The Winner's Game (6 page)

She rolls her head on the pillow to look at me. “I still don't like sharing a room with you.”

“Ditto.”

“Good,” she says with a little chuckle. “Just wanted that to be clear.” Ann looks back up at the bed above us. With her finger, she traces around the outer ring of the heart. Then, out of the blue, she asks, “Do you think I'm boring?”

The question catches me off guard. Of course I think she's boring. Doesn't everyone? “Umm…why do you ask?”

“Because of what you guys plastered on the car window for the whole world to see. You and Cade both think I'm lame, don't you?”

“Hey, Cade wrote that one about the kissing.”

“But you do think I'm lame.”

“Not all the time.”

“Well, that's a big fat yes,” she says, sounding more than a little dejected. “I am, aren't I?”

I keep my mouth shut, assuming that to be a rhetorical question.

Ann lifts a finger and traces the heart once more, slower this time. “Maybe I can change,” she says firmly. Then, less sure, she whispers, “Maybe not.”

T
HE SUN HASN'T
yet peeked above the coastal range when Dad comes busting into our room asking if we want to go with him and Mom to Home Depot.

I rub my eyes and check the clock on the wall. 7:20 a.m.

“Why so early?”

“I'm heading back to Portland this evening, so I want to get a jump on the day. Your mom needs a few supplies—paint and stuff—so she can start sprucing this place up. Who wants to go with us?”

Bree is above me on the top bunk. She yawns loudly, then rolls over. “Not me.”

“Me neither,” I tell him, still squinting.

“That's two strikes,” says Dad. Cade is standing behind him in the hallway. “How about you, son?”

“Strike three,” Cade mumbles. “I'd rather stay here.”

“I won't force anyone. But we might be a while, so if you stay, there are a few rules. Ann, Bree, are you listening?” It takes several seconds, but he eventually gets Bree to roll back over and open her eyes. “Rule number one, no touching the ocean. You can go down to the beach, but not down to the water.”

Cade lets out a long, disappointed, groan. “Why not?”

“I can answer that in three syllables,” he replies. “Un-der-tow. The Oregon coast is powerful, and I'm not sure what time the tide is coming in today. You get caught by a sneaker wave and the undertow here will suck you right out to sea before you know it.”

“So we can't ever go swimming?” asks Bree, sounding as disappointed as Cade. “We've played in the water here before.”

“I didn't say ‘never.' All I'm saying is that I don't want you in the water when your mom or I aren't there to watch. It's too dangerous.”

“But Ann is a varsity swimmer,” Cade argues.

My heart starts pounding when he says it, because I, for one, have no interest in getting near the ocean. It's cold, and wet, and…well I'm not a huge fan of water these days. I haven't mentioned this to anyone, but I'm lucky to get up the nerve to step into the shower, and soaking in the bath is completely out of the question, because what is a bathtub, really, but a miniature swimming pool. The last time I got in a swimming pool, I barely made it out.

Dad shakes his head. “And she, above all, is in no shape to face those currents. Got it?”

I secretly breathe out a huge sigh of relief.

“Good,” he continues after we all nod, “then the only other rule is…?” He leaves it hanging there, waiting for one of us to finish the thought.

“No fighting,” mutters Bree.

“Bingo! Ann doesn't need chaos, so I expect you two to be on your best behavior while we're gone. Don't do anything that's going to get your sister worked up. Understood?”

Cade answers with a simple, “Yes.”

“Bree?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fantastic. We should be back by noon. Feel free to make yourself some breakfast. There's plenty of cereal. Eggs, too, if you're in the mood to cook. If we're not back by twelve thirty, there are sandwich makings in the fridge.” He says a final good-bye, and then goes to meet Mom in the car.

“Uggh,” groans Bree after he is gone. “Now I can't go back to sleep.”

“Tell me about it. Couldn't they have just left a note?”

“I've got to pee,” Cade deadpans.

Ew. Little brothers are disgusting.

Fifteen minutes later everyone is dressed and downstairs eating scrambled eggs. After breakfast we turn on the television, but to our everlasting dismay, the dumb thing only picks up four channels, and even those are marred by static. The last time we visited Great-grandma's house, back when her health first started going south, she at least had the basic cable channels. Perhaps Aunt Bev had them turned off, since Grandma now lives full-time in the care facility. Out of boredom, Bree and Cade seem willing to put up with the fuzziness, but I'm itching to do something more exciting. I sit there for a while, but eventually I announce I'm going for a walk. “There are some cool shops up the road that I want to check out. I'll be back in a bit.”

