Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1)

Pivot Point (Pivot Point #1) Page 16

“Oh, shut up, Rowan,” she says, with an eye roll.

I take a few steps closer to Stephanie so that she’ll turn and start to walk. It seems to work, and soon we’re standing outside the theater by the fountain again.

“Okay, who’s up for the dessert game?” Rowan asks.

Brandon and Lisa—who are holding hands—laugh, and he says, “We’re in.”

Two other guys, Liam and Jason, both nod their agreement.

“Okay, you guys are one car then. Me, Addison, Stephanie, and Trevor will be another car. Katie and Sarah, which car do you want to join?”

“I’m out. My mom’s making me wake up early tomorrow to visit my dad,” Katie says.

Sarah grabs Katie’s arm. “And she’s my ride, so you guys have fun.”

Rowan points both his thumbs down in disapproval. “Just stay up all night, and you won’t have to wake up early.”

“Whatever.” Katie hits his arm. “See you Monday.”

I watch them leave and wait for Rowan to explain what’s going on. When he doesn’t, I ask, “What’s the dessert game?”

“Whoever brings back the best dessert wins.”

“What’s the catch?” There’s always a catch.

Rowan smiles. “That car is going to tell us where we have to go to find the dessert. It has to be one of our houses.”

Brandon points to me. “We pick Addison’s house, because she had no idea about this game so she wouldn’t have stocked up.”

Rowan lets out a low grunt. “Well, we pick Jason’s, because his brothers always eat everything in the house.”

“Wait, we’re going to my house?” I ask.

“Just for a minute to raid your fridge and cupboards. Then we’ll meet back here, and whoever has the best dessert wins.”

“Wins what?” This game sounds like something the guys made up to get free dessert.

“The right to be the darers and not the darees.”

“Rowan in the fountain last week,” Lisa says, “his team lost the dessert game.”

“I still think I won that night,” Rowan says. “Five bucks.”

“And an amazing rent-a-cop parking-lot chase,” Lisa says. “It was pretty awesome.”

It did sound kind of funny. I find myself nodding.

“Okay.” Brandon looks at his watch. “We meet back here in thirty minutes exactly. Pictures for proof, and cheaters automatically lose.” The second he finishes his sentence everyone runs for the cars, except me, of course. I’m a beat behind, trying to play catch-up.

By the time I get to Trevor’s car, it’s already running and Stephanie is in the passenger seat. I climb in back and buckle in.

“So what do you have at your house? Any good treats?” Rowan asks, leaning toward me.

The fact that Rowan is about to find out where I live is just now sinking in. “No. We have nothing. Really, my dad is a health nut. Why don’t we just go to the store instead?”

Stephanie turns around. “We have to take a picture with a cell phone of us inside your house holding whatever we find. If we don’t, we automatically lose.”

“Nobody knows what my house looks like. And we’re going to lose anyway,” I say. “We might as well try.”

Rowan laughs. “I like this girl. She’s a rule breaker.”

“No. I’m really not,” I say too quickly. I don’t want him to get any more ideas. Trevor’s eyes find mine in the rearview mirror. I’m trying to give him the please-come-up-with-a-different-plan look. Laila would know the look.

“We can go to my house instead,” Trevor offers. “I think there’s half a cherry pie in the fridge.” I smile. Perfect.

“No,” Stephanie says with a pout. “Everyone knows what the inside of your house looks like. Come on, I don’t want to be on the wrong end of Lisa’s dare. She’ll make me do something really bad.”

Trevor tries to hold my gaze in the rearview mirror again, probably hoping I’ll give him the okay. I shrug. If he wants to pacify his little girlfriend, I guess I don’t want to ruin it for him.

The rest of the ride I look out the window to my right. It slowly turns white from the hot air inside the car. I run my finger along the smooth glass, drawing my standard doodle—a line that halfway up splits in two. Then I circle the pivot point. The point right before the path separates. I press my finger into the center. One little choice can make all the difference.

The phone in my pocket chimes. It’s Laila. Have you ditched the hairless cat yet?

No, I text back, we’re actually on our way to my house.

You’ve decided to make him your pet? Not exactly what I had in mind, but that works.

I smile.

“So this is it, huh?” Rowan asks, pulling my attention away from my phone and to my single-story, white house. The front porch light seems too inviting for this moment. We all get out of the car and walk the cement, shrub-lined path to my front door.

At first I widen my eyes, prepared for a scan, but then I remember the keys in my pocket. “Oh. Keys.” I bring them out. There are three. One is for my dad’s car, one is for the mailbox, and the other is for the front door. I know I’m staring at them too long, but I can’t remember which one is which. I need to label them.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to fit one into the lock and missing the slot a few times. It’s so small.

