Monday, May 9th, Morning: Olivia

Charlie showed up at 8:12 only after I called him three times andthreatened to sic the Evil Joes on him if he didn’t get down to my house pronto.

He was in his pj’s, the ones from two Christmases ago that have Santa hat–wearing polar bears all over them. I’ve got a matching set upstairs. Charlie kept his eyes open long enough for us to trade phones and passwords before he fell onto the couch in the den and was back asleep.

Following the directions from Maps, twenty-five minutes later I’m finally pulling up to the gates of Ellerbe Hills Country Club.

Stopping at the guard station, I lower my window and give my friendliest smile. “Hi! I’m here to see Coach Cantu!”

Okay, so that was way too enthusiastic.

And by the look on the guard’s face, he’s not impressed.

“Club isn’t open on Mondays.”

And then he turns back around and disappears inside his little booth.

That’s it? I can’t wait until tomorrow. Another twenty-four hours of worrying and just—no. No, no, no.

I wave my hand and he begrudgingly emerges.

“I desperately need to find the coach for my school’s team, who I heard works here now. I really need to talk to him. I don’t know where else to look.”

I mean, what if he’s on vacation? Or I can’t find him? Panic. Sheer panic at the possibility of not graduating because I can’t locate Coach Cantu has melted my brain. I’m already terrified my family and friends will find out how bad I screwed this up as it is. School is my thing. The Thing I’m really good at. If this gets out, it will be the only thing they remember from my high school career, the annual joke every Christmas dinner until the end of time. Not how I was awarded salutatorian. Not all the AP classes. Not the hours and hours of studying. It will be Remember that time Olivia almost didn’t graduate because she screwed up golf? Four years whittled down to one sentence.

This will not be my legacy.

“Please help me,” I beg him. My phone (or really, Charlie’s phone) is ringing and I see my name flash across the screen. I mute the incoming call. I can’t talk to him right now.

The guard blows out a long breath. “Look, there’s no one here today but the groundskeepers. But I do know there’s a big golf tournament this week for the high school kids. There will be staff setting up for it tomorrow and some of the teams have plans to play through. I have no idea if the guy you’re looking for will be here. That’s the best I can do.”

I’m nodding and trying to take deep breaths to calm down. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you so much! I’ll be back tomorrow!”

I’ve driven almost twenty minutes to find out no one is here. It will be a miracle if I get through the next twenty-four hours without losing it.

Phone Duty:Charlie

That noise. What is that noise? I reach for my covers so I can pull them over my head and it takes me a few grabs to realize there are no covers.

And there it is again.

I peel my eyes open and have no idea where I am. Or what day it is. Then I catch a glimpse of that awful bird sculpture Uncle Bruce bought at some auction and I remember I’m at Olivia’s on her couch.

Why am I at Olivia’s?

And why is my phone blowing up?

Thoughts of golf and her phone and Aunt Lisa hit me all at once. I feel around for the phone on the floor next to the couch. It’s one of those obnoxious oversize ones that doesn’t allow you to do anything on it with one hand. It’s like texting on a tablet. I tap in the code Olivia told me. For someone as smart she is, I’m not gonna lie, I expected a better password than her birthday. It takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the screen.

MOM:Good morning, sweetie!

MOM:Reminding you about Bailey’s gift! It’s an adorable pair of monogrammed slippers for the dorm. Thought that was a perfect gift for a PJ party! The store opens at 9 so you probably need to be there right when the door opens so you’re not late for the party.

MOM:Don’t forget to sign the card

MOM:What pjs are you going to wear? Those PJ Harlow ones you got for Christmas would be super cute. Make sure to wear a cute sports bra underneath it because I think those arm holes gape a bit.

I fling Olivia’s phone back on the floor. What the hell. She’s barely been gone five minutes and I’m already going to have to talk to Aunt Lisa? About bras?

I pick the phone back up, but instead of answering the texts, I call my number. It goes to voice mail. Did she decline my call?

