Not in the Script (26 page)

“That's a great way to put it,” I reply, walking around the quilt frame to collapse onto the couch. “I have a million reasons for avoiding anything more than that right now. I just don't seem to have enough sense to stay away from Jake.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” Mrs. Elliott says. “He's always had this effect on girls. The funny thing is, you're the first one to
have the same effect on him. And my goodness, he's a mess. It's actually nice to see.”

Firecrackers go off inside me. I should feel guilty for making Jake “a mess,” but here I am, all giddy, and dragging his sweet mother into it. “The problem is,” I explain, “I might never get my head on straight. But I don't want you to think I'm just playing games with him.”

“Not at all. No one knows their future. That's what makes life so fun.” We talk a while longer as we keep stitching, and then Mrs. Elliott yawns. “I think I need a nap, if you don't mind.”

“No problem.” I try not to imagine the disaster of a quilt she might wake up to.

“You could always go to Jake's game,” she says.

My needle sticks into something hard. “That's a tempting idea, but, well …” I press my thumb against a finger so it won't bleed. “I don't want to put him in an awkward situation.”

“Oh, I'm sure if you're recognized, he'll think of something,” she replies. “And you certainly have permission to use my name in any bit of fairy tale you'd like to make up.”

This is another one of those times when I should just say no, isn't it?

“The tournament is only a few blocks down the street,” Mrs. Elliott adds, backing her wheelchair away from the quilt frame. “You could walk if you'd like to. I have a map.”

There are six courts at the massive city park. With my white floppy hat and oversize sunglasses in place, I walk along the edge of the bleachers and search for which game Jake is playing in. At last, I
spot him sitting on a bench with a few other guys, and figure the tournament must be behind schedule. Lucky for me.

I scan the bleachers for a place to sit, on the opposite side of the court. There's a single seat here and there, but I make my way to where there's a bit more room near the top. Two guys and a girl soon ask if they can squeeze into the remaining space next to me. I place my bag on my lap and scoot over, blending in with the rest of the crowd.

“You two need to chill out,” the girl tells her friends. Her short black hair is spiky and cute, and she's wearing an ASU T-shirt. I wonder what brand of vitamins they take here in Phoenix, because
everyone
is beautiful—especially one of the guys she's with, who has light brown hair and dark eyes. Wait … something about him seems familiar. “I'm sure you'll both get a chance to go out with her.”

“But just think, Mark, I'll get to kiss her
first
,” says the brown-haired guy.

He gets slugged by his buddy, a white-blond, stocky guy. “I don't want your leftovers!”

“Why not? You've liked them before.”

I watch all this out the side of my sunglasses while I drink from a water bottle.

“Ack! You guys are sick!” the girl says. “Emma Taylor's kissed way hotter guys than either of you, anyway.”

I swallow wrong and cough like both lungs have exploded.

The girl whips her head around. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”
Gasp
. “Really.”
Gasp
. I take another drink. “Thanks.”

The Cage. Jake's friends! That's where I've seen these guys before.

Crap.
Double crap
. I have to get out of here. One more cough
and I'm breathing again, but my bag has fallen off my lap and everything that used to be inside is now scattered among four pairs of feet.

I grab my wallet first—it has my driver's license under a clear cover on the outside—then stuff my
Coyote Hills
script back into my bag. My cell starts ringing, and I look around for it. But then I hear the girl say in stunned, slow words, “How do
you
know Jake Elliott?”

Only then do I notice that she's holding my ringing phone, and Devin and Mark are also staring at the caller ID on the front of it. And since my phone says in bright, bold letters that
Jake Elliott
is the one who's calling me, it's impossible to talk my way around this. I release my breath and take the phone. “Oh, is that him? We, uh … work together.”

My phone stops ringing.

They all look at each other, and then everyone's focus shifts back to
me
. “No way!” the girl says. “I didn't recognize you!”

I tug my hat a little lower. “That's kind of the idea.”

“Ouch,” Mark says, running a hand over his buzz haircut. “Did you happen to hear what we just said? Because … yeah, that might've sounded sorta bad.”

“Just a little,” I tell him, unable to suppress a smile. “So which one of you guys gets to kiss me first? I got a bit lost around the
leftovers
part.”

Devin half raises his hand. “Uh, hi there, I'm Devin. I was supposed to go on a date with you next month, but now I'm just hoping you don't have a hit man on speed dial.”

I laugh. “Nah, I only make that call
after
a guy passes me off to his buddy.”

“Sorry, that was just stupid guy talk,” Devin replies, moving
the girl out of the way so he can stand by me. “Which Sophie here is totally used to.”

“But still disgusted by,” Sophie informs me. “Don't worry, though. Devin's really okay. I mean, he's not as cool as Jake, which I'm sure
Jake
has told you. And definitely not as athletic as Mark. But Devin gets the best grades, so if you're into geeks …”

Jake is calling me again. Devin stops scowling at Sophie and looks down at my phone. “Oh man, can I answer it?” he asks. This situation really can't get any crazier, so I hand over my phone. Devin changes his voice to sound like a girl—me, apparently. “Hey, Jakey! OMG, you'll never guess who I just met. Devin is, like, so hot! And his muscles are
way
bigger than yours. I'm giving him a back rub right now.”

