Digging Deep by Elena Delle Donne

Author:Elena Delle Donne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

6

Patrice Has a Problem

Zobe, you’re not helping,” I scolded. I was trying to vacuum the living room, but Zobe kept jumping in front of the vacuum cleaner and barking at it.

“Elle, keep him in your room until you’re done!” Dad called from the kitchen.

I turned off the vacuum cleaner and sighed. “Fine. Come on, Zobe.”

I ran upstairs and Zobe raced after me, nearly knocking me down. He started whimpering as soon as I closed the door.

“Just a few minutes, I promise!” I told him.

I raced downstairs and finished up vacuuming just as the doorbell rang. I ran to answer it.

“Hey, guys!” I told Avery and Patrice. “Come on in.”

“Mmm, something smells good in here,” Avery said, sniffing the air. “That has to be your dad’s famous spaghetti and meatballs.”

“You know it is,” I replied. “Dinner’s ready in about an hour. Want to hang in my room?”

The day before, Patrice had answered my text and said she was cool with getting together. So I asked Mom if Avery and Patrice could come over for Sunday dinner. Dad cooks up a huge Italian meal every week, and there’s always enough for any guests who stop by. I’d wanted to fit in a doggy date with Amanda and Freckles that day too, but Amanda had to go to her grandmother’s house after the basketball game that morning.

I’d also meant to make plans with Natalie and Hannah, but that would have to wait. I was glad that I could finally hang out with Patrice, like I’d been meaning to.

The three of us headed up to my room, and I opened the door, forgetting that Zobe was in there. He bounded out and knocked right into Patrice with his two front paws!

“Zobe, stop! I mean, red light!” I shouted. “I mean, SIT!”

Thankfully, Zobe sat.

“Patrice, meet Zobe,” I said.

She scratched the top of his head. “Hey there, boy,” she said, and she was smiling, which is not something you usually see Patrice do.

“Come on in,” I said.

I grabbed some pillows from my bed and threw them on the floor. I sat down, leaning back against the bed. Avery sat cross-legged on one of the pillows with her back perfectly straight (her mom’s a yoga teacher, so she does a lot of yoga), and Patrice picked up a pillow and clutched it to her chest as she sat down. Patrice has black hair that she wears pulled back, even when she’s not playing basketball, and really dark, intense eyes.

“So, how was the game today?” I asked.

“We lost,” Avery reported. “By six points.”

“That’s pretty close,” I said, but I knew from experience that close wasn’t the same as winning.

“I missed an easy layup,” Patrice said. “I’m going to hear it from Mom at practice tomorrow.”

“It must be hard having your mom as coach,” I said.

She nodded. “Yeah, it is. I think she’s a lot harder on me than everyone else. I tried to quit that one time but . . .”

“She wouldn’t let you?” Avery asked.

Patrice shook her head.

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