“Come in. The party’s out back.” She leads me through the entry and then to an enormous kitchen, where she grabs something out of the cupboard and continues on through some French doors into the yard.
The backyard is big and set up like a mini football stadium—lines painted across the grass and everything. In the tiny end zone is a bin full of footballs. My eyes slowly drift, following the lines, to the opposite end zone a good fifty feet away, where an empty bucket sits waiting. We join a couple of other cheerleaders.
“Are we going to play a game and see how many of us can land a football in that bucket?” I ask, hoping Stephanie will say yes.
“No. That’s for Trevor. He’s going to give us a show.” Stephanie sweeps her arm through the air and points to the lawn chairs set up on the side.
“This is his first day. You probably shouldn’t push it too hard.”
She exchanges a glance with the girl next to her. The kind of glance that says they talk about me when I’m not around. “This is the day he’s been looking forward to for a year.”
“Him or you?” I try to say it nice, but her sour expression indicates I may have failed.
“What’s that supposed to mean? All of us have been excited for this day. You don’t know because you weren’t here.” The girls nod their heads in agreement. Stephanie starts to put her hands on her hips, but then must remember she’s holding something because she looks down and says, “Oh.” She hands the small plastic bottle she had retrieved from the kitchen to the girl on her right. “We only had Tylenol. Will that work?”
Before I think better of it, I say, “What’s that?” They all freeze and look at me. My brain races, searching through the Norm Products unit we had to take in school.
“What, people don’t get headaches in California?” Stephanie asks with a sneer.
We get headaches; we just don’t need a pill to cure them. And for injuries too serious to self-cure, we have Healers. “Tylenol? Oh, I thought you said Lionel.” It’s the lamest cover-up ever. I blame my inability to tell a decent lie on my dad and his power.
“You’re from California?” one of the girls asks.
“Yes.”
“I have family there,” she says. “What part?”
It might be my guilty conscience making them look like a pack of velociraptors ready to devour their meal, but it’s also possible they suspect my lie. I clear my throat. “Near Disneyland.” I point to the ice chest on the patio. “I’m just going to get something to drink.”
“Yeah, okay. Rowan should be here soon,” Stephanie says, like that’s the only reason I came.
I sit on a lawn chair sipping water while the backyard fills up with people. The more crowded it gets, the more nervous I get for Trevor. When Rowan arrives, I try to express my concerns to him, but he’s too busy being the life of the party and at one point turns to me and says, “Addison, relax. Have fun. We’re at a party.” I realize it’s pointless.
Eventually the music is turned down and several people start shushing everyone. “He’s here. He’s coming.”
When Trevor walks through the back door and everyone yells, “Surprise!” he looks genuinely shocked.
“Wow, Stephanie, thanks,” he says. “What’s the occasion?”
She blushes and gives him a hug. “We’re just all so excited for you. Today is a big day. The first day of getting back on track to your future.” She gestures to the grass, and a couple big spotlights come on. I watch his face. What starts off as a genuine smile tightens to a forced one.
“What’s all that?”
“You’re going to show us what you’ve got.”
I want to scream, You don’t have to, Trevor, but I know he’s a big boy and can make his own decisions. Stephanie takes a few steps back and yells, “Give me a T!” The other cheerleaders jump up and fall into formation behind her while they finish spelling out Trevor’s name. I have to keep myself from laughing out loud when Trevor meets my eyes and gives me the are-they-really-doing-a-cheer? look.
When the cheer ends and Stephanie says, “What’s that spell?” The whole party starts chanting Trevor’s name. I instantly feel like the worst friend ever. I should’ve called him, warned him about this, but I was too busy worrying about myself. Even I hadn’t realized how many people would be here, how much pressure Stephanie would put on him.
He raises his hand, and the crowd quiets. I think he’s going to give a speech about how flattered he is but how he can’t do this. Instead he says, “Looks like I have some footballs to throw.” There’s another loud cheer. He walks slowly over to the bin, his normal casual swagger gone. There has to be at least thirty footballs. He picks one up and spins it between his hands.
“There’s your target,” Stephanie says, pointing to the other end of the yard. Her giddy look of anticipation makes me want to rip her hair out. He brings back his arm, takes a step, and releases the ball. It spirals beautifully through the air and lands inches from the desired target. A deafening cheer from the crowd assaults my ears because I’m too anxious to mentally muffle the noise.
Stephanie picks up another ball and tosses it to him. He throws again. His fifth ball makes it into the bucket, but not without its cost; he’s in pain. His whole body has tensed. His face looks painted on for how fake his smile is. And Stephanie keeps handing him ball after ball.