The First To Know

“Said like a guy who doesn’t play sports.” I stopped walking when Nick slowed. Then I mentally shook myself in an attempt to beat back my venomous mood. “Sorry. I’m the worst loser on the planet.” I also wasn’t looking forward to the car ride home with my endlessly disappointed dad and the shining sibling I’d never live up to. At least Selena would have to head back to her dorm eventually. Dad could berate me all night if he wanted.

Nick recovered from my semi-insult and kicked his foot to dislodge a cricket that had landed on his shoe. It was mid-March in Arizona, which, in addition to being the start of softball season, meant the weather was losing its cold bite. That was all the invitation the crickets needed. They weren’t at summer-level swarming yet, but the chirping was an ever-present sound outside, and it was already hard to avoid the little hopping bodies, try as Nick might.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I was late?” he asked.

I hadn’t known he was coming at all. I’d told him in class that I was playing, but that was all. “Everything okay? Did something happen with your grandmother?” Nick’s newly widowed grandmother had recently moved in and was still grieving deeply.

“She’s actually doing a little better.”

“Oh, good.” I squeezed his forearm, and he half jumped like I’d touched him with an iron.

“Yeah, so, that’s not why.” Nick slid the backpack from his shoulder and unzipped it for me to see inside.

“No way.” I grabbed the sides of the bag and stepped right up to him. “Why didn’t you text me?” I looked up when Nick didn’t answer and found him staring at me.

“I thought it’d be worth it to see your face.” He swallowed. “And it was.”

Nick’s skin was as rich a brown as my glove, but I thought he was blushing. Still, I couldn’t dwell on the cute-but-shy thing he had going at the moment. I had eyes only for the white rectangular box he’d brought me. “I’m still pissed about losing, but a lot less now.”

“Have you figured out how you’re going to do it?”

I nodded. “Selena finally agreed to help, despite her massive reservations.” I took a deep breath as I put the box in my duffel bag. “I think this will be the best thing I’ve ever done, and she’s convinced it’ll be the worst.”

“You know if it doesn’t work out, you don’t have to tell anyone.”

Right. But it had to work out. “I guess tonight’s the night.” I couldn’t help bouncing on my feet a little. “Okay.”

“And you can call me if you have any questions or anything.” He reached out like he was going to pat my arm or something but pulled back before touching me.

That was fine. I’d need to get used to taking the lead with us, if we ever became us. I hugged him. “Seriously, thank you, Nick. I wouldn’t be doing this without you.”

It had been only a couple weeks since our biology teacher had started class by sticking his rolled tongue out at his students. A few people laughed at the continued display; the rest waited for the inevitable explanation. When at last Mr. Rodriguez raised his arms and gestured for us to imitate him, he was quick to point a finger at Nick.

“Thank you, Mr. Holloway—no, no. Keep your tongue out. You too, Miss Fields.” He shifted his finger to me. “Here we have a perfect display of a dominant phenotype for tongue rolling.” He pointed back at Nick. “And a recessive phenotype for tongue rolling. I’m assuming you cannot roll your tongue, Mr. Holloway?”

Nick shook his head while a slight flush marched up the back of his neck.

“Then my original statement stands. Now, what is a phenotype? As you all should know from last night’s reading, it’s simply the collection of observable traits, like a widow’s peak.” He pointed to his own hairline. “Or freckles or any number of characteristics that are physically demonstrable, like our tongue rollers here—feel free to close your mouths now,” he said, addressing the half of the class who still had their tongues out. “What I’d like you all to do with your partners is complete a chart listing several phenotypes, note which are dominant and recessive, then felicitaciones! You’re going to have two children and, from your original data, determine the phenotypes of each child.” He began passing out packets. “Refer to chapters eight and nine of your textbooks if you need further reminders about phenotypes, genotypes, alleles, gametes and the marvelous process of meiosis. I’ll be circulating the room to answer questions. Now learn, students, learn!”

I leaned into Nick, who still hadn’t fully recovered from being singled out. “I think our kids are screwed. Between my attached earlobes and your flat tongue, what can they possibly accomplish in life?” I got a pity smile for my lame humor, but Nick made eye contact for more than two seconds. “Though maybe there is something awesome hidden on my dad’s side that they could inherit. He was surrendered at a hospital as a baby, so we have no clue about his birth family.”

Nick nodded. “I never knew that about your dad but I guess that goes for me too.”