“You can't go by yourself,” Bree protests, playing the part of the responsible one, which I find highly unusual. “What if…you know, something happens.”

I put my hands on my hips and force a scowl. “You mean what if my heart stops ticking? It's not like I'm running a marathon.”

“But aren't you supposed to just take it easy?”

“Easy, yes, but not do nothing. I'm not on bed rest. And if you're so worried about me, then come along. With or without you, though, I'm not staying inside for the next three months watching reruns of
Tom and Jerry
, especially not through all that static.”

Bree's shoulders slump forward. I'm positive she doesn't want to go, but she feels compelled. Turning to Cade, she asks, “What about you, Twerp? If I go, you have to come too.”

“Don't call me ‘Twerp,' Zit Face.”

Kaboom!
Just like that, Bree explodes, and I don't mean her zit pops. “I have one stupid pimple on my forehead! That doesn't make me zit-faced!”

“Actually, the one on your forehead is almost gone,” I note cautiously. “But did you look in the mirror this morning? There's a huge whitehead on your cheek.”

She runs over to the mirror near the front door and shrieks.

“It's probably your hormones,” I inform her innocuously.

“Eww!” she shrieks again, looking repulsed. “Don't say that. I hate that word.”

“Hormones, hormones, hormones, hormones!” Cade shouts. I don't think he even fully understands what hormones are, but it's fun watching her reaction when he says it. “Bree's got zits! And hormones!”

Her face goes from whitehead white to pimple pink in about half a second. “Shut up! I hate both of you!”

“Chill. It's no big deal. Everyone gets zits now and then.”

“It's a huge deal. You think I want to go outside today with this thing ready to ooze all over my cheek? What if some boy sees me like this?
Sick.
”

“So you're not coming now?”

Bree takes three steps toward the foot of the blue stairs. “No. I'm definitely staying.”

“Fine. Cade, what about you? You want to go for a walk with me, or stay here waiting for Little Miss Zit to pop?”

He turns to the TV for a moment, then to Bree, and then back to me. “What kind of stores?”

“Beach stuff. And I know there's a candy store not too far away.”

That does it. “Count me in.”

“Bree?” I ask once more. “Final chance. You sure you don't want to come along?”

She's already halfway up the stairs. “Just go,” she calls without looking back.

As I head out of the house, Cade holds his hand up like a traffic cop. “Wait. Are you sure you have your little pager thing?”

So cute of him to remember! Maybe little brothers aren't all bad.

I pat the front pocket of my shorts. “Always. Page has become my new best friend, sad as that is.”

It feels awesome being outside; just breathing in the fresh air and seeing all the green on the coastal hills. In a way, it kind of feels like last night, out on the beach when the roar of the ocean made me feel alive. As we walk, it occurs to me that perhaps I've sort of shut myself inside at home since all of this heart stuff started.

Maybe that's why the few friends I used to have distanced themselves? Because I distanced myself first…

Who knows.

What I do know is that feeling the coastal breeze in my face feels really good, and that right now, for this moment, I am happy.

Apparently Cade can see the difference in me too. “What's up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't know. You're just all smiling and stuff.”

“I'm happy. What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing, I guess. But do you have to walk different because of it? You're, like…skipping or something. It's weird.”

Nope, I was right. Little brothers are annoying.

I stop walking and point back to our house. “Just go back right now, Cade, if you're going to nitpick. I happen to like being out here—I feel like I haven't been anywhere in forever, so I can walk however I want.”

“Geez,” he fires back. “Sorry for being honest.”

We continue walking, but the talking stops for a while. The lack of conversation allows me to focus on the surroundings. The street is lined with homes, most of them larger and newer than ours, and probably all rental properties. That's just the way Cannon Beach is—not a ton of year-round residents like my great-grandma, but plenty of homes for vacationers to enjoy the majesty of the Oregon coast. Behind a few of the homes, kites are starting to pop up here and there in the morning breeze.

