mush. “I’m grounded for the Fourth. That means no fun pool floaties.”
Walsh sighed dramatically on the other end of the phone, the sound theatrical and over-the-top. “I’m devastated, Sophie. Devastated. Shame on you for not cleaning her litter box.”
“Do you want to walk dogs with me on the fifth?” It didn’t feel weird asking him this time, not nearly as strange as it had originally. “Assuming they don’t try to extend my duration in prison.”
“I’ll check my schedule and let you know,” he said, then quickly added, “Oh, look at that. It’s clear. And I’ll bring better shoes this time.”
“I don’t know, I thought the boat shoes were a hit.”
“Yeah, a hit in dog poop.”
“If you two are going to flirt like this,” Edith said, leaning down to talk into the phone, “then should I go in the other room? We were trying to have girl-talk.”
I could hear Walsh laugh. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll leave you two to it, then. I’ll see you Wednesday then, Sophie?”
My lips twitched a little bit. “Wednesday it is. Bye.”
When the other line disconnected, I realized by looking in the mirror just how red my face was, how hot my skin felt. I pressed my palms to my cheeks, hoping to cool them down.
Edith gave me a knowing look, moving onto the last section of my hair. “Cute.”
I straightened my shoulders. “You know it’s not like that. We’re just pretending.”
“For who?” she asked innocently. “Who’s around to witness your flushed cheeks, hmm?”
There was no denying what she said. In the mirror, my red cheeks were completely obvious.
“So I’ve been working on my article,” I said, changing the subject at breakneck speed. “It sucks because I don’t have my original journal with any ideas, but I found a scrap notebook I could use. It’s coming along. I’ve got the working title, actually. The Curveball Truth Behind Bayview Baseball.”
Edith stopped moving with a lock of hair wrapped around the barrel.
I didn’t realize the silence between us was tense until I saw her expression in the mirror. It was pinched, almost disbelieving. “What? Too long? I could get rid of the word ‘curveball.’”
“You’re not still writing the exposé…right?”
“What do you mean? You’ve known about this.” Heat started coming from the curler, little smoke squiggles wafting into the air. “Edith, my hair!”
She hurried to untangle the iron, yanking a few hairs in the process, and stepped around, looking directly in my eye. “You’re not using Walsh to get more information, are you?” she demanded, studying my expression. When I remained silent, her eyes widened. “Sophia!”
“It’s not like I’m spreading lies!” I threw my hands into the air. Half of my curls bounced around as I shook my head. “And I’m not using him. I wasn’t the one to suggest this fake dating nonsense. If you remember, this was all his idea. They’re cutting the newspaper, and if I don’t have a good article, I can kiss the internship at the Blade goodbye—kiss jumpstarting my journalism career goodbye. Kiss my dream goodbye. How would you feel if you had to give up volleyball?”
Edith’s anger seemed to dissipate slightly, hearing the distress in my voice. I didn’t want to look at her in the mirror, my anger forcing me into an arm-crossed pout, but when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Sophia, you are an amazing writer. I’ve read your stuff. Heck, your straw article changed the school board’s mind before. You don’t need to write anything mean.” She kicked the edge of my stool. “That’s not the kind of stuff you write, anyway.”
Her words left me feeling icky on the inside, all over. Edith wasn’t wrong. Undercover journalism wasn’t the kind of writing I did. Take-down articles weren’t my thing. Informative articles, maybe, or even personal ones, but never negative.
But Edith didn’t understand. “Recyclable straws won’t bring my class back.”
“Well, what does Walsh think of your article topic?”
My silence was answer enough.
“You haven’t told him,” she laughed, but it held zero humor. “Sophia, when he finds out, he’s—”
“Going to be furious,” I finished, already knowing. And he’d have the right to be, but he knew about the cheating. As team captain, how could he not? He knew what he was getting into. That wasn’t my fault. “I don’t have a choice, Edith.”
She started sorting through my hair again, picking up another piece and winding it around the tool. Gathering my courage, I lifted only my gaze to the mirror, finding the disappointment on her expression. All the denial and anger