Taking a deep breath, I read through Aunt Lisa’s texts one more time, trying to come up with a good reply that saves me from having to discuss underwear. Can I just say Okay! to all of that? I scroll up to earlier conversations between Olivia and Aunt Lisa, and while it’s good to see Olivia doesn’t text nearly as much as her mom, she rarely answers with a simple Okay!

She did not prepare me for this.

And oh Lord, here comes another one.

MOM:And since those bottoms are silk, watch the panty lines too

Okay, this has gone too far. Too. Far.

I call Sophie, the only other person who can help me with this, because God forbid Aunt Lisa decides to call Olivia if she’s not responding quick enough.

She answers on the second ring. “I’m at grad rehearsal,” she whispers. “Can’t talk right now.”

And then she hangs up.

They’re both getting it when I see them next. Finally, my name pops up on the screen. Olivia is calling me back.

“Hey,” Olivia says when I answer. “What’s up?”

“Your mom. Already texting me. I’m sending you a screenshot.”

I wait until I hear that swooshing sound and then Olivia starts laughing. “Tell her this exactly: I’m wearing the pj’s Sophie gave me, so I’m all good.”

I put Olivia on speaker so I can respond to her mom and talk at the same time. “I didn’t sign up for this,” I say.

“Yes, you did. This is being me.”

“Oh God, Aunt Lisa is texting back.”

I watch those three little dots jump around forever and worry about the length and subject matter of the next text.

MOM:Oh good! That will look fantastic with your tan. Are you wearing your hair down? Or maybe two braids. That would be precious.

“This is not happening,” I say to Olivia, then recite Aunt Lisa’s message to her. “Is she always like this?”

“Yep. And just reply: Down.”

I do as she says. “Is she going to ask for a selfie of you dressed up like this? Because I’m not sure I can be you to that extent.”

“Ha! No. She asked me for a selfie a few years ago and then she posted it on Facebook with some sappy caption and now she knows she’s banned from getting selfies of me forever. She likes to ramble but doesn’t expect much in return.”

“I get why you pulled out the truth or dare.”

“I’m on my way back. Today was a bust. The club isn’t open, which I totally didn’t notice when I looked up their hours yesterday. I don’t usually screw the details up like this.” Olivia mumbles the last part. She’s so used to being on top of everything that she’s really hard on herself the few times she messes up. I know how bad this whole thing is screwing with her.

“But I still need you to go grab that gift if you can. I’ll meet you in front of Bailey’s house at nine thirty. I brought the pj’s with me just in case.”

“Send me the location,” I say, and end the call. Hopefully I can get there and back before Aunt Lisa texts again.

Since my truck is still in front of Wes’s house, I jog back down that way. I have my hand on the door but look toward my grandparents’ house. I bet there’s food there. And just the thought of that has my stomach rumbling.

Checking the time on Olivia’s phone, I see I’ve got a few minutes to spare, so I run across the yard, clearing the back-porch steps in one leap.

The smell of bacon slams into me as soon as I open the door—just like it’s supposed to. God, I love bacon.

“Good morning!” I yell as I walk into the back of the house.

Nonna peeks her head out of the kitchen and smiles when she sees me. “Good morning! Want some breakfast?”

“Does the Pope wear a funny hat?”

She chuckles as I follow her to the stove. “Make a plate. There’s bacon and biscuits. Let me know if you want eggs.”

I grab a quick hug from her, then head to the cabinet. “You’re making my day, Nonna.”

The doorbell rings and we both look toward the front of the house. No one rings the bell. Ever.

“Let me see who that is,” she says before leaving the room.

I pile a huge amount of bacon on my plate and two biscuits. The jelly and butter are already out, so I slather some of both on each one. Just as I’m sitting down, I hear Nonna heading back this way.

“Leo, would you like some breakfast?”

I freeze as he enters the kitchen, waiting for the Evil Joes to show, but it’s just him.

“No, thanks. I just ate,” he says to Nonna, then nods to me. “Hey.”

“What’s up,” I say. He’s obviously just showered, since his hair is still wet and he’s wearing nice clothes. Like ones that have been ironed. At eight forty-five in the morning. What’s wrong with this guy?

