Maegan’s friend. And we’re going to dinner.”

  Rob takes a breath. He looks to me as if for help. “I, uh …”

  My father ignores him. “You are doing no such thing. You are coming into t
his house, and you are going to—”

  “No!” cries Samantha. “I’m eighteen years old, and I’m going to get something to eat. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was playing a stupid game. You’re not telling me what to do, Mom isn’t telling me what to do, and this dumb baby isn’t telling me what to do.” Her voice cracks, and she starts crying. “Okay, Daddy?” Her breath is hitching. “It was a stupid game. And now I’m going to go get some stupid dinner.”

  Dad takes a long breath and runs a hand back through his hair. “Samantha—”

  “Come on,” she says to me. “I need to get out of here.” Then she turns and starts dragging Rob toward the driveway.

  I follow, though I’m not sure if I’m doing the right thing. My father’s anger hangs in the air and seems to follow me all the way to the car.

  Rob doesn’t bother to strip the pads, he just tosses his helmet into the back seat. I move to let Samantha ride shotgun, but she finally lets go of Rob’s arm and shoves me at the passenger door.

  Once we’re all inside, I realize my father is still in the middle of the backyard, glaring at the car.

  “Are you sure about this?” Rob says under his breath.

  “Yes,” Samantha says fiercely. “I can’t go back there now.”

  “Okay.” He starts the engine. Pulls out of the driveway. Pushes sweat-spiked hair out of his eyes.

  We drive in complete silence for a minute.

  Then Samantha bursts out laughing. “Sir. Oh my god, that was too much. You’re no dummy, Rob.”

  He shrugs and glances at her in the rearview mirror, then over at me. “Well. You know.” He smiles, and butterflies go wild in my abdomen. “He did have a gun.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rob

  I should be thinking about how good it felt to run with a stick in my hands again. Or maybe about how shitty it felt to have a cop in my face. Or the fact that I could have really hurt Maegan’s sister—though Samantha could legitimately kick my ass. On the field or off.

  Honestly, I should be paying more attention to the fact that Maegan looks really pretty with her hair loose.