Damn, I forgot about the surgery. What if she won’t be back in time for the playoffs? Great, just great. Here I am the asshole again.

CARLI

The stupid playoffs. I don’t tell him I could care less about which scouts will be there because I don’t want to play basketball anymore. I don’t tell him that I’m more concerned with which color Le Pen to pull from my Pamela Barsky canvas pencil pouch than being able to run up and down a court. He sounds way too excited, and I’m not ready to burst his bubble. I’m not ready to tell him that I don’t love the game like he does.

“My bad. I wasn’t even thinking about the surgery. What’s the doctor saying about your chances of being ready for the playoffs?” he asks.

Periwinkle, I decide. I’m lying in my bed with my notebook, filling in the white space around Rex Carrington with the words Numbers never really die in multicolored columns. “Don’t know. I have an appointment next week. Supposed to tell me then.”

A text comes in from Jordan: I’ll get it back from him tomorrow. I swear

You better, I text back. I can’t believe this girl has lost the menu with the first kisses fact on the back. And I still can’t find the original fact on my walls anywhere, so it’s even more crucial for Jordan to find it. And no, I can’t just write it again like she suggested. It wouldn’t be the same. For real, Jordan

Ok . . . ok

Earlier, Jordan’s mom said she couldn’t go to the game because she needed to study. So Jordan gave the menu to her brother to give to Cole to give to me. The problem is, her brother never gave it to Cole. When Cole didn’t show up for shootaround, he gave it to Chico—this dude I used to date on Cole’s team. Now, everybody and their mama know I dumped Chico over a month ago, but I guess Jordan’s brother didn’t get the memo.

So now the first sign on me and Rex’s path is in the hands of a dude who doesn’t know the difference between they’re, their, and there, but who had the nerve to call me stupid for saying that crossing the train tracks on Westheimer at the exact same time it started pouring down hail (it was only pea-sized, but still!) was a sign that we should take a break.

“I’m sure you’ll be good to go.”

“What?”

“You know, good for the playoffs.”

“I guess we’ll see,” I say. And then add, “But when can I see you, though?” to get on to more important things.