How I Lost You (14 page)

They stared each other down and then there was another screeching blast of static from the outdoor mike. “Not so much,” Kya said.

I let out the breath I'd been holding. Lola relaxed her straight stance a little.

“But Gracie and I are a team, Lolls.” She flashed her most flirtatious smile. “Why break up a good thing?”

Lola didn't smile back. “It'll be a good thing for you to play with Steve after the ball-bouncing match you two had last week. Work with him, not against him. Show me what you've got in the restraint department, kid. I need to see more of that and less heat.”

Kya's smile faded. “That guy believes in teamwork as much as a freaking broken paintball.”

“Maybe you're right, but he's not the only one. You need to learn discipline if you want to play with the big boys. He'll help you with that.” She grinned. “Never mind the face, Kya. Think how much it'll piss him off that he's helping you.” She pushed a finger into Kya's shoulder. “This could be useful for you in paintball and real life too. Take advantage of the opportunity.”

Kya bit her lip. At least she was fighting her natural instincts. In spite of everything, that was an accomplishment.

“Come on,” I tugged Kya by the arm, wanting to get her away before she did or said something she'd regret. “You'll be fine. Show Steve who's boss. We need to get dressed.”

“Could you watch our gear for a second?” I asked Lola. “We left our markers in the car.”

Lola nodded, glancing at her watch again. “Fine, but hurry. I've got lots to do.”

“Are you friggin' kidding me?” Kya said when we hit the parking lot out of Lola's hearing range. “She's breaking us up? Making me play with Steve friggin' Blender.”

“Try not to piss him off,” I said. “She's watching closely. And you know she's the eyes of Betty Baller.” Betty Baller was the coach and scout of the Grinders. I opened the hatch and pulled out my gun case and Kya reached in to grab hers.

“There's a new girl out today,” I said as I slammed down the hatch.

Kya went completely still. “Who?” She turned her head.

“Chantelle D'Ailly.”

“Never heard of her.” She was lying. If I'd heard of her, so had Kya.

“The D'Ailly brothers' sister,” I said.

“Yeah? Well, just because her brothers can play doesn't mean she can.” The audience burst into a cheer and the announcer called the end of the game. Kya hurried ahead of me back, her marker over her shoulder. She bent to pick up her gear.

“After you suit up, I'll give you a vest to wear,” Lola said to Kya. She turned to me. “Want to come meet Chantelle?” It wasn't really a question.

“Blender will be your frontman,” Lola said to Kya, and pointed to the left. “Your team is over there. They know you're playing with them, so go get reacquainted when you're dressed.”

I gave Kya a level glare to tell her to shake off her anger and do what Lola said.

She nodded and headed for the girls' restroom to change.

***

“In resurrection, I like to peek out from the bunkers a bit, tease the other team, let them see me and fire at me,” I told Chantelle as she pulled on her jersey.

Chantelle nodded. “Perfect.” She smiled. “My younger brother is kind of a hoser because he has a wicked hammer that shoots thirty balls per second. He likes to use it, so don't get in a pissing match with him. Take him out first if you can.”

“Is he accurate? Bad shots use up a lot of ammo.” I checked a pod to make sure it was full of paint and not blocked.

Chantelle smiled. “He's okay. And Jotham will cover him. So take him out too.”

“Okay.” I hesitated and then took a breath and blew it out. “Kya is good at crawling down the snake to get you to gunfight your way out. Watch that.” My stomach tightened.

She smiled. “You mad at yourself for ratting out your best friend?”

I pulled down my mask and adjusted the camera.

“It's okay,” she said. “I like to win too.”

We headed out to the field. Time to go take out my best friend.

***

Kya was quiet. She barely looked at Chantelle or me as she loaded up her gear in record time. Chantelle stripped off her clothes. “Wish they had showers in here.” There were streaks of paint in her hair. “You played great, Kya,” she said.

“Thanks.” Kya's team took us out first and we met up once more and lost, but she still seemed pissed off. She'd cool off after she had a chance to gripe.

“Maybe we could hang out sometime. The three of us. I don't know any other female players,” Chantelle said as she pulled on shorts.

“Yeah. Maybe.” Kya lifted her gear bag and slung it over her shoulder. “You're really good,” she said to Chantelle. “And I don't say that to many people.”

Chantelle smiled as she tugged on a tank top. The smile lit up her already pretty face. “Thanks. You too.”

Kya nodded and turned to me. “Blender's cleaning my marker for me. I'll go get it and meet you at the car,” she said. “Throw me your keys?”

I tossed them at her and then sat on the bench to take a breather.

“Is she pissed at me?” Chantelle asked when the door shut behind her. She went to a mirror and pulled some dried paint from her hair.