There's an intersection five or six blocks from our house where our road crosses the busiest street in town. We take a right toward a long row of shops a couple hundred yards to the east. The first store sells nothing but kites and windcatchers; it's fun to look around at all the bright colors and designs, but without Dad's credit card there is nothing I could afford. Dad is pinching pennies to pay my bills, though, so I doubt he'd spend his money here anyway. Next to the kite store are a couple of old antique stores, followed by an art gallery and then a clothing store dedicated almost exclusively to swimsuits.

Finally we reach the candy store. As soon as I walk through the door, my mouth begins watering. My nose, meanwhile, is attacked by a blend of sugary goodness—giant shards of peanut brittle, truffles of every flavor, hand-dipped Oreos, at least fifteen different kinds of candied apples, and the largest assortment of fudge I've ever seen.

Once my senses get past the sweet smells, they move on to an even sweeter sight. A totally hot guy is standing behind the counter.

Be still, my fragile heart!

He's wearing a brown apron, plastic gloves, and a paper hat on his head that doesn't fully cover the wavy locks of hair hanging over his ears. Unfortunately, on second glance, he looks kind of jockish. You know, sporty. And sporty guys like sporty girls, but I'm not a sporty girl. Not anymore. In fact, I'm the opposite.

I'm a girl with an acute medical problem.

I'm a girl who sports could kill.

I'm a girl who can't help noticing a cute boy when she sees one, but who knows darn well he's not worth dreaming about, because he would have no interest in a girl like me. Not that I'm not attractive, because I can be totally cute too, when I want to be. But let's face it, I have flaws…inside and out.

“Hey,” he says coolly after a few seconds, “what's up?”

He speaks, I panic. He's definitely a sporty, too-cool-for-girls-like-me kind of guy, but his voice is as cute as his hair. His words take hold of me, freezing me in place. The best I can do is give him a confused “are you talking to me?” sort of expression, followed by a feeble, “Uh…hi.”

What guy like that would want a girl with defects like mine?

I purposefully drop my eyes to the floor. Not that I don't want to look at him. Only that I feel kind of uncomfortable with him looking at me. At some level, probably not too deep, I'm afraid of what he might see.

“If you guys are looking for good chocolate,” he continues, “you've come to the right spot. We make it right here at the store.”

“You make it?” asks Cade.

“Well, not me personally. But the owner and his wife come in at like five every day. The only thing they don't make by hand is the taffy, but they buy that fresh each morning from a place in Seaside.” I can feel his gaze following me as I approach the glass display. “Where are you from?”

“The Portland area,” I reply softly without looking up.

“Cool. I used to live there too. Until my parents split a couple years ago and I moved here with my mom.”

“Oh.” I turn my back to examine the display of candied apples on the near wall.

“You just here for the day, or are you staying through the week?”

Since my back is to him, I figure he must be speaking to Cade, so I ignore the question for several seconds, but Cade doesn't say anything either. When I finally turn around again, he is still staring at me!

My only move is to play dumb. “Oh, were you talking to me?”

“Who else?”

“My brother?”

“I could talk to him, I guess,” he says with a chuckle as he glances down at Cade. “Is your sister always like this?”

Cade shrugs. “Only when boys are around.”

“Cade!” I can feel my cheeks getting hot.

The boy snickers at my reaction, but stays focused on my brother. “Cade, is it? Well, Cade, is there anything that looks good?”

“All of it.”

“I know, right? Should I just box up one of everything for you, or is there something specific you'd like?”

Cade orders a single square of peanut-butter fudge and two mint truffles.

“Do you think your sister—What's her name again?—Do you think she's going to want anything?”

“Her name is Ann,” Cade tells him, tossing a quick glance my way. I'm sure I'm still multiple shades of pink. “And yeah, she wants something.”

Oh, that rotten little brat!
The smirk on his face—and the way he says it!—makes it sound like the “something” I want has nothing to do with chocolate.

I could kill him!

Unfazed, the boy winks at Cade with a thankful nod, then focuses on me again. “So,
Ann.
What can I get you?”

“I'm still deciding,” I mutter as I ease back toward the glass display counter.

“Well, take your time. I'll just chat with Cade here until you're ready.” He smiles and winks at Cade once more, like the two of them are playing a game. “What grade are you in?”

“Just finished fifth. Now I'm starting middle school.”