“What brings you here?” I hear the tone as soon as the words leave my mouth. From his flinch, he didn’t miss it either. I feel bad for a split second until I remember he actually likes the Evil Joes.

“Mae sent me over to grab a bag she left here last night.”

Mae. He calls her Mae?

Nonna waves a hand around. “I know just the one you mean. Found it last night after everyone left but didn’t know whose it was. Let me go get it.”

She steps out of the room and I turn my back to him, digging into my food.

“How long are you in town?” I ask, still not looking at him.

“The week,” he answers.

God, why would you want to stay a week with Aunt Maggie Mae?

“It’s not that bad,” he says, defensively, and I realize I asked that question out loud. Whoops.

Thankfully, Nonna’s back. “Here it is,” she says. “Are you sure you don’t want some food?”

It’s a nearly impossible feat to visit this house and leave without consuming something.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure. But thank you,” he says. And then to me: “See you later, Charlie.”

I raise one hand and answer, “Yeah. See you around.”

I’m washing my dish when Nonna gets back from walking Leo to the door. “He’s such a nice young man,” she says.

I tilt my head and shrug. “Yeah, I guess.” I give her a loud kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for the fill-up.” And then I’m out of there.

I’ve got twenty minutes to get to that store, grab the gift, then get to Bailey’s house.

The store is in one of those glass-front strips. Parking in the closest spot I can find, I dash to the front door and arrive just as a girl in her twenties is unlocking it.

She pulls the door open and eyes me up and down, clearly trying hard to keep a straight face.

It’s the first moment I realize I’m still in the pj bottoms and T-shirt I slept in.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’m here to pick up a gift my aunt ordered. Lisa Perkins.”

“Sure thing. Right this way,” she says, and leads me to the counter in the back of the store. The metal shelves behind the register are stacked full of gifts. It takes her a minute to locate the one Aunt Lisa ordered.

“Are those grad gifts?” I ask.

“Yes! Graduation and Christmas are our busiest times of the year,” she answers.

Seems like a racket. But whatever.

She pushes a ledger in front of me and I sign for the gift, then run back out to my truck. Just as I’m cranking the engine, there’s another text from Aunt Lisa.

MOM:Oh good! You got the gift! Send me a pic of it so I can see how they wrapped it.

What. The. Actual…She wants a pic of a present? And it’s no joke what Olivia said. Aunt Lisa probably tracked this phone all the way to the store. There’s no way the trip to the golf course would have gone unnoticed.

Trying to figure out where to put the present for the pic without giving away that this is not Olivia’s car, I end up stepping back outside and putting the gift on the hood. I frame the shot so that the store is in the background and I cut the image off at the bottom edge so she can’t see the color of my truck. I snap the pic and send it to her.

And then I haul it to Bailey’s before another text can come through.

Olivia

I get to Bailey’s before Charlie. Crawling into the backseat, I’m thankful for my tinted windows as I change quickly into the pj’s I’d stashed here this morning. The simple short-sleeve tee and shorts have become my favorite set since Sophie gave them to me a few months ago, and it shows from their frayed edges and slightly faded mint-green color.

Once I’m dressed, I take a few minutes for some deep breaths. I want to enjoy Bailey’s party without this golf catastrophe hanging over me. I inhale and hold my breath for ten seconds, then let it out slowly, repeating several times.

Charlie pulls up just as I’m climbing back into the front seat. He parks in front of me and we meet in between our two vehicles.

He’s got a small wrapped package in one hand and a plain white card in the other. “Your mom has texted three times reminding you to sign the card.” Charlie hands me the gift and then holds up three fingers. “Three times.”

I nod. “You know how she is,” I say.

He’s shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t know how she is. My aunt Lisa is cool. Laid-back. One of my favorites. I don’t know who this monster is.”

I lean closer to him and get a sniff. “You stopped at Nonna’s for breakfast first, didn’t you? You smell like bacon.”

“I could practically taste it from Wes’s driveway. It calls to me and I can’t deny it.”