“Nah. She gave you a compliment. That practically means she loves you.” My cell phone rang, signaling a message, and I jumped to pull it from my bag. I glanced down at the text and smiled.

Hope you had fun today :)

Chantelle smiled wistfully, nodding at my phone. “Boyfriend?”

A grin took over my face. “I don't know.”

She pointed at me. “But look at you. You like him! Who is he?”

“Levi Lewis,” I told her and giggled. “He's pretty amazing.”

Chantelle got comfortable on the bench beside me and spent the next ten minutes quizzing me about Levi. “He totally likes you,” she said after hearing about the movie and even the non-kiss good night. “He was probably nervous.”

“You think?”

“Totally. I have two brothers, remember? And their friends are always at our house. Some of them, even the hot ones, are shy. It's hard for some guys to make the first move. Especially if they really like you and don't want to screw it up.”

I stood up. “Thank you for saying that. I think I love you.” I ignored a twinge of guilt and the voice in my head wishing Kya had reassured me like that.

“He sounds amazing,” she said, and sighed. “You're lucky.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“You have a boyfriend?” I asked her.

“I wish.”

“I know someone you might be interested in,” I said, thinking of James.

“Really?”

“Let me work on it,” I told her. “Okay. I have to get to Kya.”

She stood and picked up her gear bag. “Yeah. It's awesome you have a girlfriend to play paintball with. I'm jealous.”

Her, jealous of me? I threw my bag over my shoulder.

“Don't be,” I said without thinking. “Things aren't always the way they seem.”

My choice of words surprised me.

Was I trying to tell myself something?

 

I saw Kya and James every day at work, but with the rainy weather, we hardly had time to talk. Rain meant better business at Splatterfest. Dad must have been rocking his rain dances in his back office. Kya spent most of her free time hanging out with Lucas, the way she always did in the beginning stages of a relationship. Poor James was busy with his mom, who was having a bad flare-up.

When the day came for us to go to Seattle, the sun finally came out and I spent most of the morning at work texting Levi. We'd been texting at least three or four times a day. We were getting to know each other and we'd had coffee together again without being interrupted by Kya. He even showed up for another yoga session.

But still nothing had happened between us. As in lip-locks. Or groping. My head was confused, my body a rage of chaotic hormones. Did he like me? I had no idea how to read the signs. I wanted to ask Kya, but she was busy with Lucas. A couple of times, I thought about calling Chantelle for advice, but that felt like cheating. James wasn't any help at all when it came to relationships.

After work was finally over, Kya came to my house to help me get ready. She primped me, pulled me, sprayed me, and even lent me some clothes. When I started down the stairs, Indie was in the kitchen and he glanced up and frowned. I descended slowly, clutching the railing for support. The kitchen reeked of popcorn and he opened the microwave door and pulled out a fully popped bag.

“You look like a little kid playing dress-up,” he called as he dropped the bag of popcorn on the counter and reached for a bowl.

“You look like a grown-up who lives with his parents and has a tapeworm in his belly.” I kept my chin high and my expression regal as I continued sauntering slowly, trying not to fall over in the heels Kya insisted I wear. I nixed a shopping trip. The dress I'd borrowed from her was tight and short. Truthfully, I felt like an imposter.

“You want her to look like a little kid, Indie,” Mom said. She stood at the sink, drying dishes that couldn't go in the dishwasher. “Look at her. She looks so grown-up I bet some of your friends would ask her out.”

“God, Mom.” Indie ripped open the bag of popcorn and dumped the contents into the bowl. “The thought of my friends checking out Grace makes me want to vomit.”

“Good,” she said. “Because your job as older brother includes keeping them away from your little sister. Especially the cop types. They're the worst.”

“You should know, you married one.” He shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth and plunked himself down at the kitchen table, watching me attempt to walk.

“I married a good one,” Mom said. “Some get corrupted or let the groupies go to their heads. And into their pants. Don't be one of them.” She waggled her finger at him and then dried her hands on her pants.

Indie laughed. I scrunched up my face. “Mom. Seriously.”

She smiled as she picked up a large silver bowl and tucked it into a cupboard.

“Kya looks pretty hot,” Indie said, and I glanced behind me. Kya was now working the stairs like a beauty queen doing a pageant walk, even using the railing to stretch out her strut. Her dress looked like someone had gone after the hem with scissors. It barely grazed her thighs. It also hugged her butt and everyone raved about her butt. She could be a butt model. That's probably why she liked to shake it around so much. From what I saw checking out mine in the mirror, my butt was flat and boring as if someone whacked it hard with a two by four.

