Plus One by Kelsey Rodkey

Author:Kelsey Rodkey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-04-07T00:00:00+00:00

TOMMY PORTER, 16, through the eyes of Lahey Johnson, who is seeing smirking devil emojis everywhere she looks

How I know him: my darling cousin Summer

He likes: doesn’t really matter, does it?

He dislikes: doesnnnnn’t matterrrrrrrr

Dating history: Summer, and maybe now NO ONE

Bio: I know quite a bit about him from my time researching him for Summer but, again, it doesn’t matterrrrrrrrrrr because Summer’s going to eat a kangaroooooooo!!!!

Thursday

Fourteen

As a general rule, I sweat for no one.

But when Tyson Garcia sent me an extremely charming and apologetic text this morning explaining why he couldn’t answer me yesterday along with an invitation to play tennis today, there was no way I was saying no. No way. Not only do I still need a date, but he’s currently my number one choice. Even with the heat and unwanted physical activity? Game set match or whatever. I’m yours, Tyson.

“What if we played, like, baby tennis?” I huff out after running to the ball I missed for the seven hundredth time. “Like, we play really close to the net? And don’t hit the ball very hard? And then we don’t have to run as far to get the ball when one of us misses?”

Actually, maybe getting closer to each other is a mistake. I’m soaking through my T-shirt and can feel the sun’s effects on my face—I’m splotchy. Tyson hasn’t even broken a sweat, which is honestly a shame because he’d probably look good with the sheen on his golden-brown skin.

He laughs at my suggestion, but jogs to the net. I meet him there after trying to subtly wipe the sweat from under my eyes. With my glasses on, the airflow to that region all but stops and insecurity puddles there.

“How about we just take a break?” He leans on the net with ease, his tennis racket under his palms.

A break? As in, we’ll play more later?

“Yeah, great. I love tennis.” I follow him to the shaded area by the courts where we stowed our bags and keys. “Can’t wait to get back to it.”

He releases a bark of a laugh. It’s my favorite thing about him. He can’t help but put his entire body into laughter. He throws his head back, crams his eyes shut, and holds on to himself like he may combust. One of my favorite pastimes in World Lit was watching Tyson trying not to laugh when Mrs. Phillips would, mid-lecture, misplace her notes, give up, and then move on to the next piece of work that the class hadn’t even read yet.

“We can be done,” he says when his laughing fit is over. He sits next to me on the grass before he cracks open his water bottle. “If you don’t like tennis, why did you agree to play?”

“I wanted to hang out with you.” I stuff my hand to the bottom of my bag to find a semi-melted protein bar. I offer him half of it with zero hesitation. I don’t typically like eating in front of guys. I accept my body, I love myself, et cetera, et cetera—but I’m only human.

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