“Tommy’s house sits pretty far inland,” Ian announces as we climb into Mark’s mom’s car: a white Volvo station wagon¬. I take the passenger seat, leaving the backseat for Courtney, Ian, and their raging hormones. Mark cranks up the music, and we ride many miles with loud techno and no conversation. The music takes me back to parties earlier in the summer: I see Mike holding my hand through the crowd, Mike smiling at me out by a pool, and Mike (after many drinks) dancing with me. The memories flood my mind, but each happy moment dissolves, slipping into a spiral of sadness.
Eventually, we pull into the driveway, finding a black Jetta parked there. That should be Ryan’s car, I decide, and I follow the others to the front door with anticipation gripping at my insides.
We knock several times before Tommy answers, and then we follow him into the family room, large with a wall of windows looking out at the pool. I glance outside; then I peer into the kitchen. No one else appears to be at his house. Then I hear a door creak open. Before anyone emerges, I imagine Ryan waltzing into the room. Unfortunately, a girl emerges and kills my hopes. “Hi,” she says with a giggle. “I’m Brittany.”
Before we manage a “hello” to her, Tommy asks, “Could ya’ get me a beer, babe?”
“’Kay.” Brittany smiles like she is happy to do it. “Anyone else need one?”
Ian and Courtney accept the offer, but I am glad our driver does not. Brittany returns with drinks, and then she and Courtney head out to the pool area. I, however, sit with the guys in the family room and discuss sports.
Tommy turns toward me. “Sorry I gave you a hard time yesterday.”
“No problem. I can handle it.”
He nods and takes a sip of his beer and then returns his attention to the television.
Mark glances over at me. “You played really well.” Then his attention goes back to the game.
“Thank you,” I return, grateful for the compliment and for the chance to hear Mark’s voice.
“And so did Ryan,” Ian adds and the mention of his name releases the butterflies in my stomach. “He had game yesterday.”
“Too bad he didn’t play like that last year,” Tommy says and leans back against the couch, taking a long swig of beer.
“Let it go, man,” Ian says.
“How can I? It cost us our season—one that looked so promising.” Tommy put his beer on the coffee table. “His head wasn’t in the game, but coach kept playing him. He should have benched him.”
“Benching him would have made it worse,” Ian counters.
“Made what worse?” I ask.
The guys exchange glances, and then Ian turns toward me. “I’m sorry, Callie. We shouldn’t have brought it up in front of you.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Ian starts, “it’s up to him to tell you—not us.”
I press my lips together and nod, wanting to know more about Ryan. I want to know why he did not show tonight. I want to know what happened last season. Most of all, I want to know when I will see him again, so I will get answers to all of my questions.
Ian rejoins the guys’ conversations, yet I sit back, wondering why the guys will not talk about last season, and then I realize that girls are not the only ones who keep secrets in the name of friendship.