Do Over Read Free Page B

reverberating fashion.
    I wrinkled my nose. “Of course, it’s not as much as my prom decorating committee raised.”
    “Don’t skimp on the ointment when you do their shoulders.” Aster slapped some shiny clear liquid across John’s back.
    I tried to ignore her and moved to a pile of clean towels.
    Aster rubbed the goo into John’s shoulders and eyed Trey. She gestured for him to get on the other table. Her precise motions spoke clearly of her cheer history. They shouted into formation now .
    Trey went to the conference table instead. “I can do it myself.”
    Aster tilted her head and resumed efforts on John. “How are you going to do your own shoulders?”
    Trey said, “John’s the goalie, I’m a striker.”
    John ignored them, snorted, and spoke to me through the hole in the table. “Sparkle committee. How much did y’all raise with your bake sales and eBay auctions?”
    “Fifty thousand dollars.”
    John’s head sprang up as I shared our extreme budget, and I grinned. He looked like he’d been sacked in a late hit by four Tomball linebackers. I folded another towel and tried not to look too superior. Yay, Sparkle committee .
    “Good job,” Aster said, sounding sincerely impressed.
    “Thanks.”
    Trey nodded. “You could get something cool with that much bank.”
    “Yeah, you are.” I put the towel in the pile. “You’re getting a killer prom.” Trey and John scrunched their faces at the same time. They weren’t seeing the value of my plan. Our prom would be one they’d always remember, a spectacular event topping all other galas: glorious, untouchable, romantic perfection. Baz Luhrmann would call me to design his sets. I stilled my thoughts so my enthusiasm wouldn’t land on Aster. She wouldn’t be there while Mom and Dad grew close over the pre-prom parent rituals.
    “What’s on your hand?” Aster asked Trey.
    “It’s nothing.”
    “I always get banged up in the games,” John said. “Last week, Ian ran into me. He’s skinny, but--”
    Trey’s hand was looking worse. I tuned John out, grabbed a bandage and neared Trey. “Come on.” I touched his shoulder and drew him toward the sink. Cool water splashed from the faucet.
    “Wrap that cut to stave off infection,” Aster said. “And use an antibiotic ointment.”
    I slowed my speech. “That means, be a big boy and let me put a Band-Aid on, so your boo-boo will get better.”
    Aster raised my eyebrows. “Not a fan of jocks?”
    “What’s to love? Over-privileged, promiscuous, rules don’t apply.” I plopped the bandage on the dry edge of the sink. “No offense.”
    Trey shrugged and shut the water off. He blotted his arm dry then awkwardly slapped the bandage across his knuckles. I reached over to help, but Trey pulled away.
    I rather admired his independence as John struggled to a seated position with a groan as if he needed help. The massage lotion combined with his whining was giving me a headache. I pressed between my eyes, and pinched the bridge of nose.
    Aster pointed a long, squared-off fingernail at the top shelf behind me. “Can either of you strong guys help me get that yellow tub? I want to keep your massage supplies handy.”
    I turned, hopped on the step stool, and lifted the tub down. The weight pulled my arms. The thing probably weighed thirty pounds. How many lotions had Aster purchased?
    “Arch your back when you carry things,” Aster said. “The move will throw your butt out and look awesome.” Aster demonstrated the move as she took it from me. “Thanks.” She sorted through the contents. “You’re done, John.”
    “Cool.” John used his elbow to open the handle on the blue interior door, and went through to the guy’s locker room.
    “Paisley, come pick out a lotion to use on Trey.” Aster lined up small bottles on the conference table.
    No.
    Trey walked over to the massage table and climbed up. He sat, with his tan legs swinging over the side. His shoulders were tense, his face was still,