“So you had time for breakfast but not enough time to change? You’ll be the only guy here, but you should come on in, since you’re dressed for the party,” I say, motioning to the pj’s he’s still wearing.

He pops up a little straighter and looks toward Bailey’s. Charlie couldn’t care less about being the sole guy at a girls-only party. “I could totally do a second breakfast.” Then he turns back to me. “Speaking of being dressed up, guess who showed up at Nonna’s?”

“Um, it would take me ten minutes to go through the list of our family members.”

His lips flatten into a line. “Not family. It was Leo. It’s weird he’s here.”

I’m trying to figure out how being dressed up made him think of Leo, but it’s Charlie and he probably doesn’t even know how he made that leap.

“I bet he got invited to some of the nighttime parties. I’m sure he’s kept in touch with his old friends, not just the Evil Joes,” I say, and by Charlie’s expression, I realize he’s never thought that was a possibility.

“I don’t care where he shows up, but you know he’s on their side. Might as well call him Jo-Leo.”

“Or Leo-Jo,” I add, and we both laugh.

“We should be surprised you’re here, Charlie, but we’re not!”

His shoulders stiffen as we both recognize the voice.

“Evil Joes are here?” he whispers. “It’s like we’ve summoned them.”

“Bailey invited a big group to this,” I answer.

My friend group is complicated. Charlie and Wes are my best friends at school, but I’m also close to a small group of girls, including Bailey, Mia, Bianca, and Danlee. But those girls cross over into other groups, like Bailey and her soccer friends, Mia and her drama club friends, and Bianca and her friends on the yearbook staff. Danlee is considered a floater, since she gets along with everyone and maneuvers between groups easily. The Evil Joes play soccer with Bailey, so when our friend groups collide, I cross paths with my least favorite cousins more often than I’d like.

Charlie and I wait as long as we can before acknowledging the Joes. When they stop in front of us, both girls are looking him up and down.

“Christmas jammies are a brave choice,” Jo Lynn says.

“Especially ones from two years ago,” Mary Jo adds with an evil smirk. And they would know how old they are because, of course, they had a set just like this, too.

Charlie leans closer to me. “Do they look too small?” he asks.

My forehead scrunches up and I lift my shoulders. “Uh, maybe the pants are a little short?” And now I know he’s having flashbacks of when the Joes locked him out of our condo at the beach and he was wearing nothing but underwear. Themed underwear that were a tad too tight.

Just before he turns to spit out his own insult, Bianca pops up beside them.

“I think you look great,” Bianca says.

Charlie slides closer to her. “And you look pretty good yourself.”

God, he’s such a flirt.

The Evil Joes roll their eyes and walk up the driveway to Bailey’s house. I give them a few moments to get ahead of me before I follow them.

“Thanks, Charlie,” I say as I step away from my car. Bianca and Charlie are still lost in their conversation, but when I get halfway to the door, Charlie yells, “Hold up! Switch back with me!” He’s running toward me, my phone in his outstretched hand. “She’s texting again!”

“Oh yeah, yours is in my cupholder. My car is unlocked.” I take the phone back and yep, there’s a notification from Mom.

MOM:Take some pics! Have fun!

I give her a thumbs-up emoji and head inside, smiling at the fact that Bianca is still lingering next to my car, talking to Charlie.

I’ve spent countless hours at Bailey’s house, but I almost don’t recognize it when I step inside. Bailey’s mom has blow-up mattresses scattered throughout her den, each piled high with pillows and blankets as if we’ve had a humongous sleepover. Nonna could get some ideas from this for the nights she expects us all to sleep at her house even though my house (and my bed!) is only two blocks away.

“Olivia!” Bailey’s mom squeals when she sees me, then wraps me in a tight hug. She turns me toward the kitchen and says, “There are pancakes and fruit and muffins on the island. The coffee and juice bar are on the kitchen table. Help yourself!”

I make a plate and join Bailey and Mia on one of the mattresses.

“The dress code for every party should be pajamas,” I say when I snuggle into my temporary bed.

“For real,” Mia says. “And pancakes should be served at every meal.”