“Need some help?” Rowan asks with a laugh.

“No, I got it.” Finally the second key works. We need a Norm-training class at the Compound on opening historical locks. It’s harder than it looks.

When we walk in, my dad glances over from where he sits in the recliner, watching what looks to be one of his criminal-interview videos. He must’ve been focused, because he’s as surprised to see us as I am that he’s still awake. He pushes Pause and stands.

“Hey, Dad. We’re just playing a game. We won’t be here long.”

“What kind of game?” he asks.

“A game we’re going to lose because we have no good food in this house.”

I start to move toward the kitchen, but he stops me with: “Would you like to introduce your friends, Addie?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. This is Rowan, and this is Stephanie. You already met Trevor.”

My dad shakes Rowan’s hand. “You guys having a good night?”

Really? My dad is going to analyze Rowan’s answer to a question about enjoyment? I give him the are-you-serious? look and he gives the I-know-I’m-overprotective-but-you-are-my-only-daughter look back. How can I argue with that look?

“Yes. It’s been fun,” Rowan says.

“Dad, we’re kind of on a time limit here.”

“Okay, I’ll get out of your way.” He sits back down on the recliner and my eyes drift to the television as the others head around the counter to the fridge. The man on the screen is a wiry guy with tattoos up his arms and an eyebrow ring. I wonder if this is the same DVD I had seen the other day. Poison. I’m surprised when my father pushes Play. But then I realize it’s turned down very low. I join the others in the kitchen, where they’ve already pulled out chocolate syrup and some natural granola bars.

“Do you have a plate we can use?” Rowan asks. I hand him one, and he unwraps the granola bars and places them side by side on the plate. While he drizzles chocolate syrup over them, my eyes wander back to the TV. If I watch the lips of the criminal and concentrate on opening an energy channel between myself and the television, I can barely make out what he’s saying.

“You can’t pin her murder on me just because we were together. It was consensual. She was using me for the drugs anyway.” There’s a pause because obviously the interviewer is asking a question, which without the lip-reading addition to the sound energies, I can’t hear. But the answer given to the question is, “Of course I didn’t know she was in high school. I hardly knew her at all.” Another pause. “I didn’t kill her. Look, if you don’t have enough evidence to hold me, then I’m ready to go home.” He stands up, and my dad writes something in his notebook.

The voices in the kitchen are muffled because I’ve blocked off all other channels except the one to the TV. So when Trevor taps my arms, I jump.

“What do you think?” Trevor asks. Rowan holds up the plate for me to inspect.

“Oh. Yeah, cool. Better than I thought we’d be able to find.”

Stephanie snaps a picture that I wasn’t ready for. “Let’s go.”

“Thanks, Addison’s dad,” Rowan says on our way out the door.

My dad waves and says, “Don’t miss curfew, Addie.”

“I won’t.”

Rowan holds the plate in the air as we walk toward the car. “We may not win,” he says as though speaking to a crowd, “but we’ll lose with style.” We climb into the car, and he punches the back of Trevor’s headrest. “That should’ve been the theme of your last game, Trev.”

“That’s a horrible theme,” Stephanie says. “The theme should’ve been ‘Revenge will be ours. Cheaters never win.’”

“But they did win,” Rowan says.

“I mean in the end. Karma.”

“Cheaters?” I ask.

“Don’t get him started.” Trevor glances over his shoulder and then pulls out onto the road.

“Yes, cheaters,” Rowan says. Obviously I had gotten him started. “Trevor was taken out of last season because a couple of guys sacked him after the whistle. It was a dirty play.”

“Did they get punished?” I ask.

“One flag—five-yard penalty. Five yards!”

“It was actually fifteen,” Trevor says.

“Whatever. It was garbage! But we’ll have our revenge.” He shakes his fist in the air in a dramatic fashion. “We play their school not this Friday but next.”

“What school?” I almost want to take back the question because I’m afraid to hear the answer.

Stephanie turns around in her seat to face me. “Lincoln High.”

My cheeks go numb and my eyes slide to Trevor’s in the rearview mirror.

“They’re really good. Have you heard of them?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No.”

“They’re not that good,” Stephanie says, patting Trevor’s shoulder. “They’re not as good as you are.”

“Was,” Rowan says. “As he was.”

“As he’s going to be again,” Stephanie says.

Trevor’s eyes drop for a split second before he gives her a small smile.

Rowan starts sniffing the granola bars. “Is it weird that I want to eat these chocolate-drizzled pieces of cardboard?”

Trevor laughs too loud over the not-that-funny comment. “No. Not at all.” I sense that he’s grateful for the subject change.

Back at the theater, when the other team shows up with half of a layered chocolate cake that has my mouth watering with a single look, I know we’re doomed.