What Happened to Goodbye(68)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“Sorry,” he replied like a reflex.

Ellis handed me a platter, which I dried and passed off to Deb. “You know,” she said, taking it, “I’ve never really understood the whole basketball thing.”

“It’s pretty easy to follow, if you just watch,” Heather said.

“I guess. I’ve never watched a game, though.”

A silence fell. Even the TV went mute. “Never?” Riley asked.

Deb shook her head. “My mom and I aren’t really into sports.”

“Basketball,” Dave said, “is not simply a sport. It’s a religion.”

“Watch it,” Mrs. Benson warned from the pantry, where she was organizing cans.

“Let the boy speak!” her husband called out. I looked over to see him turning in his chair, lifting a finger, and pointing at Deb. “Come over here, sweetheart. I’m about to give you an education.”

“Oh, God,” Riley groaned. “Daddy, please. Don’t.”

“That would be great!” Deb said. Then she looked down at her dish towel. “Let me just—”

“It’s okay,” Heather said, taking it from her. “Just go. It’ll be easier if you let him go ahead and start. God knows how long this might take.”

“You sure? ” Deb asked Riley, who nodded. “Okay. Thanks!”

We all stood there washing and drying in silence as she walked over, taking a seat on the corner of the couch closest to the recliner. The volume on the TV came on again, but we could still hear Mr. Benson begin. “Okay,” he said. “Now, back in 1891, Dr. James Naismith invented—”

“Oh my God,” Riley said. “He’s starting with Naismith. College just can’t come fast enough.”

Beside me, Dave laughed. Heather said, “Don’t say that. Next year, we’ll all be eating cafeteria food and wishing we were here.”

“But before that,” Ellis said, “we’ll be eating our way to Texas. Hey, speaking of that, our travel fund just topped a thousand bucks, thanks to Dave’s FrayBake bonus.”

“You got a bonus?” Riley asked him.

“Employee of the month three months running,” he replied, all proud. “That’s a hundred extra dollars to you and me.”

“You guys have a fund?” I asked.

“We’ve been saving since last summer,” Riley explained. “You know, putting in what we can from our jobs and birthdays and Christmas and stuff for gas and hotels and—”

“Food,” Ellis added. “I’m working on plotting a map just of diners from here to Austin. I want eggs Benedict in every state.”

“Sounds like fun,” I said to him.

“You guys need to stop talking about it,” Heather said as she reached up, putting some glasses on a shelf. “At least while I’m here.”

“You might still be able to come,” Riley said to her.

“Unlikely. Unless I make employee of the month for the next, oh, twelve months or so.”

“First,” Ellis said, “you’d have to get a job.”

Heather just looked at him. “I have applications out in several places, I’ll have you know.”

“FrayBake is always hiring,” Dave said cheerfully.

“That place gives me the creeps,” Heather replied. “It’s so fake.”

“The money they pay is real, though.”

Heather sighed, shutting the cabinet. “I’ll pay my dad back. Just probably not in time for the trip.”

“It’s okay,” Riley said, reaching to squeeze her shoulder as she passed by. “We’ll take some trips this summer. The beach and stuff.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Yesssssss! That’s how you do a layup, son!” Mr. Benson yelled. Deb, for her part, clapped politely, her eyes on the screen, while Riley’s mom, who’d settled into a rocking chair by the fire, just shook her head.

“Hurry up and rinse that,” Dave said to Ellis, nodding at the pitcher in his hand. “We’re missing everything.”

“You two are just useless. Get out of here,” Riley told him. With no protest, they scrambled out of the room. She sighed. “I swear. It’s like dealing with children.”

“Oh, yeah!” Mr. Benson hollered as if to confirm this. “Suck on that, Loeb!”

“Woo-hoo,” Deb added with a bit of a golf clap, as Dave and Ellis plopped down beside her.

“Daddy.” Riley winced, covering her eyes with one hand, then said to me, “Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you about the whole crazy thing.”

“They’re not crazy,” I told her. She dropped her hand, surprised. “They’re great. Seriously. You’re really lucky.”

“Yeah?” She smiled, then looked back over at her dad, who was pumping his fist in the air.

“Yeah. Thanks for the invite.”

“No problem. Thanks for the help.” She reached into the water, drawing out a soapy bowl, then handed it to me to rinse. As I did, I looked at the window in front of me, where I could see the TV reflected, motion and light as the game moved past on it, the announcer calling every play. It made me think of my mother, suddenly, and I wished in that moment she could see me here, in a real home, with a family, just like she wanted. Maybe it wasn’t ours. But it was still good.

Twelve

“Okay,” Opal said. “Be totally honest. Angel Baby or Calm Waters? ”

“What happened to just blue?” Jason asked.

She looked down at the two color swatches she was holding. “I don’t know. It’s too boring, I guess. And they’re both blue.”

“I like this one,” Tracey said, flicking her finger at the lighter color on the right. “It looks like the ocean.”

“So does the other one,” Jason pointed out. “I honestly can’t tell the difference.”

“The other one has higher hues, more white in it. This one”—Tracey picked up the swatch on the left, flipping it over—“Angel Baby, has darker notes going to lighter, but it’s more of a mix.”

Opal and Jason just looked at her as she turned the swatch back over, sliding it back in place. “What?” she said. “I’m into art, okay?”

“Clearly,” Jason said. “That was impressive.”

“So we’ve got one vote for Angel Baby, and one no opinion. Maybe I should go back to the yellows.” Opal sighed, picking up a stack of swatches and flipping through them, then looked up and saw me. “Hey! Mclean! Come tell me what you think.”