“How’d the thing go at your grandmother’s yesterday? I still haven’t finished my questionnaire,” Bailey says. “I’m about to put Undecided on everything and turn it in.”

I let out a groan. “Yeah, same. I didn’t finish mine either.”

They both look at me, confused. “How’d you get away with that?” They know Nonna pretty well.

Here’s my moment to tell them what’s going on. I stumble around in my mind on what to say. How to explain it without feeling embarrassed. Even though the room is full of people, we’re essentially in our own little bubble and I don’t think Bailey and Mia are so friendly with the Evil Joes that they would spill this. I open my mouth to say the words, but Bailey speaks first.

“You know they’ll probably show your entire questionnaire on the screen while you’re giving your speech instead of just one or two answers from ours while we cross the stage to get our diploma. You’re going to have to answer yours like you mean it!”

“It’s so cool you get to give the opening speech!” Mia says, clapping her hands together. “I called it on the first day of freshman year. I knew you’d finish first or second. I wouldn’t have gotten through half my classes without you.”

Bianca finally shows up and drops down on the edge of the mattress. “Where have you been?” Mia asks.

“What? I was getting coffee,” she answers.

And the explanation about off-campus PE and Coach Cantu dies in my throat. Why bring it up when it will be fixed tomorrow? There’s really no reason why anyone else needs to know. This is a blip! Nothing to see here!

Mia’s dad comes by with a trash bag a bit later to take our empty plates and cups while Bailey’s mom gets everyone’s attention from the front of the room. “Okay, girls! I thought it would be fun to take something off to college with you to remind you of these last four years!” She calls our names and then hands us each a white pillowcase monogrammed with our first name along the edge. “There’s a jar of fabric pens next to each mattress. Pass your pillowcase around the room and write each other a quick note!”

The four of us pass ours between one another and I write a short note on each one with a purple marker. Bailey is headed to LSU, same as me, but Mia and Bianca are going out of state. I make sure they know how much I’ll miss them. We then hand ours over to the mattress next to us in exchange for theirs. Pillowcases circle the room, and I’m only stumped when I get the Evil Joes’. I eyeball them from three mattresses away and wonder if they’ve gotten mine yet.

“Would it be too obvious if I draw skulls and crossbones on theirs?” I ask.

Mia laughs and Bailey says, “I thought y’all would be better by now.”

“They’re nice to you because you pass them the ball during games,” I counter.

“Probably so,” she admits.

I lean forward. “They put all my bras and underwear in a garbage bag and stuffed it in the back of Aunt Patrice’s Suburban just before Aunt Patrice and Uncle Ronnie left Nonna’s on the way to Florida for a week freshman year.”

“Oh my God!” Bianca barks out.

“And while I’m pondering where my undies went, Aunt Patrice has laid them all out on the kitchen table of her Florida rental and sent a picture of them in the group text to ask whose they are.”

“Okay, skulls and crossbones are appropriate,” Bailey says.

I end up writing I hope your dreams are as sweet as you! on both and sign it with the letter O.

My phone dings and I see a text from Sophie.

SOPHIE:Did he sign it?

ME:Ugh no course is closed today

But it gets me thinking again about my dilemma. “Do any of you know anyone on the golf team?” I ask. I texted people from my class, but we are all beginners. It just occurred to me that people on the team probably have Coach Cantu’s number.

Bailey looks up from the pillowcase she’s writing on. “We have a golf team?” she asks.

I give her a head-tilt kind of nod and she’s legitimately shocked to learn this.

“I don’t,” Mia says, but Bianca looks like she’s really considering my question.

“I do. We had to take their team photo for yearbook. Let me think…. There’s Lily Rodriquez, David Pham, Tanika Rogers, Chloe Kim, Chris Locke…”

Mia asks, “Locke still lives here? Didn’t he move in middle school?”

Bianca shakes her head. “He was homeschooled in middle school so he could spend the day at the golf course. He’s really good. But he came back to regular school sophomore year. I had English with him.”

We had a few Chrises in our class when we were young, so we started calling him “Locke” as a way to differentiate between him and the others.