Silence, then I can hear Jake laugh. “
What
? How did
you
get Emma's phone?”

“Dude, she followed me here. Total stalker.”

I grab my phone. “They sat right next to me,” I tell Jake, hoping to somehow save this very telling situation. “Which is funny, since the reason I came to the game was because you said you'd introduce me to Devin if I could make it.” Devin grins and reaches around Sophie to hit Mark. “You know, because we're doubling the weekend of the premiere,” I tell Devin, but close enough to the phone that Jake can hear too, and go along with the charade I'm trying to pull off. “And I was in Phoenix anyway, interviewing Jake's mom for a foundation I'm working on.”

“Ri-i-ight,” Jake says. “Oh, gotta go. My game's starting. Don't believe anything they tell you—unless it makes me look good, of course.”

Once I'm off the phone, Devin is yanked out of the way by
Mark, and Sophie scoots past both of them to stand next to me. “Devin gets to spend a whole day with you,” she says, “so Mark and I want to at least get to know you for thirty minutes.”

“Okay, cool.” I switch places with Sophie so I'm now between them. “I'm really not that exciting, though. People usually write every clever line I say.”

Mark and Sophie laugh, and Devin wants to know why, but they won't tell him.

Once Jake's game starts, it's hard to watch him—but not too closely—and also pay attention to Sophie and Mark. Time flies, though, because the game only goes to twenty-one points. One of Jake's teammates hits the winning shot, and Sophie and I cheer. But Devin and Mark curse.

“They're just mad because they lost both of their games this morning, which means they're out of the tournament,” Sophie explains. “So now they have to buy Jake a shake at The Hamburger Hut.” She pokes Mark in the ribs. “Because he
isn't
a loser.”

“Just to clear things up,” Mark tells me as we all walk down the bleachers, “Sophie's not really flirting with me—she's my cousin. And she's already dated Devin. And Jake breaks every heart that gets within a hundred miles of him, so Sophie stays clear of him too.”
Ugh
. That's likely a warning I should listen to. “Sophie just likes to annoy us.”

“Yeah,” she says. “And to remind Devin why that sweeping romance we once had, when we were fifteen, was the best week of his life.”

“
You
dumped me, remember?” Devin says. “Why rub it in?”

“Why not? Someone has to keep you guys humble.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, suddenly distracted. The game had been shirts
and skins, and Jake is only a few feet away from me now. Shirtless. I've seen him in this glorious state a few times before, but never in the high afternoon sun—with a freshly glowing tan, and having just poured a bottle of water down his chest.
Washboard abs
doesn't begin to describe the view.

I'm sweating more than Jake is.

“Put your shirt on, you show-off,” Devin tells him.

Jake swats his head. “How was your back rub?”

Devin looks at me with mock fondness. “Amazing.”

“Why didn't you tell us she'd be here?” Sophie asks Jake, and he shoots me a quick glance for help. “A little warning would've been nice.”

“Actually, it isn't his fault,” I say. “He knew I'd be coming to Phoenix this weekend to interview his mom, but I wasn't sure how much time I'd have today.”

“Not so fast,” Devin says. “We have a rule around here: Jake has enough good luck for all of us, so whenever anything bad happens,
he
has to take the blame for it.”

Mark nods. “Jake's the only one out of a bunch of our buddies who hasn't had a thing for you at some point. Then we're all sitting around Devin's pool a while ago, and Jake tells us, totally casual, ‘Hey, I got this acting gig, and you'll never guess who I'll be working with.' Anyway, there's not a lot of love for this dude around here anymore.”

“Not that there ever was,” Devin puts in.

“Eh, don't take it so bad, guys,” Jake says. “You wouldn't want to spend your days with this diva anyway.” I put a hand on my hip, and he goes on. “I mean, one minute it's about a pedicure gone bad”—I try to hide my newly polished toes, which I'll admit I'm
sort of obsessive about, but I can't—“and the next, she's complaining because her lettuce isn't crisp enough.”

“That's Kimmi!” I swing my bag, and he jumps out of the way.

“Really? I get you two confused,” Jake says, now channeling Brett. “But before you stab me with your eyebrow pencil, Mark and Devin owe me a shake, and they'll buy one for you too. Wanna come along?”

Why not? The most awkward part of being discovered here is over. And I like these guys.

The Hamburger Hut is pretty much empty, but we still sit in a back corner away from any windows to lessen Emma's chances of being recognized. She goes straight for the two small tables I pull together while Devin orders fries and shakes—Oreo for me and banana cream pie for Emma. I sit directly across from her.

This place has been around forever, and the way it looks now isn't much different from when I was a kid. The black-and-white-checkered floor is the same, and the booths that line one side of the restaurant have shiny red vinyl, with thick chrome edging on the tables.

The only big difference is that it's missing the long bar that used to run in front of the kitchen. About the time I started high school, I remember walking in and having my entire body go rigid when I saw that the owners had torn it out. My dad and I sat up to that bar on high spinning stools countless times, usually after one
of my Little League games. It was kind of our thing to come here. Having that bar ripped out made me feel like someone had thrown away my best childhood memories with the trash. But now, I'm glad it's gone.