Mom went to the table and snapped a tea towel at Indie. He laughed and rubbed at his arm. “Owww. For a girl who is best friends with my little sister, hot. Like my own sister but not quite. That kind of hot.”

“Thank you for clarifying. Kya, you're stunning, and, Grace, you're beautiful.” She whistled. “God, weren't you two running around in tutus and rubber boots a few days ago?”

“Um, no,” Kya said. “I wouldn't be caught dead in an outfit like that.” She walked over to Indie and stuck her hand in his bowl of popcorn.

“Hey,” I said. “I really did wear that.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” I gave her the evil eye but she laughed. “I love you, Grace. But you have no idea how to accessorize. Rubber boots with a dress?”

“I was five,” I said.

Mom laughed. “You were an individualist,” she said. “She was ahead of her time.”

Mom threw down her tea towel then and glanced down at herself. “But when did I get this old body? Where did all
my
youth and hotness go?”

Indie and I exchanged a look, knowing how the rest of the sentence would go.

“Oh, that's right. I gave birth to two children,” she said.

“You look pretty good for an old gal,” Indie told her and shoved another handful of popcorn in his mouth.

I tried not to laugh as she gave us both a faux dirty look. “Damn right I do.” And then she clapped her hands together. “Okay, girls. Ready to go?”

Kya nodded and Mom pulled a cooler bag of snacks from the fridge, even though the drive was only two hours. I tiptoed closer to the front door where I'd put my overnight bag. Mom didn't even mention that our shoes might be ruining her hardwood. Dad would have had a fit seeing us walk in high heels in the house. He probably wouldn't be so forgiving of the short dresses either. Good thing he was at jury selection.

Mom slung the strap of the cooler bag over her shoulder. “And watch it, missy,” she said to Kya, eying her from her high heels to the top of her curled black hair. “I am the wife of a cop. I have good instincts. I have no qualms about embarrassing you. Remember, I know how to make people cry.” She walked toward me. “Especially boys who ogle.”

“She's not kidding.” I plopped down on the bench beside the front hallway closet and pressed my knees tight. Mom put the cooler bag down beside our overnight bags that seemed to be waiting patiently to be carted off.

Kya giggled and swiped a handful of Indie's popcorn. “Don't worry, Mrs. B. I know how to make boys cry too,” she said with her mouth full.

Mom didn't say anything, but I saw a hint of sympathy in the way she pressed her lips tight.

“Did you borrow that from Kya?” Mom asked, turning back to me. The dress was shorter, tighter, and blacker than anything in my closet.

“How did you guess?” Kya called from the kitchen.

“Maybe you're less of an individualist,” Mom said, but before Kya could be offended, she continued. “So short. Dresses are so short these days. Please tell me you girls are wearing underwear.”

“Mom!” The things that came from her mouth shouldn't surprise me, but she still managed to shock me sometimes.

Kya giggled.

“God, Mom, I'm eating,” Indie said.

Mom put her hand over her mouth and giggled. “Sorry. That was entirely inappropriate. I've seen pictures of too many famous teens who forgot to put on underwear.” While I closed my eyes to rid it of images, she continued, “Don't tell your father I said that. He'll put me away.”

“Again?” I asked.

“Dad stopped trying to institutionalize her years ago,” Indie said. “Futile, I think he said. She'd only escape.”

Mom and Kya giggled.

“How on earth did such a conservative man marry a woman with such a foul mouth?” Indie asked, imitating Dad's voice.

Mom waved her hand in the air as she went to the front hall and slipped flat sandals on her feet. “Oh, hush. I'm only having fun. And your dad loves me despite my potty mouth. Without me, this family would lack spontaneity.” She grinned. “But sorry, girls. That was a little over the top. Please erase that comment from your memories.” She stepped over to the bags.

“If only I could,” Indie called from the kitchen.

“Don't worry, I grew immune to scarring from your comments years ago.” I hobbled toward her.

Mom shook her head. “Women went through so much to get equal rights and now we're back to flaunting and sexualizing ourselves. It seems like a step backward in so many ways.”

“We don't need the women's lib lecture, Mom.” I tugged down my skirt for good measure.

Kya strutted toward us, not at all deterred by her shoes. “We're showing we can do it all. Dress sexy but still demand respect. Anyhow, it's a good disguise, Mrs. B. None of the baller guys will suspect that we can kick their butts. Then we hose them down.”

My feet hurt already. “If only I can walk in these heels for an entire night.”

Mom glanced at us both. “Why you two had to get all gussied up before our drive to the city I still don't understand.”

“We want to go straight to the party as soon as we get there,” Kya reminded her for the millionth time. “Looking hot and ready to mingle.”

