by Lamar Giles
I nodded, dreading the thought of another conversation like this, cool heads or not.
Dad backed away, eyeing that hand of his. “I’m sorry, babygirl. About all of it. Better now than later. Trust me.”
Wasn’t that the problem, though? I didn’t trust him, or Mom. Apparently, they didn’t trust me, or they wouldn’t have tricked me.
Dad had been home three days. How did it get so bad so fast?
Or was good ever a thing?
Mom left me, hovered in the doorway leading to her side of our suite. Only when Dad opened the main door to the outside hallway and closed it behind him did she step fully into her room and lock herself in. It wouldn’t occur to me until later that they weren’t sleeping in the same room, and never would again.
In the days after the Apocalyptic Poker Game, I used every trick and alternate route I knew to avoid seeing either of my parents around the hotel. Stairs instead of the elevator. Up an hour earlier for a to-go breakfast from the Constellation Grill (on Mom’s tab because, hey, I’m broke now), to be eaten on the smokers’ bench in Andromeda’s Loop while waiting for Molly and Gavin. It wasn’t that hard. Really, I got the impression they were avoiding me, too.
My friends and I don’t lie to each other, so I called what I did an exclusion. I didn’t tell them my bankroll was gone and, without it, UVA was as feasible as Hogwarts for me. Over the next week, when Gavin was concerned with the thugs in his neighborhood messing with his brothers, and Molly brooded over the local sports press listing Cardinal Graham over us in the city rankings, I fake-smiled and made like the plan was still on track. Most of my world was crap. Things between me and them needed to be okay.
My Davis Carlino chemistry project proceeded and he was better at it than he let on. He did the heavy lifting by deciding our topic would be Reactivity of Metals, initiating conversations about logical steps and necessary materials, and not asking Mr. Devindra for a new partner when I responded in monosyllabic grunts. At times, I’d glance up and catch Molly mean mugging me for clearly squandering this opportunity. Too bad she couldn’t lead my love life the way she led our soccer team.
We played our first away game of the season and won, and I managed to fake it through the celebration. It wasn’t so hard. I assisted on a Molly goal and got a faint reminder of what joy felt like. The day after, Friday, this happened …
“Great game last night,” Davis said.
I’d been swirling a beaker of hydrochloric acid and steel wool. It almost slipped from my grasp. “Huh?”
“You and Molly play great together.”
Was Molly, tired of my obvious but persistently denied funk, now controlling Davis telepathically to force my hand? No, she seemed wholly occupied with her own chemistry project.
Backed into a corner, I said, “You came to the game?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Not smooth, at all. Quick recovery: “Most people don’t come to our away games. Or our home games.”
“Away games are safer for me these days.”
“The Cardinal Graham beef,” I said.
“Your football team is still having trouble with the concept of school transfers.”
Days had passed and the understaffed maintenance crew had only managed to remove half of the offensive graffiti Davis’s former classmates decorated our school with. So, each morning, the jock rage reignited. With the Vista Rojo–Cardinal Graham games still two weeks away, the only immediate revenge outlet … had me for a chemistry partner.
He wasn’t bruised, at least not that I could see, so no one probably risked a suspension or, more important, playing time to issue a beatdown. But I knew from experience, Vista could initiate psychological warfare at a moment’s notice.
“Want some advice?” I offered.
He nodded, his shaggy bangs swishing over his eyes. “Sure.”
“Stop thinking of them as my football team. They’re yours, too.”
“Duly noted. Anything in addition to the power of positive thinking? I’m not sure altered vibes are going to be enough here.”
Fully in fixer mode, a skill set honed by solving all sorts of wild, on-the-fly problems at Andromeda’s over the years, all the problems except my own, I settled on a possible solution. “Let me talk to my friend Gavin. He plays left guard and isn’t jerky like the rest of them. His influence, plus some sort of peace offering, can smooth things over significantly.”
“Peace offering. So I’m negotiating with terrorists.”
“What did I just say? They’re your team, too. I’m not saying a million dollars in small bills. You’ve seen what they like.”
