Page 59 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)
I blush. “Maybe.”
He pats my shoulder. “Let’s go home, kiddo. The missus will beat us back at this rate.”
The school is a ghost town when we leave the classroom. We walk in easy silence back to his car, and I cast one look back toward the field where the teams have started practicing. I can pick out Liam and Theo in their football jerseys, easy to spot with their last names on their backs.
At the top of the cheerleading pyramid is Amelie, smiling like a conqueror. On the second level, seeming pained with Amelie’s knee in her back, is Savannah.
Interesting.
Only last week, she was the one on top. I give her credit where it’s due: she’s a good cheerleader. Except, clearly, Amelie is better. Brighter. Hell, she radiates joy even when she’s not trying.
I take a mental step back. Maybe she is trying, and that’s her secret.
And maybe…
“Margo?”
I stop, and my head snaps forward. I was about an inch from walking right into Robert’s car. “Oops.”
He frowns. “Did you think any more on trying out for a sport?”
“I don’t know what I’d go for,” I say.
He shrugs. “If you’re into a winter sport, there’s basketball or ice hockey—we have excellent women’s teams in both. Spring, there’s rowing, tennis, lacrosse…”
I perk up. “Rowing like… on the river?”
“Yeah, they get up early, though. I think they practice before school.” He unlocks the car and shrugs. “I won’t pressure you. There are a lot of things you can do, and we can arrange rides to get you to practice if you decide to go for rowing.”
“I’ll think about it.” I pull up the sport on my phone, reading about it as he drives back to his house. Our house.
Rowing—also called crew—can be in a one-person boat or teams up to eight. I don’t know what Emery-Rose Elite offers, but the videos of people skimming across the top of the water are fascinating.
“I think I want to try,” I say, once we’re out of the car. “Do you know when tryouts are?”
“No, but I can find out.”
He opens the door, and we’re greeted with a wonderful smell.
“We’re home, Len. Your cooking spells wonderful!”
She rounds the corner wearing a bright-red apron. She grins at us. “Just in time.”
“For what?” I ask. It’s barely three-thirty.
“For you to help me.” She pulls something from behind her back, holding it out to me.
“My own apron?” I ask.
It’s light blue.
A lump forms in my throat.
“Yes, it has your name on it and everything.” She taps the embroidered Margo on the top left. “Come on, before I burn everything.”
I drop my bag and follow her into the kitchen, where there are a million bowls. Okay, more like six, but still.
“This is…” I swallow.