“He’s in my calculus class this year,” I add. “But I didn’t know he played on the team.”

“Why are you asking about golf?” Mia asks.

“I’m trying to get in touch with the golf coach.”

They’re satisfied with my answer and I have a list of people to reach out to as soon as this party is over. It feels good to have a plan. Bailey’s mom calls for us to get together for some pictures on the mattresses in the middle of the room. It takes a while for everyone to reclaim their pillowcase, and the first thing I search for on mine is what the Evil Joes wrote.

Hope you don’t mess up on your speech! The whole family will be there xoxo JL MJ

God, they’re the worst.

Once the party ends, I’m back in my car outside of Bailey’s house, opening up my contacts list so I can call someone on the team for Coach Cantu’s number. Out of all of the people Bianca listed on the golf team, Chris Locke’s number is the only one I don’t already have. And he’s the last one I would call, anyway. He was so rude to me in Calculus. It’s not my fault he can’t tell an antiderivative from a derivative. I decide to call Tanika, since I know her the best.

Luckily, she answers on the third ring.

“Olivia, what’s up?” she asks.

“Hey! I need your help. I’m trying to get in touch with Coach Cantu. Do you happen to have his number?”

I can tell she switches the call to speaker when she says, “Sending it to you now, but he won’t answer. I’d be surprised if he has his phone on him at all. He’s impossible to get in touch with.” The frustration in her voice is obvious.

“Oh my God, how can one person be so friggin’ hard to get in touch with? I should not be having this problem with today’s technology! My mom is currently hours away from here and yet she still knows I’m sitting in my car in front of Bailey’s house right this minute.” Okay, I didn’t mean to word-vomit all of that on her.

But for real—he may not have his phone on him?!

“I know. He’s so old-school. If you don’t get him, a few of us are meeting him for lunch at Silver Star. There’s a tournament this week and even though it isn’t a team event, we’re still getting together to discuss the course and strategy since most of us haven’t ever played there. We’ll be there at noon.”

There is an ounce of hope that I can handle this today and quit worrying about it. Checking the time on the dash, I see I’ve got thirty minutes until they’re at the restaurant. “Thank you! Thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me!”

“Okay, okay, I got it. Good luck,” she says, and ends the call.

I save Coach Cantu’s contact, then pull up a message to him. After taking a deep breath, I type:

ME:Hi Coach Cantu! This is Olivia Perkins! I’ve been trying to reach you!

Whoa, way too many exclamation points. Delete, delete, delete.

ME:Coach Cantu, it’s Olivia Perkins. I am in dire need of speaking to you. It is of the utmost importance

No, no. Too formal. Sounds so forced. God, why is this so hard?

ME:Hey Coach Cantu. This is Olivia Perkins and I really need to talk to you about my off campus PE form. I need to get one signed before they will let me graduate. Could you please text or call me back at your earliest convenience? Thank you so much!

I hit SEND before I can overthink it any more. And then stare at the screen until it shows that the message was delivered. At least I know where he’ll be in half an hour. I race home so I can change out of these pajamas and be ready to hunt him down if he doesn’t call or text me back by then.

I’m in and out of my house in ten minutes, throwing on a cuter version of the athletic shorts and a tee I was wearing earlier, and then I’m back in the car, headed to Silver Star.

It’s 11:55 by the time I pull into the parking lot of the restaurant. Watching every car that pulls in, I finally see Coach Cantu get out of his truck, and I leap out of my car, chasing after him.

“Coach!” I scream through the parking lot. I’m going faster than I think, and when he stops to turn around, I dang near run him over.

“Olivia! What are you doing here?” he asks.

I have the blank form in my hand and I’m shoving it at him. Then I’m digging in my pocket for a pen. “You forgot to sign my form for my off-campus PE. They’re saying I can’t graduate without it.”

He takes the form and the pen from me, looks at it for a few seconds, then back at me. He frowns and I’m hoping it’s because he’s realizing his mistake and nothing else.