“Food.”
“Exactly. Pick up a couple bags of candy bars and throw them into the locker room. They’ll love you forever. Like puppies.”
“Sage advice, Nikki Tate. You’re everything I’ve heard and more.”
My mouth twitched. He’d been talking to people about me? “What have you heard?”
“You’re funny. You’re smart. I should never sit across from you at a card table unless I don’t like money.”
“That’s all?”
“Is there more?”
This week, unfortunately, yes. Dan Harris got his wish, and Dad made his big public statement condemning Metro, and the city attorney’s office, and American justice in general. Beamed directly from one of Andromeda’s conference rooms to the homes of my worst classmates. I hadn’t seen it myself. I had the texts from strange numbers I had to keep blocking and the notes wedged into my locker and the nasty posts that made me delete every social media account I was stupid enough to have started and the constant, triflingly snickering whispers. It was a crappy thing to think, but I was glad Davis was still a Cardinal Graham pariah. No one was rushing to let him in on the joke.
I forced my facial tic into submission. “Depends on how far Molly unhinged her jaw. Sometimes she does that to lessen the strain on her ever-running mouth.”
He shook his head. “Actually, she gave me a pamphlet.”
“What did it say?”
“It was just the word awesome printed over and over. It wasn’t a creative pamphlet. Kind of creepy, really. You should watch that Molly. She’s stalking you.”
I laughed. A real laugh. It was still possible. I decked him in the shoulder and was only vaguely aware that I’d forgotten to feel sorry for myself. Forgotten my anger.
Davis Carlino, the best amnesia ever.
Dad tried. He did. God, he did.
He knew enough to let some days pass—maybe Mom told him to give me space—but by the weekend he was actively making attempts to repair the damage. Amateur.
He’d wised up to my early morning to-go orders at the Grill and tried to goad me into a sit-down. I walked out. When I came home in the evenings after soccer practice, he just happened to be in the lobby, looking over a check-in clerk’s shoulder as if learning the computer system. I went straight to my room. He wasn’t great at the quiet slights, so every time I saw him during those angry days, I decimated him.
My mom and I had spent years perfecting our silent-treatment techniques. A passing eye roll here. A complete 180-degree avoidance turn there. Our battles eventually resulted in some unspoken stalemate. But we needed each other—Andromeda’s Palace slogged along on our efforts—and that need wore down our invisible shields. The thing with Dad … I hadn’t figured how to need him yet.
From where I stood, him being home wasn’t much different from him being in prison. I felt stupid for expecting more. For wanting it.
By the time Friday hit, and things were looking up with Davis, Dad tossed subtle aside. Texting me as chemistry class let out.
Dad: I want to talk and put this behind us. Let’s do something fun. Bowling at Red Rock tonight? You still like bowling, right?
“You okay?” Davis gathered his books and we drifted into the hall together.
“Fine.” The text made me furious; the rage translated to a spiteful boldness I wouldn’t have been capable of a week
ago. “You want to go bowling at Red Rock tonight?”
He was surprised, evident by his gaping mouth. His cuteness tapered my anger, made me question the crappy thing I was about to do, but only for a second.
“Sure,” Davis said, agreeing to our first date. “Let’s do it.”
“Awesome.” I thumbed a text back to Dad.
Me: sorry. got plans.
I wanted to be clever and hurt Dad and spend more time with Davis Carlino. I wanted everything, and still got more than I bargained for.
“Remind me, why am I here?” Molly said as she sipped her cherry Coke.
Thunder echoed throughout the cavern of Red Rock Lanes, the bowling alley inside the Red Rock Resort in Summerlin. It was close to the school, but a way different vibe from Downtown or the Strip. Few tourists ventured out this far, making Red Rock more a locals’ hangout, a place to get away from the televised version of the city that outsiders were most familiar with.
