Whistleblower ✓

22 | party pariah

I watched, from the cover of the archway between the kitchen and the living room, as Kyle Fogarty stumbled into the party. His hair—an admittedly pretty shade of pastel green now that the semi-permanent dye had faded—was suspiciously damp, along with the left side of his shirt. Like he'd shotgunned a beer and missed his mouth completely.

Fogarty was more of a nuisance than a real threat. He didn't scare me.

It was the guy who'd walked in behind him who made my stomach drop.

Bodie St. James looked about as menacing as someone could in flannel pajama pants and a ratty off-white t-shirt. He followed Fogarty into the party with his arms folded over his chest and an air of stoic responsibility, like a bodyguard or the exhausted single mother of a toddler who'd decided to throw a tantrum in the grocery store.

Between the pajama pants and the signature scowl of sobriety, I deduced that Bodie hadn't come to the Baseball House to drink and be merry.

He was chaperoning.

As Fogarty chest-bumped a hockey player in greeting, both of them landing on their feet so hard the living room walls trembled, I saw Bodie tuck his keys into the pocket of his pajama pants in resigned acceptance. They weren't planning on leaving any time soon.

Hanna appeared in the archway, suddenly, and grabbed me by the front strap of my black corduroy overall dress to tow me around the corner and into the kitchen, so we were both out of sight.

"Fogarty and St. James are here," I said.

"I saw," she replied. "We gotta go."

"We can't leave!" I blurted.

Hanna blinked at me pointedly.

"Alright, fine," I conceded. "I'll go. But you stay. Make out with the cute swimmer, okay?"

"I'm not—" she flushed again but rolled her eyes to try to play it off. "We're not splitting up, Laurel. That's literally the dumbest idea."

"So what do we do? Just—just leave? We've only been here, like, half an hour."

Hanna pursed her lips in thought. Then she turned and pressed herself flush against the wall beside the archway and leaned to the side to peek around the corner with secret agent-like discretion.

"Do you see them?" I whispered. "What are they doing?"

"Just high-fiving people," Hanna murmured, then scrunched her nose in obvious disgust. "Fogarty is such a train wreck of a person. I can't believe I thought he was hot."

"We all make mistakes."

"Yeah, but look at his hair. I should've known."

I took another sip from my red cup and smacked my lips together.

"They're so getting benched," I said.

Which reminded me.

I set my red cup on the counter and fumbled for my phone, figuring I should at least let Andre know Garland's starting tight end was going to have the hangover of a lifetime tomorrow morning.

My thumbs tippy-tapped across the screen in slow motion.

You're r going ton get playing tome!!! Kyle is super duck!!! Congrats

He'd know what I meant. I hit send.

"I don't know," Hanna mused. "Fogarty's definitely gonna look rough in the morning, but St. James seems sober. Maybe he'll get away with it? People like him. Nobody would tattle."