“More like finding Betty Baller to suck up to,” I clarified, poking Kya in the arm.

“I'm glad you want to impress the Grinders and not the boys,” Mom said, and squinted at Kya. She turned back to me. “Look at you in high heels! You're actually taller than me with those on.”

“Ballet slippers or flats wouldn't do these outfits justice,” Kya said. She stopped in front of the mirror on the front closet door and whirled in a circle.

Mom sniffed the air. “You even have on perfume? You smell delicious. Like vanilla sunshine.”

“She's the vanilla, I'm the sunshine,” Kya said. “Will you take pictures of us?” She reached in her purse and handed my mom her phone and her purse to hold.

“So you can post them online for creepers who stalk teenage girls?” Mom said, squinting at the camera functions as Kya grabbed me around the waist, posing hard and using me as a prop. “Those really are short skirts.” Mom held the phone up and snapped a couple of photos.

She was right. If we wore these to school, we'd be sent home for dress-code infractions, but it seemed best not to point that out.

“Maybe I should come to the players' party with you girls.” She snapped another photo while Kya posed like a superstar. “Of course, I don't think my yoga pants and T-shirt will pass the dress code.”

“Key word for the party is player, Mom,” I said. “And no offense, but I've seen you play paintball and it's not pretty.”

Kya giggled and took her phone and purse back and flipped through the pictures.

“Well, you two girls need to be careful. Maybe not in the paintball arena, but at the party. You may think you're playing dress-up but you both look grown-up. And very beautiful.” She bent down to pick up her bag. “Honestly, you could wear something more comfortable and change when we got there,” she mumbled.

“We'll be late as it is.” We'd both worked later than we wanted.

“There will be other girls there,” Indie said, as he got up from the kitchen table and tossed his empty bowl in the sink instead of the dishwasher. “But they might be wearing bathing suits and sashes and serving drinks.” He laughed.

I stuck my tongue out at him. Kya ruined my moment by striking another sexy pose.

“Should I pack my bikini?” Mom called back. “I could make a sash.”

We all ignored her.

“The Grinders are going to be there,” I told Indie. “They get respect. That's why we're going, remember? There will also be a few other girls trying to secure a spot on teams.”

“Just warning you, Grace, girls are treated like ornaments by some of those guys. The players' party might be bad,” he said.

“I think we can handle it,” I said, and glared at him.

“Like we're not used to that,” Kya said to back me up.

“These girls will be fine,” Mom told him, and then she opened the front door.

“We rule!” Kya called.

“We'll be back tomorrow night,” Mom called to Indie. “Tell your dad I'll text him when we get to Seattle.”

“Why don't you text him to tell him that?” Indie called back.

“Why don't you do as I ask?” she said. “Bye, Indie.” She headed off to the car. Kya and I picked up our bags and followed.

Outside, Kya handed over her phone for more pictures and Mom dutifully took a couple more shots of us putting our luggage in the hatch and then tucked in her own small overnight bag and cooler bag.

I heard a familiar little bark and saw James walking toward us on the sidewalk, with his Chihuhuaua mix, Brian, on a leash trotting beside him. James stopped. I waved as Mom slammed down the hatch. Kya bumped me to the side with her hip. “Come on. We should go.”

“We have time to say hey to James.”

“He's probably getting an erection from seeing you in that outfit,” Kya whispered in my ear, low enough that my mom couldn't hear. She smiled fakey-fake at James. “Hey, James,” she called, and strutted to the passenger door.

“Shut up,” I called to her ass. Her exquisite model ass.

“Grace Elizabeth Black,” Mom said.

I frowned but turned to James. Kya giggled and climbed into the front passenger seat and closed the door behind her.

“Hey, James,” Mom greeted him. “How about these girls, huh?”

“Wow,” he said as he reached the driveway. “You look…amazing, Grace.”

Mom started humming the song. “Both of them do,” she said and turned, looking for Kya and frowning when she saw her already in the car. “They're going to be majorly outnumbered. I wish you were coming with us to look after them.” Mom bent down to pat Brian.

James smirked. “Have you checked out my muscles, Mrs. B? Kya and Grace can probably handle themselves far better than I could. Besides, I'm not a player, so I wouldn't even be able to go to the party anyway.”

“So not a player,” Kya called from the passenger seat. The window was rolled all the way down. She lifted her arm out and flexed, poking a finger into her bicep. “Sick. Right, James?”

He rolled his eyes, but at least they were talking.

Mom cooed at Brian, picked him up, and rubbed noses with him. James and I exchanged a look and he laughed. Mom and his little dog would nose-smooch for hours if we let them. She loved dogs but couldn't get one because of Dad's allergies to dander.