“Let’s walk inside so we can talk a moment,” he says. I follow him into the restaurant and notice the group of students off to the side. Tanika gives me a small wave. I wave back but can’t force a smile on my lips until I know all of this is going to be okay.

Coach steers me toward a seating area just inside the foyer. He sets the paper and pen on the table near the chair and pulls out a notebook from his back pocket.

It’s small and worn and he has to flip a bunch of pages before he gets to what he’s looking for, but by his nod and grimace, I can tell when he’s finally found it. And it doesn’t seem like it’s good news for me.

Coach Cantu turns the notebook around so I can read what’s on the page. My name is at the top followed by a bunch of dates, times, and numbers.

“You didn’t meet the requirements, Olivia. The dates show when we met as a class. You got credit for the time you were there. Since most days you were significantly late and there were quite a few days where you never showed up at all, you only got credit for the minutes you were there. And those missed minutes added up. I’m sorry.”

I am stunned.

It takes a few seconds before words actually form in my brain. “You docked me for being late?” I finally spit out.

“Did you read the packet I gave you on the first day?” he asks. The thing about Coach Cantu is he’s a really nice guy. Soft-spoken and patient, he’s easily one of the nicest teachers I’ve ever had. But this right here is throwing me. Is he really not going to sign this form because I was late a few times?

He’s looking at me and I realize I haven’t answered his question.

“I thought I did,” I answer. Honestly, I didn’t think too much about this class, since it seemed like a breeze compared to the rest of my course load.

“I gave everyone three excused tardies and two excused absences, no questions asked. Once you ran out of those, the tardies and the absences started counting against you. Halfway through the semester I offered several opportunities to make up time by helping with local matches. You didn’t take me up on any of those. When I was recording all the hours for the school, I realized just how behind you were and was going to let you know. There was a clinic you could have helped with, but you didn’t show up to class that day. You left me no choice.”

I don’t even remember skipping the last day. At all. I’ve had a ton of work finishing up my AP classes and getting ready for exams. My mind is racing. Spinning. I can’t not graduate because of golf! I don’t even like golf!

“I have to graduate. I’m salutatorian.”

His face lights up. “Oh, that’s wonderful! How exciting!”

I’m shaking my head. “It’s not wonderful if this class ruins all of that.”

He bends his head a little closer to me. “If you worked so hard on your other classes to achieve such high honors, why didn’t you give the same attention to mine?”

What am I going to say to that? Tell him I thought his class was a joke and didn’t mean anything?

I shrug instead and give him the most pitiful face I can manage.

Coach Cantu picks up the paper again and studies it, then glances back at his notebook. “When is this form due?”

“A week from today.”

He nods. “I’ll make you a deal. You owe me a lot of time and I could use your help during the tournament that starts tomorrow. Four full days. You give me that and I’ll apply it to the class time you missed and call it even.”

“Yes! Yes, of course. Whatever I have to do.”

“Okay, wonderful!” He’s genuinely happy to help me. And now I feel bad for blowing this class off all semester. “Plan to be at Ellerbe Hills all day Tuesday through Friday. We start early. Seven thirty in the morning!”

And then it dawns on me. If I work this tournament, I will be there when I’m supposed to be at graduation parties with my friends. I feel my throat getting tight and my eyes starting to water, but I reel it in and swallow it down. A bunch of parties won’t matter if I can’t graduate with my class.

“Lily,” Coach Cantu calls out, then motions for her to join us. I spare another glance at the group of players waiting near the host stand, and by the way they’re all huddled together, I can tell they’re speculating about why I’m here.

“Hey, Coach, hey, Olivia,” Lily says when she joins us.

“Hey,” I squeak out.

Coach gestures to me. “Olivia will be helping out at the tournament, too. Will you get her added to the security list as my assistant? She’ll also need a name badge.”

“Will she need a shirt, too?” Lily asks.

“Yes. And a visor.” He turns to me. “Just wear some khaki shorts and whatever top you want in the morning. Lily will give you a shirt you can change into when you get there.”

“Will I need to bring anything else?” I ask.