The weekends were Cosmic Bowling nights, where the weekday fluorescents were turned down in lieu of black lights morphing the polished lanes blue, giving the balls a candied glow. I watched bowlers fling neon orbs toward pins like Jawbreakers shotgunned at unprotected teeth. Music videos played on the displays lining the wall, the corresponding songs blaring loud enough so we had to shout to hear each other.
“Because.” I got Davis’s “on my way” text twenty minutes ago. I scanned the door every other second, anticipating his arrival. A new text came through, and of course I thought Davis, until I read it.
Goose: Got a game for you if you’re interested.
My big-bellied biker friend was true to his word. He still wanted to stake me. And I needed to be earning money again.
“You okay?” Molly asked.
I’d been staring at my phone, maybe for a while. “I’m fine.”
Me: can’t tonight. sorry. but thank you.
Declining Goose’s offer gave me an ache in my near-empty pockets, but it wasn’t as if I could—or wanted to—bail on the night. I focused on the moment.
Molly kept expressing her concerns, undeterred by the noise. “I get I’m supposed to be your wingwoman, but does he have any friends? I’m not spending the whole night with a CG boy. Just so you know.”
“I specified no Griffins.”
“Who, then?”
Good question. One I honestly hadn’t put much thought into because Molly and Gavin’s will-they/won’t-they bit was the only important romantic scenario in either of their worlds. Of course they didn’t want to admit it, and the thinly veiled jealousy they exuded whenever the other one dated, or even looked at, another possible suitor just exacerbated the whole thing. So, really, whoever Davis brought was of temporary consequence.
Then Davis stepped into the place, I saw who was with him and had a change of heart.
Molly noticed, too. She sat up straighter and popped a mint.
Davis spotted me immediately, and it set my skin tingling. I stood to greet him at our table, all sorts of protocol questions scrolling through my brain. Was this a hug situation? A head nod, maybe?
Davis made it a moot point when he embraced me wholly, pulling me into him. It wasn’t just my skin tingling then. I responded in kind, squeezing, tracing my fingers along his spine. I couldn’t hear the noise around us until Molly cleared her throat pointedly.
“Introductions?” she said.
Davis pulled away, and it was like fighting the pull of a magnet.
“Sorry,” he said. “Molly, meet my brother, Cedric.”
The slightly older, more heavily muscled Carlino went with the nod option. “Hey.”
Cedric Carlino, he of bulging veiny biceps on display thanks to his designer tank top, those arms demanding attention for the tattooed art adorning his flesh as much as for his rippedness.
Was rippedness a word? For him it should be.
He had a bronze tan, the same chocolate-brown eyes as his brother, and his scalp shaved close.
He. Was. A. Specimen.
“Hey, yourself,” Molly said, flirt mode on. Her twinkly eye and half smile confirmed she was pleased. Wingwoman wasn’t such a bad gig after all.
We rented ugly bowling shoes and got a game going. It was fun until it wasn’t.
It was too loud in there for good conversation, though we tried.
“What’s up with you and the Super Friends?” he just about screamed in my ear.
“Huh?” I screamed back. I heard him, didn’t get the reference.
“You, her”—he pointed at Molly—“and the biggest, strongest human I’ve ever seen politely ask a lunch lady for an orange Jell-O cup.”
His astute observation of Gavin’s affinity for that nasty dessert got me giggling. “Nothing’s up. They’re family.”
“I figured that much. Since I came to Vista, everyone’s been real cliquish. You three seem different, is all.”
“Now we do. There was a time when we were very cliquish. The Outcasts. Gavin was the poor kid. Molly’s adopted, has two dads, and can testify that a bunch of Las Vegas residents are way less progressive than you’d think. And I—” I hadn’t planned to go there. Ever.
His smile went crooked. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.”
So he did know. I guess this was his way of being cool about it. Could I be cool about it?
“Hey,” he said. “Cedric’s turn. Let’s laugh in unison.”
Cedric hefted his ball from the rack, immediately slung it in a manner suggesting he thought the pins were in a different building. As physically impressive as he was, he bowled like he didn’t have fingers. We mocked him as Davis suggested.
