The door opens. The same tall woman with short hair from the hospital is about to walk out of the house with a thick blanket wrapped around her. But when she sees me, she stops and narrows the opening in the door. She looks at me—alarmed.

Oh, wait. She doesn’t know me. “Hi, I’m Rex,” I hurry up and say.

“So you’re Rex,” she says, like she’s been hearing things about me.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No need for ma’ams,” she says, and widens the door. “Why don’t you come in.”

“Thanks,” I say, and step in, feeling my body relax into the warmth. I swear, the insides of a house have never felt or smelt so good. It’s like the toffee candy Angie used to make mixed with her morning coffee with a little bit of Christmas and a dash of lavender. Don’t forget about the vanilla. It’s like the scents never end.

Carli’s mom closes the door and says, “I’m Barbara,” extending her hand out from underneath the blanket to shake mine.

“A pleasure to meet you,” I say as politely as I can.

“Carli!” she shouts over her shoulder, “Rex is here!” Then she turns back to me and asks, “So, you go to school with Carli?”

“No, I go to Woodside High.”

“I see,” she says, and nods.

Carli comes walking down the hall in a long NASA T-shirt hiding everything underneath. What exactly? My eyes are begging to know. They look closer and I tell them to stop, but they’re like hardheaded kids. They’ve never seen so much of her skin. The strong curve of her calves, the light spots dotting her right shin and knee (I wonder what those are), the dark bruise on her left thigh (I wonder how she got that), the way her thighs get paler and thicker, much thicker, as they reach higher toward the shirt. My eyes turn things over to my head and I wonder what her thighs look like higher, even higher—hot damn.

“It’s so cold,” Carli says, hugging herself as she nears the doorway. She looks confused, like she’s wondering what I’m doing here, and her usual brightness is strained behind sad eyes.

Damn, I feel awful. I’m standing here eyeing her up, not even thinking about the whole reason I came over in the first place. I can’t imagine having to sit out the rest of the season and missing the playoffs. I wish I could wrap my arms around her and tell her it’s going to be okay. But I don’t want to do all that in front of her mom, so I say, “Yeah, it is.”

“Well, maybe you should go put some clothes on,” her mom says, and gives her a look.