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“What’s wrong, Ana?”
“Nothing.”
“Something’s up. Please tell me. Is school going well?” It is occasionally inconvenient that Maeve is so perceptive.
“It’s easier here, actually,” I say, instead of I’m bored to death because I have no friends. “Schoolwork is a joke.”
“How about extracurricular stuff? Their tennis team doesn’t start till the spring, but the robotics club should be up and running by now. I remember the timing from when Bryce did it throughout high school. You signed up, didn’t you?”
She brought up my two least favorite reminders of how little I belong here. The price of escaping my mother’s clutches is moving to a place where I’m nobody. That’s what it felt like when the robotics captain told me all their spots were taken.
And then there’s Bryce. The one member of the MacElroy clan determined to ignore me.
“I signed up, but the team doesn’t have room for me.”
“What?” Maeve whips around to face me squarely. “They can’t say that. It’s a school club, not a wooden plank from the sinking Titanic! No room for you? That’s absurd.”
Her eyes are bright with indignation, and I relish the thought of Maeve telling Shawna Gillen how absurd she is. Shawna is a senior, like me, and captain of the club. I’m pretty sure no one voted her the guardian of robotics privileges in Dunnville High School, but here we are.
“It’s fine.”
“No, it is not.” She washes her hands and, amid scrubbing, seems to have come to a conclusion. “You know who can help? Bryce went to a different high school, but everyone in robotics knows who he is. He’ll talk to the faculty advisor.”
“What?! I’m not riding on Bryce’s stupid coattails just to get into a club. I’ll find another club. The school year just started, and something will come up. Besides, this car rebuild is keeping me busy.”
“I’ll invite him over for dinner,” she says, already dialing her nephew’s cell number.
“Maeve!” I call out, but the sound of another garage door opening muffles my objection. Her mouth is moving, which means she’s already talking to or leaving a message for Bryce.
Sergei rolls in and Maeve’s face transforms from stern to ecstatic. She puts her phone in her back pocket and walks to Sergei as he unfolds from the car.
This is my cue to turn away from the inevitable smooching. “I’m heading inside to get changed!” I call over my shoulder on my way to the house.
By the time I finish cleaning up half an hour later, I’ve forgotten about the robotics club conversation.
Which is why seeing Bryce enter the front door takes me by surprise. He keeps getting, I don’t know, bigger somehow. When we met about six months ago, he struck me as cute in a boy-next-door way.
Now, with his black-rimmed eyeglasses and bursting biceps, he’s the enticing contradiction of serious nerd and hot hunk.
If only he wasn’t such a jerk.
“What are you doing here?” I bark. Years of hostess duties drilled into me evaporate when I’m around Bryce MacElroy.
“Aunt Maeve called me,” he answers stoically and with a tired sigh, as if my rudeness is both expected and irrelevant.
“Food is ready in the kitchen. Get over here, guys!”
He gives me a curt nod and looks over my head. I’m nothing more than an obstacle on his way to dinner. I lift my chin and march ahead, determined to be as detached as he is.
The usual greetings follow. Bryce is friendly with my brother and affectionate with his aunt who is only a handful of years older than him because she’s the youngest of her siblings.
Food is laid out on the kitchen island, buffet style. I fill my plate with spicy eggplant, shrimp, and rice. From the corner of my eye, I see Bryce pile a mountain of chicken and vegetables on his plate. The whole time, the three of them chat about his college course load and all the offers he’s getting for graduate school.
“I’ll stay in the area,” he confirms.
“Your grandpa would love that,” Sergei says.
“Yeah, I know. And I’m stoked about a project I started with my advisor.”
