“Yeah. Do you like it? I got it for the Summer Bash next week.”

Danny doesn't answer my question, but asks one of his own. “Your dad seen it yet?”

“Well, no, but he's not going to the party. So do you guys like it? Does it look okay?” I stare at Phillip. “Phillip?”

Phillip is still looking at me sort of shocked. What's the deal? Does it look bad?

Phillip starts to open his mouth to say something. At first nothing comes out, but then he says, “I think I like that pink one you have better.”

Jerk!

The pink one he is referring to is practically a granny style one-piece. I give that boy a mad face.

Danny looks at Phillip and shakes his head at him. Then he winks at me and says, “Go long, right, Jay.”

I do, and we play catch for about 30 minutes, running various plays and routes. It's usually fun and a good workout for me.

But the whole time we're playing, Phillip's bikini comment is festering in my brain. I brilliantly intercept a pass, and I nearly scream out loud, HAHAHAHA, Phillip, you jerk! But I withheld my comments and gave him a smirky grin instead.

Which apparently didn't bother him in the least because he shrugs his shoulders at me, his body saying, No big deal.

And that really pisses me off.

So on the next play, as we're running side by side down the field, I carefully stick my foot out with the intention of accidentally tripping him.

Only it doesn't quite work as I imagined because my leg gets tangled up with his, and we both go down.

BOOM.

I land on my side with a THUD and literally bounce off the grass.

And it must've knocked the wind out of me because I can't seem to breathe.

I try to take a breath, but before I can, Phillip rolls me over on my back, pins my arms above my head, and sits on me.

At first, I think he's going to tickle me or something, but then my oxygen deficient brain registers his brown eyes flashing black.

Uh, oh. I don't think he's very happy with me.

I painfully suck in a breath of air, just as he leans down close to my face. Warm, minty breath blows on me when he yells, “YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, ever so innocently.

Who? ME?

“You're being a shit! I don't know what your problem is, but I won't let you hurt us both. I'll be damned if I'll miss senior year football with a broken leg because you can't play nice.”

“Poor little Phillip. Can't play with the big girls?”

“I play fine with girls,” Phillip answers, with a smirk of his own.

A little too fine lately, if you ask me.

He may be getting too cute and confident for his own good.

He pushes my hands into the ground, “I'm serious. No more cheap shots.”

“You can't tell me what to do, Phillip.”

“Maybe not, but I'll tell your dad you've been a poor sport.”

Shit. He's got me on that.

“Fine. Get off me.”

Phillip stays where he is and says in his calmer, sweeter voice. “What are you so pissed about anyway? Are you mad at Danny?”

Is he serious? I mean is he really that clueless? How could he possibly not know what has me so upset? And really, why do I care what he thinks anyway? He's just a big, fat dork who dates clueless girls. Girls who wouldn't know a tight spiral pass if it hit them in the uh, well, you know.

“Hey! You guys gonna get a room, or do you wanna play some football?” Danny yells from across the yard.

Danny. Wow. I had almost forgotten he was here.

But I'm glad because his comment jerks me out of my feeling-sorry-for-myself mood, and my cockiness comes rushing back. I raise an eyebrow at Phillip and then let my eyes wander down the length of his body.

I mean, he is on top of me.

He gives me the evil eye, gets up, and throws the ball back to Danny. “I've had enough,” he says.

I hop up and follow Phillip to where Danny's standing.

All of a sudden my legs feel itchy.

Crap.

A bunch of loose grass clippings have stuck to the oil on my legs. Not particularly attractive, I think, as I try to brush them off.

Danny, trying to ease the unusual tension between Phillip and me, laughs and points at me. He calls me the Grass Monster or something equally juvenile and stupid.

Phillip finally laughs too and then says, “I'm starving!”

“Yeah, me too. Let's go,” Danny agrees. He bends down, grabs his T-shirt off the grass, and slides his feet into a pair of flip-flops.

“I've gotta run home and grab a shirt and some shoes,” Phillip tells us.

I start to head to my house to grab a shirt too.

Danny responds to Phillip by saying, “Jay's driving that hot new Mustang of hers.” Then he runs up behind me, snaps me on the butt with his T-shirt, and follows me home.

“What was that all about?”

“Oh, he was just pissed because he thought I tripped him on purpose.”

Danny looks at me like a human lie detector, “Did you?”

I chuckle. “Maybe…”

I shove my shoulder into his and say, “So, I know what Phillip thinks of the bikini, but you never gave me a straight answer. So do you like it? Come on Danny, I value your opinion, and I really don't want to wear it to the party if it looks stupid on me.”

Danny thinks for a moment, like he's not sure what to say.

I mean, come on!

Any other girl in a bikini and Danny would be giving me much more information about the bikini than I would ever want to know. You'd think he'd at least be able to answer one simple question about my bikini.

Finally, Danny turns to me and says blandly, rolling his eyes, “Jake will love it.”

YAY!

“But you better just have water at the Shack, or you might outgrow it before the party.”

I flash angry eyes at him, but I can tell by his smirk that he's just teasing me.

“Cheapskate. You're just trying to get out of buying me lunch.”

“Mom,” I yell, as I am bounding down the stairs to the kitchen. “Can you tie these strings in tight double knots for me?” I'm holding my bikini top up to my chest, the straps are trailing behind me.

It's the day of the Summer River Bash, and I'm running late, as usual. Jake will be here any minute, and I am so not ready.

Mom is standing at the kitchen sink. Dad is sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the sports section.

He glances up and quickly reverts to the paper. Then his head comes flying back up. He looks at Mom and then at me and says, “You're not wearing that, are you, Jadyn?”

Duh. I just put it on for fun and am having Mom tie it for no reason.

But I don't have time for any hassle right now. I'm late enough as it is.

So I say in my sweet, polite voice, “Yes, a swimsuit is required attire for a beach party.”

I give him my I'm your little angel and can do no wrong look, as I slide over with my back towards Mom, holding my top against my chest with one hand and my hair up with the other.

“Double knots, please,” I say quietly to her.

I don't want it coming undone at an inopportune time.

Dad says to Mom in an edgy tone, “Don't you think that swimsuit is a little skimpy, Ronny?” My Mom's real name is Veronica.

Veronica James Reynolds.

James was my great-great grandma's maiden name. All first-born girls since my great grandma have had James as their middle name, thus my weird middle name. And evidently giving your daughter a boy's name for a nickname also runs in the family. I seriously didn't even know my name was Jadyn until I went to kindergarten. Daddy always calls me Angel and everyone else has always called me JJ.

I'm only Jadyn when I'm in big trouble.

Crap. I know what's coming next.