Nick had grown up knowing he was adopted—his family had their own mini holiday, Nick Day, celebrating the day they brought him home—and had never shown the least bit of discomfort talking about it. The opposite, really. Score me for bringing it up. I had Nick’s full, unguarded attention. He turned to face me.

“Did I tell you I recently took one of those online DNA tests to try to figure out more of my heritage? I’m obviously Samoan, but turns out I’m 8 percent Inuit too. I even found a few fourth cousins floating around the country.”

I’d forgotten to care that he’d been holding my gaze for longer than his usual few seconds. “Wait, like actual blood relatives? A DNA test can tell you that?” My heart rate spiked as the possibilities began darting through my brain.

“Yeah. A lot of people are doing them now, so you never know who you’ll find. Cool, huh?”

I’d almost kissed him that day in biology class. Instead I’d pumped him for every speck of info on the company he’d used and started planning something I’d hopefully get to finish that night. The knowledge now made me hug Nick tighter despite the duffel bag smashed between us.

From over his shoulder, I saw my mom heading toward us. I pulled back a scant second after he’d worked up the nerve to hug me back, noticing that I’d transferred a good amount of orange dust from my uniform to him in the process. I left him beating dust from his spotless white T-shirt and quite possibly ironed jeans with a promise to text him once I’d succeeded—which I absolutely would. I wasn’t about to lose twice in one night.

Mom didn’t care about dust and gathered me into a hug while whispering a disparaging comment about the umpire’s vision before releasing me.

“Tell that to Dad.” He was still in the dugout talking to a couple of the girls before making the final shift from Coach to Dad again, a distinction he and Selena had established back when he’d coached her softball team. Honestly, I never noticed much of a difference.

“Oh, I will.”

That made me smile, because she would. My parents often had loud, passionate disagreements that, to an outsider, might seem like fights. But they didn’t see the way Mom would goad Dad even after she’d made her point just to watch the heated color infuse his pale skin, or the way Dad would bait her until she slipped into her native Spanish because she had even less of a filter in those moments than normal.

“Who was the boy and when do I get to meet him?”

I tightened the grip on my duffel. “That was Nick, and you’ve met him a dozen times.”

“Not since you started hugging him like that.”

I so wasn’t having that conversation. “Where’s Selena?”

Mom gave me a knowing look at my obvious subject change. “Ask him to come to dinner. He’s not a vegetarian, is he?”

To my mom, being a vegetarian was slightly less offensive than being a Dodgers fan. “He’s not a vegetarian. And he’s still just a friend.”

“Hmm,” Mom said, which meant we’d be revisiting the topic later. “Selena’s waiting for us at the car.”

“Where’s her car?”

“She got in early, so we drove together.”

Great. I get both her and Dad the whole way home.

As soon as we were within earshot, Selena started. “I can’t believe you ran through a stop sign.” Her shoulder-length brown hair, a shade darker than mine, swished as she shook her head. “I get that when the adrenaline is flowing, it’s hard to stop, but, Dana, you don’t get to make that call. When I was playing...”

I tuned her out. Selena had this way of seeming to support and motivate me that undercut everything I did, and it had only gotten worse since she left for college. The University of Arizona was only a couple hours from Apache Junction, so she still tried to make most of my games—largely, I was convinced, to remind us all of her glory days as a Mustang. She was no doubt relaying one of her many victories, where she single-handedly played every position and hit so many home runs that the other team’s coach begged her to transfer schools, or my personal favorite, Dad crying when she told him she wasn’t interested in playing college ball. Those were all slight-to-gross exaggerations. Dad never cried; he’d just looked like he wanted to.

“Got it. I’ll play better next time. Hey, weren’t you telling me that you need Mom and Dad to help you with some school project tonight?” I moved my duffel bag in front of me and widened my eyes at her. Selena could be an annoying braggart when it came to softball, but she was also the only person on the planet who could read my mind with only the slightest cue.

“I was,” she said, without missing a beat, then forestalled Mom’s inevitable question. “It’s an extra-credit thing. I’ll tell you about it when we get home. I’m sure Dad’s gonna want to talk about that last out first.”

I groaned. “Can we just not? Let’s talk about something lighter, like teen-pregnancy statistics. Besides, it was a bad call.”

“You looked out to me,” Selena said.

Blood heated my face, but Dad was there before I could respond.

“That’s because she was.” He unlocked the trunk, not looking at me. “The umpire called it.”