I didn’t have an answer, but I could tell that Nash felt encouraged. Think, Joseph. What did I remember about Ok-hee Han that could give us an idea? She wants to study abroad. She’s a vegetarian. She takes Italian….
She takes Italian!
A genius idea ricocheted inside my brain, like the soccer ball passing from one player to the next—though unfortunately those players were on the other team and running back again toward Kaylie.
I had a plan for Nash!
“Ok-hee takes Italian and loves all that European stuff. Write her a note in Italian and stick it in her locker. I bet she’ll say yes faster than you can sing ‘That’s Amore.’”
Nash shook his head. “Forgettaboutit. I don’t speak Italian.”
But I knew who could. “Vinny Calderaro lives for this kind of stuff, Nash. You gush on paper, tell me what you want to say, and I’ll ask my dad to write it en Italiano.”
Nash shook my hand. “Deal—but only if you ask someone. You haven’t told me who yet.”
I shrugged. “I kinda like Robyn.”
He nodded. “You two are always joking around in band.”
“That’s the problem. Robyn thinks I’m funnier than a beer commercial. But that’s all I am. Funny.”
“Funny is very in—with the right girl, that is,” Nash said, glancing toward the snooty girls, then back at me. “Maybe someone should put in a good word for you.”
I started to speak just as the other team scored again, seconds before the game clock ran out. Sophie’s team was no longer undefeated.
After the players all shook hands, Sophie grabbed her water bottle and walked over to us. Laces were dragging from her cleats, her shin guard was twisted backward, and her elbow was cut.
I tugged on her ponytail. “You win some, you lose some.”
She kicked the ground, sending a rock flying. “That referee didn’t like me.”
“No blaming, just shake it off,” I said, sounding like Dad.
“I’m the reason we lost. I played crummy in the wind. Are you happy now?”
I looked at my sister. She was seconds away from a full-throttle meltdown.
“Forget it, Sophie. You’ve got the playoffs to save the good stuff for,” Nash said.
Neither of us could get Sophie out of her funk. Tears poured down her dirt-streaked face. But then I remembered who could help Sophie recover: Andrew Jackson. He was crammed in my pocket on the twenty-dollar bill Mom gave me. “Sophie Teresa Calderaro, put on my helmet and hop on the back of my bike right now. I’m treating you and Nash to ice-cream sundaes, drowned in hot fudge and whipped cream. Who’s afraid of lactose intolerance?”
That would’ve snapped Gina out of it, but Sophie sulked a little longer.
“I can’t have any ice cream,” Nash said.
“Huh?”
“I’m tracking what I eat and drink, remember? To see what triggers my headaches. Right now I’m off dairy.”
“How about candy?”
Nash nodded. “Candy works.”
“Okay, a king-size whatever chocolate bar you want—on me.”
Nash grinned. He looked pretty happy for a guy who couldn’t eat ice cream.
“Time’s up, Sophie. Either you come for ice cream or I drop you off at Mom’s shop. And you know she’ll make you sweep up hair.”
Sophie looked up slyly. “Can I have an ice-cream float instead of a sundae?” she asked.
The ouch of her defeat was already subsiding.
An Elephant off My Back
Saturday night turned out to be a pizza-and-movie date at my house for me, Frazer, and two beautiful young women. Unfortunately, they were my sisters snuggling on the couch in matching Little Mermaid pajamas. Earlier Dad had returned from the college, swinging his cast merrily and talking nonstop about an American literature major. Mom decided this called for a night out, and arranged a double date with Aunt Foxy and her boyfriend.
I agreed to babysit for my sisters without a protest. I figured if Mom and Dad returned home from a rockin’ good time, our talk might go better.
So Gina and Sophie and I watched The Return of the Jedi, my favorite of the Star Wars movies. We watched part of it, anyway. Gina fell asleep after ten minutes. Sophie hung in longer, but by the time Jabba the Hutt’s sail barge blew up, she was snoring too. After I had carried them upstairs, one at a time, Mom and Dad’s key turned in the door.
“What a love story.” Mom flung her purse in the closet and kicked off her spiky heels. “I swear if I weren’t hitched to your father, I’d track down that blond hottie, whatshisname.”
Mom and Dad went into the family room. I heard them talking about Aunt Foxy.