I stood up too. “Peace out, Girl Scout,” I said to Eliza. “See ya in gym Monday, bright and early.”

“Super looking forward to it,” she replied, flipping her braid to keep it out of the syrupy plates. She vanished into the kitchen and I exhaled.

Stop, Nick.

Besides Straight Cheese ’n’ Pizza, North Cassidy embarrassingly lacked in the entertainment department. On the nice days, however, we could use what the town leaders, or whatever they’re called, referred to as “the concourse,” but the cool kids knew as “the intercourse.”

I mean c’mon, they totally set that one up for us. Dared us, even.

The con-/intercourse consisted of overmanicured grass, metal bleachers, and plastic turf that caused more ACL tears than it was worth. The recreational area sat beside the high school and the town’s athletic track, football fields, softball fields, soccer/lacrosse fields, basketball courts, tennis courts, and swimming pool. The space had one asphalt basketball court, with smelly, mosquito repelling lights to illuminate it at night. The closest courts after that were a twenty-minute drive to the next town over—and those didn’t have mosquito lights, so you’d get a lot of bites playing there, though maybe reduce your risk of cancer.

Unless there was a school event, the fields and courts were first come, first served—especially for tennis. (Not really; I just wanted to make that pun.) We dribbled onto the basketball court minutes before a gang of rather large middle schoolers was dropped off by their parents.

“Sucks to suck,” called Austin.

“Your mom sucks,” one of the sixth graders shouted back.

Carter and I merely listened to the soothing swish of sinking our basketballs into the net.

“Maguire, your elbow’s out,” said Josh as he approached us. “Balance, elbow, eyes, follow-through. You know how it be.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need your help scoring,” I replied. Not ever.

Josh’s stupid lifted pickup sat in the parking lot, the sunlight illuminating its true doucheyness. His lift kit suspended the truck high above its larger-than-normal tires, which was a good indication of his manhood situation and, conversely, made girls somehow more into him.

“Your ride’s looking pretty clean,” I said.

“Thanks,” Josh replied. “I’d been meaning to take it to the wash. Thanks to y’all I don’t have to.”

“Our pleasure,” Carter muttered.

Honestly, why Austin had invited him was beyond me. Normally, Josh hung out with us as the result of someone else hanging out with us and bringing him. Although, after his grass business took off (and I don’t mean landscaping), Josh had become the guy who could get you things.

“Want to do Carter and Josh versus me and Mags?” said Austin, throwing his sweatshirt on the ground. “Seems fair.”

The twang of Carter’s basketball hitting the half-court line answered him. Josh’s sub-par ball skills, matched with Carter being too good at everything, made for a pretty even game.

After an hour of sweating, Austin getting called out for traveling too much (someone get this guy a passport, am I right?), and us trying to dunk on Carter every chance we got, which did happen—Scout’s honor—Josh and Austin flopped on the moist grass beside the court, gulping from their water bottles.