Cedric spun on slick bowling shoe soles, sporting a sunny grin. “Cut me some slack. I’m doing my best over here.”
“Do better,” Molly chided. Glum over their combined scores.
“It is what it is. Nobody plays to lose.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Davis leaned into me, his warm, slightly cinnamony breath tickling my ear, whispering something about how Molly should trade Cedric for a twelve-year-old a few lanes down who was throwing strikes. I felt as jittery as the day he’d announced our partnership in class, but with excitement, not embarrassment. Even knowing stuff about my history, he wanted to be here. With me. As much as I wanted to be with him. It wasn’t forced. Not awkward. No one checked their phones, hoping it was time to go.
We’d gotten through one game and started a fresh one. Davis held his ball at eye level, lining up. He began his approach and …
“GRIF-FIN BLOOD!”
Davis threw the ball in a hard diagonal, and it zoomed directly into the gutter.
The shout came from some ignorant, jerk, can’t-let-anyone-have-a-good-time Vista classmates. I’d spotted them earlier, bowling a dozen lanes over, and hadn’t thought much about it. Now they’d moved from their game to freshly vacated seats in the lane next to us. Apparently they’d run out of money and needed something to soothe their boredom. Us.
Molly reacted first. Measured and strategic. She twisted in her seat, said, “You losers trying to play us next game? Four on four?”
An out for everyone. These guys weren’t our friends, but an agreed-upon friendly competition might make it so all could be forgiven.
Instead, one of them said, “Nikki, I know this isn’t what I think this is. You’re a Lion. Shouldn’t your dad be taking out this Griffin?”
Cedric was on his feet and in their faces before I felt the shame.
“You talking about my brother,” Cedric said, along with additional colorful things.
Maybe the Vista jerks didn’t notice him before. Or didn’t notice how jacked he was. Or how much he looked like the new kid they thought my dad might “take out.”
Tense glances all around. They didn’t want to back down, not when it was four on one. But Cedric didn’t seem concerned about the odds.
Bystanders noticed the sudden tension spike. Moms shuffled their children behind them, w
hile other random people skittered from the immediate area, likely seeking the nearest security officer.
“Say something now.” Cedric’s voice was clearly audible over the ambient noise.
Davis rushed to his brother’s side, the voice of reason. “Ced, let it go.”
Cedric wasn’t letting it go. He jabbed his index finger into the forehead of the main mouth breather, forcing the boy back by steps.
Davis hooked Cedric’s elbow, tugging him away. “Stop it. Please!”
Cedric turned his attention to his brother, still angry, but for different reasons. “Do these skid marks know who our dad is?” Back to the VJs: “You better ask somebody.”
Molly got my attention. “Nikki. The door.”
Sure enough, security guards. Party over.
“Davis,” I said, crouched by his hip, snatching off the bowling shoes. “We should go.”
He saw what we saw, leaned into his brother, whispering and soothing. Cedric was steaming, but glances at the oncoming guards had the desired effect. He took his shoes off, too. Tossed them at the troublemakers who were too dumb-scared to move.
The security guards kept at a safe distance, ready to diffuse, and prepared to do more. “We’re done here, right?”
Cedric said, “Screw bowling. Told you we should’ve gone to the batting cages.”
Such a good night couldn’t end like that. I gave Molly a look. Our telepathy was on point, and she wasn’t about to let my first date with Davis end on a sour note. Nor was she about to let me look too pressed to keep the evening going. Casually, playing the wingwoman position to perfection, she said, “Hey, this place is lame. Let’s go back to Andromeda’s.”
Nice and simple. She said it, allowing me to maintain a cool, not-quite-aloof vibe. A proven play.
“Fine by me,” Davis said, and looked to his brother. “Ced?”
Cedric’s neck craned, his gaze fixed on the guards making sure we kept on to our vehicles, as suggested.
“Ced,” Davis prodded, a slight quake in his voice.
“Huh,” Cedric said, his brow shadowing his face but not hiding how clearly bothered he was by the altercation. I got it. It bothered me, too.