“Sunblock,” Lily says. “Your driver’s license to get your badge in the morning, and money for lunch and drinks unless you’re a member of the club.”

I feel like I need to be taking notes or something.

The host approaches Coach to ask him a question and he steps away to answer her.

“Do you mind me asking why you’re coming on as Coach’s assistant at the last minute?”

I can tell she’s really curious why I’m here, so I give her the most basic answer I can. “Just making up a few hours from his PE class.” I don’t mention my graduating hinges on it. “I’m stuck helping with the tournament.”

And then I cringe at my own words. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s awesome y’all are here. Competing. It’s just I have no idea what I’m doing. I know absolutely nothing about golf.”

Her head tilts. “But you took a semester of it?”

“Yeah. I guess you could say I didn’t pay that much attention.” I hold my hands out wide. “Which is why I’m here.”

“Well, you’ll get a crash course. This tournament is golf on steroids. Everyone wants to place high, and there are still some spots left on college teams, so it gets pretty cutthroat. For a lot of players, this is their last chance.”

“Will you play in it?”

A frown appears on her face for just a second before it’s gone. “No. I’m not ranked high enough, so I offered to help Coach. Getting hired by Ellerbe Hills Country Club is great for him, but this tournament is a huge deal and he needs all the help he can get.”

I nod toward the group waiting not far away. “But the rest of the team is playing?”

Lily glances back at the group. “About half. Out of the girls, Chloe and Em Beth are seniors like me and hoping to get spots for next year, so they’re playing. Tanika is playing, but she’s a junior. She’ll get an offer before she starts senior year. She’s that good.”

“Oh wow,” I say.

Coach walks back over and says, “They’re ready for us.” Then he turns to me. “Do you want to stay for lunch? Get to know the team?”

“Oh!” I say, surprised by the invitation. I look down at the Nike shorts and tee I’m wearing. I’m in no way dressed to eat here. “I’d love to, but I need to get a few things in order if I’m planning to spend the rest of the week working.”

His face breaks out in a big smile. “We’ll see you first thing in the morning!”

And then he hustles the team to the waiting table while I’m still standing there trying to figure out what just happened.

“Joining the team?” a voice behind me asks.

I whip around and see Chris Locke. Ugh.

“Uh, no. But I’ll be helping out.”

“Really? Helping out how?” He’s probably worried I’m going to screw up his game or something.

I stand up a little straighter and say, “Not sure, but whatever Coach needs.”

“Just don’t get in the way. You won’t be the teacher’s pet out on the course,” he says, then moves past me to join his group at the table in the other room, not even bothering to say bye.

I sink down into the nearest chair. How could this one class have turned into such a disaster?

I’ll have to call Mom and tell her what’s going on. There’s no way I can miss all those parties without her knowing. And she’ll for sure know when my phone is at the Ellerbe Hills all day for four days in a row.

But I absolutely hate telling her this. Hate that she’ll know how close I came to almost screwing everything up. Jake is the screwup in our immediate family, not me. I mean, I love him, but it’s the truth! Jake is the one who will take five to six years to get his degree—if he finishes!—not me. He’s the one who breaks his leg because someone dares him he can’t climb up the side of his fraternity house. I’m the easy one. The good one. The one who has it all figured out. The one most like Mom.

I know what Mom will say:

I told you not to do an off-campus class.

You took on too much this semester.

I knew this was too much.

We’re on our way home.

It’s that last one that really gets me. It took forever to get her to agree to let me stay home alone while she and my dad were gone. If I tell her what happened, she’ll be on the road back immediately because this will be all the proof she needs that I’m not responsible enough to take care of myself. As if her being home would change this situation at all.

I will never hear the end of this. Ever. I mean, it’s not like I can get Sophie and Charlie and Wes to cover for me. There’s no way I could be at the country club all week while they man my phone and be me.

It would be dumb to try to do that.

Dumb.

My thumb hovers above Mom’s number in my contact list, and I can feel heat rising up my chest. Suddenly I stand back up.

I’m about to be dumb and pray that Charlie, Sophie, and Wes will be dumb with me.