“Hey, babe,” Kristen coos, her tone shifting away from confrontational to something more familiar.
Vincent plops down on the grass next to Kristen and leans over to give her a kiss. I look away, shut out of their private moment.
“We were just talking about how Clarity is becoming a field hockey groupie,” Kristen tells him.
“We werenot,” I snap, looking down and pretending to be combing the grass for a four-leaf clover instead of giving Kristen the chance to undoubtedly catch how much her comment bothers me.
“Clarity, lighten up, I’m just messing with you,” Kristen says, laughing.
I look over at her and she winks. Just like that, her attention shifts.
“So, how was detention?” she asks.
She and Vincent sit facing each other, legs folded crisscross applesauce with their knees touching. She wraps her arms around his neck, and just like that, it’s not Kristen and me anymore. It’s Kristen and Vincent, and I’m here, a few feet away.
Even though Kristen dropped it, I can’t help but wonder whatshe would’ve said if Vincent hadn’t shown up. Her poking holes is exactly what I’m afraid of. Field hockey groupie is practically a stone’s throw from field hockey girlfriend.
I’ve never had to lie to her before, but in just a matter of weeks, it’s become part of our friendship. Like we’re a trio now: me, Kristen, and all the unsaid things.
When the game ends, we make our way across the field. Ridgeway’s team is still high-fiving and reeling from the win, but Hannah is quick to grab her bag and walk over to us. Her uniform is drenched, and she has some dirt smudged across her exposed skin, yet somehow she looks exactly right.
“What did you guys think?” she asks.
“You dragged them through the dirt,” Vincent says. “Y’all are ruthless.”
“Definitely not as boring as football,” Kristen relents, to my surprise. I tear my gaze away from Hannah, and Kristen gives me a small smile. I return it with more appreciation than she’ll ever realize.
“I agree, not boring at all,” I say, shifting my weight.
I bring most of my books home with me on the weekends, so my backpack is extra heavy. I catch Hannah’s eye, and the hint of concern reminds me of when she carried my bag for me on the first day of school. I doubt she’d offer to carry my bag right now; that would be too obvious. But I can see the conflict in her expression when I shift my weight to my other hip again.
“We should get going,” I say to Hannah. Then, to Kristen, “We need to prepare for the baking party tomorrow.”
Kristen reels back, her eyebrows flying to the top of her forehead. “Youare having a baking party?”
“A bunch of committee members are getting together to bake stuff to sell this week,” I explain.
“And you weren’t going to invite me?” Kristen asks, her voice dripping with disbelief.
I didn’t even think of that: Kristen loves baking, and even though she’s not on the committee, she would be an asset in the kitchen. She could still help out… if I invite her.
“You could—” Hannah starts.
“It’s just going to be committee members, and it’s at Rowena’s house. She’s one of the field hockey players. I’m sorry, Kris,” I say, cutting Hannah off.
Kristen’s face falls and I hate being the one to steal her smile.
“We’ll have to have our own baking party sometime. We could do a movie night and make some insane dessert,” I propose, hoping to smooth over the sting.
Kristen shakes her head, but a small smile sneaks through. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
As she and Vincent make their way toward the opposite side of the field, I’m surprised to realize that I’m glad she has him.
Hannah and I head to her car, passing some of her teammates on the way and snagging a couple of spiderweb brownies.
“Thank you, God,” I groan when I set my backpack down in Hannah’s trunk.
“I bet you put weights in the bottom just to look impressive,” Hannah teases, chuckling.