I sighed, “Dammit. Vaughn. How’s he doing?”
She laughed, “Still hates your guts.”
I chuckled with her quietly and then released her to find a comb. “Are you coming to the game Friday?” I asked, “It’s the big one. Against West.”
She suddenly looked at me with a very strange expression on her face. Almost horrified. “The West game?” she repeated, dazed.
“Yeah,” I said carefully, “Is something wrong?”
She snapped out of it, “No, no. I’m fine. I was just remembering something from cheerleading before I quit. It’s nothing.”
I frowned, but let the subject drop. I held the door open for her and we walked downstairs to get breakfast. She was deep in thought, her brow furrowed. She was muttering to herself quietly, but I couldn’t make out any words.
My current Stepmother smiled at us as we appeared. I wondered that her face didn’t crack from all the botox and plastic surgery she must have had, “Good Morning!”
Dad nodded toward us, already on the phone with someone at work.