The Troublemaker

“I’d say.” Jagger nods.

“Good for him. Rocky is such a great girl,” Mom says. “And her parents are such good people.”

I smile and nod in agreement. They really are. “And Ms. Bev makes amazing beef patties.”

“I’d kill for a pattie with coco bread,” Dad says as we get in the car.

“Me too.” My stomach growls. I put a hand over it. “I had a croissant an hour ago, but I’m starving.”

“That’s because you don’t eat,” Mom says.

“Here we go.” I roll my eyes.

“You don’t.”

“Okay, Mom.” I sigh. “I’ll get a hot dog and beer before the first inning starts.”

“Oh my God.” Mom shakes her head. “You better not get drunk at this game.”

“With one beer?” I laugh. “Please, Mom. I’m Dominican, show some respect.”

They laugh and I keep smiling.

“So, how’s following Mitchell around? Is he being a pain in the ass?” Jag asks.

“When is he not?” I look out the window in hopes to hide my blush. My sister nudges me hard. I shoot her a look.

“I know that face.”

“It’s nothing.” I smile.

“Bullshit,” she whispers.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Thankfully, she drops it, and Dad starts talking to Jagger about shoulders, which means the rest of us stay quiet the rest of the ride over.

I was lying when I said I didn’t get drunk off one beer. I had one, fast, on an empty stomach, and I definitely feel a little lightheaded. I say this to my sister, who laughs and hooks her arm around mine.

“You’re such a clown, Mist.”

“I know.” I yawn.

“So, Mitch?”

“Mitch is Mitch.” I shrug. “He wants me to be his girlfriend. I turned him down.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit. He asks you out every time he sees you and you turn him down every time. Normally, you act all pissed off at the sound of his name alone. What’s changed?”

“I hate you.” I give her a side-eye. “But we had sex.”

“What? When?”

“Last night. He showed up after that party I told you about and it just sort of happened.”

“Sort of happened? Why’d you cave?” She pushes my shoulder with hers when I don’t immediately answer. “Misty.”

“I don’t know. He was at that party heavily flirting with me and then he showed up and he looked so good and said all the right things.”

“But you still don’t want to be in a relationship with him.”

“Hell no.”

“Why not? You know he’d treat you like a queen if he got another chance.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes you do.” She lets go of my arm so we can walk down to the seats, which are in the first row, right behind home plate.

We sit—my mom, me, Josephine, Jagger, my dad, Maverick, Rocky, and a friend of hers. The game starts, I’m half paying attention, but mostly talking to my mother and sister about her wedding, which she’s planning for August.

“I really, really do not like purple,” I say. “It’s just so played out, and it’s summer. Do something different.”

“Like what? I don’t want orange or yellow.”

“Pink. Mint green! That’s different.”

“Mint green?” Mom pulls a face. “No, honey. This is not the eighties.”

“All colors are for all decades, Mom.” I shoot her a look.

“But not purple.” She shoots me a look right back.

“Purple doesn’t look good on me,” I say finally.

Jo laughs. “I knew this was about you.”

“Well, you’ll be wearing white. Who else would this be about?” I ask, then shout, “Jag, what color do you like for the wedding?”

“Oh no.” He shakes his head. “I am not getting involved. I’ll be at the altar, but that’s it.”

“Oh, come on, at least say you hate purple for the bridesmaids.”

“I hate purple,” he says, then winks at my sister.

“Okay, no purple.”

“I seriously think pink, like a light coral-ish pink would look bomb,” I say.

“Or evergreen,” Rocky shouts from the other side.

“Evergreen,” I say excitedly. “That looks good on my skin tone.”

“Mine too,” Rocky says with a laugh.

“See? Listen to the brown girls.”

“Pink would look nice,” Mom says.

“Thank you.” I look at my sister.

“Come to Charlotte next weekend. We’ll go dress shopping.”

“Cool. We can also have your bachelorette if everyone will be there.”

“Oh no. We want a joint bachelor slash bachelorette,” Jo says. “Right, babe?”

“I’m down for whatever. Let’s go somewhere though. Vegas?” he asks.

“I’m down for Vegas, but it’s played out,” I say.

“You think everything is played out.”

“Because it freaking is. Everyone does everything everyone else does. It’s annoying, but I do understand why Vegas is on the to-do list for this.” I sigh.

“If we keep it small, we can go anywhere,” Jagger says.

“Let’s go, Tar Heels,” Dad screams. “Let’s go, baby!”

We all look back at the field. There are two outs, a man on second, and one up to bat currently.

“That’s Dylan,” I shout. “Go, Dylan!”

“While she’s wearing a fucking Duke shirt,” my sister says, shaking her head.

“So embarrassing,” Mom says.

My jaw drops. “You guys are embarrassing. What the heck?”