Jase laughs. “I do remember hearing about that.”
“I also tried out for volleyball, but as it turns out, I bruise surprisingly easy. By the end of the first day of tryouts, my forearms were solid sheets of purple. I couldn’t even lift my arms; they hurtthatbad. I hoped softball might be better, but as you can see,” I say, holding out my pin-thin arms as evidence, “I’m rather lacking in upper body strength. And it didn’t help that Mona Thomas hit me in the face with a bat.”
He instantly sat up. “Shewhat?”
I shake my head, unable to hold back a laugh. “It wasn’t on purpose. She had never played before, and apparently no one told her you needed to keep holding the bat after you swung at the ball, because the bat flew from her hands and went right off into the sidelines by the dugout, hitting me square in the mouth.”
“Jesus.”
“Thankfully, I didn’t break any teeth or anything, but it hurt so much as to chew, so I had to live off ice cream and mashedpotatoes for a couple of weeks. And don’t even get me started on my basketball tryouts.”
A nervous laugh bubbles up from his chest, the unspoken question hanging in midair.
I heave out a sigh. “Long story short, the girls’ basketball team takes things a little too seriously. Given that I’m almost a foot shorter than everybody else, the impact doesn’t align with my waist when they hip check. A lot of pain and one doctor visit later, I found out Annie Cutler dislocated my rib. When it comes to anything athletically inclined, I’m pretty much the textbook definition of Murphy’s Law.”
“So you’re like the Stanley Yelnats of sports?”
“…Who?”
I’m not sure what I’ve said, but Jase looks affronted.
“Please tell me you’re kidding.”
I shake my head, confused.
“Holes.”
I now shrug, because…I’m still not sure what he’s talking about.
“Oh dear God.” Before I even have a chance to sit up, Jase has one arm cradled under my legs and the other around my back. He hauls me off the floor and begins carrying me through the arcade towards the closest exit.
“What’re you doing?”
He grins. “Rectifying a terrible injustice.”
Thankfully,Jase doesn’t carry me through the entire mall, and we soon find ourselves trekking through the neighborhood on foot. This wouldn’t be a problem…if it wasn’t smack-dab in the middle of Kensington, the very street the country club is located on.
I pull down the brim of Jase’s hat so low that all I can see is the sidewalk directly beneath my feet. We haven’t encountered anybody yet, but that’s hardly a consolation. “What if someone sees me?”
I may not be able to look up at Jase, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Ican’t even see you. And if someone does, it’s not like they’ll be able to recognize you. Anyone asks, I’ll tell them you’re a cousin from out of town.”
Thiswouldcomfort me…if not for the fact that when I eventually look up, I see that we’re heading up the Rivers’ driveway.
Not only that, but there are several cars in said driveway!
When I begin backpedaling, Jase catches my hand and hauls me the rest of the way until we reach the front porch.
Cool air kisses my skin as we step into the foyer, and all I see iswhite.
White marble floors, white stairs, white furniture, white curtains, expanding out into the sitting room, dining room, and main hall. And anything that isn’t white is made up entirely of glass or black accents. It’s all opulent, but equally…sterile. Cold. Hell, the literal temperature seems to drop the further we go.
We’re barely past the foyer when we both spot Jase’s father, Congressman Michael Rivers, pacing the inside of what appears to be an office with his cell pressed to his ear. I wouldn’t necessarily say he’s yelling, but it doesn’t sound like he’s having a pleasant conversation, either.
The only time I’ve ever seen him is in passing at the country club or on television during news sound bites. Looking at the elder Rivers, it isn’t hard to see where Jase gets his looks from. Though his father has dirty-blonde hair and dark eyes, Jase still inherited his bone structure, nose, and lips.
Mr. Rivers sees his son and holds up his pointer finger, mouthing something I can’t make out. Clearly, he wants us towait a minute for him, but Jase just rolls his eyes and continues walking. When I don’t initially move, he takes my hand again and pulls me away.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for him. You’ll find yourself out of air long before his ‘minute’ is up,” he says lowly.
