"The tissues aren’t for me," he says, his blue eyes sparkling. "They’re so Josie can wipe up her tears when she loses."
The look of pure delight on Iris’s face is worth all the awkward, fluttery feelings in my stomach.
He winds her arm up again, guiding her through the motion. It’s the perfect throw, except for the fact that Iris never releases the ball. But Van’s unbothered. "Yep, just like that," he coaches. "You ready to let this one fly?" he asks as my sister nods eagerly.
The third time is definitely the charm because Iris opens her hand just as Van gives the directive. The ball sails through the air in a perfect arc before landing in the smallest, farthest ring. Van lets loose a cheer and does a celebratory dance. Iris follows suit, but hers ends with a pirouette.
It’s my turn, and I can feel my cheeks heating. There’s not a competitive bone in my body, and the fact that Van’s friends are watching makes me more self-conscious. I toss the ball and score 10 more points, so now it's 50-20, Team Dimples.
Van and Iris take another shot, this one earning them 40 points. Ollie’s got a cheering section going and I’m outnumbered, but I don’t mind since Iris is having fun. I reach for the next ball, but the feeder is empty. From behind me, Pete clears his throat and tips his head to the left. "Step aside, partner," he says, winking.
Van does a double-take before his face breaks out in a grin. "It’s like that, is it?" he asks his friend.
"Hey man, Josie and I go way back. I met her first, you know."
There’s an ominous chorus of "ooooohhhsss" from our makeshift cheerleaders, but I just roll my eyes. Technically, Pete has a point. He and I met a few months before we started at Bainbridge. Well, “met” is a generous term. We both tested for the Legacy Scholarships before freshman year began. So, basically, we sat in the same room for an hour and took a test. But that all happened before either of us met Van, so he’s not exactly wrong.
"Yeah, yeah. All right, Team Smartypants," Van calls, "bring it."
Pete does just that, executing an expert throw and earning us 50 points. We go back and forth a few more turns until things get ridiculous—and why am I surprised when they do? I may not socialize with the hockey guys, but they are famous on campus for their antics. They start out by distracting Pete and me when we’re ready to throw. Ollie’s making bird calls and Deano’s pretending to sneeze. Iris thinks these guys are hilarious, and I know she’ll give Milo and Tillie an earful of what they missed when we get home. When those tactics stop working and Petehas evened the score, the guys resort to desperate measures. They start gathering balls from the surrounding games and tossing them in, taking turns round-robin style. They reach a thousand points in a matter of minutes and the machine starts to spew tickets. Iris is overjoyed, especially when Mikalski declares her the "Undisputed Skee-ball Queen." Iris loves the spotlight as much as I hate it, and she’s lapping up their over-the-top praise.
I snap a pic of her parading around with a napkin dispenser that Ollie has no doubt told her is a coveted trophy.
"You want a re-match, Jos?" Van asks, standing beside me.
Before I can stammer out an answer, I hear my name being called at the food counter. Reaching for Iris’s hand, I remind her to thank each of the guys before we pick up our order. I thank them, too, but I duck Van’s gaze under the pretense of getting Iris settled into the booth. She’s five, not two, but I’m plating her pizza like it’s a difficult task that requires absolute concentration.
They’re on their way out when Van turns back toward me, smiling. "See you tomorrow night, Jos," he calls and my cheeks heat.
Iris’s little jaw drops. "You’re going on a date with my Skee-ball teammate?"
"No," I assure her. "Van and I…study together."
Iris looks at me like I’m passing up a prime opportunity and I bite back a smile. I swear my youngest sister is five going on twenty-four some days.
As we eat our lunch, I’m mentally cataloging all the things I need to do at the house tonight before Levi rolls back into town tomorrow, and then I start a to-do list for when I’m back at school.
"He’s going to be a famous singer, right?" Iris asks.
"What? No, Van plays hockey," I correct.
My sister blinks at me impatiently. "Not him, Levi. Do you think he’ll be famous? Because I told Kennedie that Levi went to Cassia’s house to sing and she didn’t believe me. I told her he had to go on a plane and everything. And he took his guitars. And that proves it. But then she said her dad goes on a plane sometimes, but he just takes his golf clubs and that’s probably what Levi did, too. But I told her he didn’t. I said all about his music and everything and she didn’t believe me, so we’re not best friends anymore."
Before I can say anything, Iris launches into a story about how she and Kennedie are the reigning hopscotch champs on the playground. I don’t dare ask how they’ve earned this title while on the outs. Nope. I don’t want to know. I pick apart my pizza crust as Iris continues her monologue, filling me in on all the latest scuttlebutt from the kindergarten hallway.
I’m doing my best to keep up, but my mind keeps wandering back to Van. That’s nothing new, but seeing him with Iris today was unexpected. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s so good with kids. He’s charming. It’s what he does, but it’s not permanent. He’s going away next year—we’re on different paths. And I’m still not completely sure that this attraction goes both ways. If I knew our future was Skee-ball Sundays, maybe I’d take the risk and find out. Okay, I totally wouldn’t. But I’d be tempted. It’s a moot point, though. His future is a hockey career and my future is a PTO parent.
"Josie, can we?" Iris asks.
"What, sweetie?" I return, chastising myself because I should be focused on Iris instead of mooning over Van.
"I said can we get ice cream now?"
A glance at Iris’s plate shows she ate two bites, so the answer is no. She knows she needs at least five bites because she’s five, and it’s pizza for crying out loud—it’s not a hardship to eat pizza!
"Yes," I say, boxing up our food. I’m going against all the rules right now, but fuck it.
We’re getting ice cream. With extra hot fudge.Because that’s what you do when you realize you’re hopelessly in love with your ex and that even though there’s zero chance you’ll get back together, your feelings for him haven’t changed at all.
