The game nearly ended before my mom finally spoke again. “You can be friends, but nothing else.” She made this delicate sound in her throat that I don’t think I’d ever be able to imitate.

Why could she never let things go? Why could I never let things go and tell her what she needed to hear? Rolling my eyes, I snuck my hand under the cap I’d put on, Dallas’s, and scratched at this spot that had been itching for a day or two now at the back of my head near the crown. I hadn’t washed my hair in a few days, it was probably time.

“Did you hear me?” she asked quietly.

I slid her a look before focusing on the game again. “Yes. I’m just not going to tell you what you want to hear, Ma. Sorry. I love you, but don’t be like that.”

The breath she let out would have scared me back when I was ten. At twenty-nine, I didn’t let it bother me a tiny bit. At the end of the game, my dad showed up with Louie in tow, sweaty and tired from their time at the playground. I didn’t exactly go out of my way to give my mom space, but it happened. When the next game started almost an hour later, I made sure to sit beside my dad with Louie on my other side as a buffer between us. The Tornado won that final game of the day—which was always bittersweet because that meant the boys would have a game the next day and I’d have to wake up extra early for it since the salon was closed on Sundays.

We followed my parents out to their car to say bye, and my mom and I just gave each other a quick kiss on the cheek. The tension was so thick my dad and Louie glanced between both of us before they got into the car. On the way to our car, I spotted a red pickup parked five spots down from me. By the bed, busy throwing a bag into it, was an even more familiar sight. Dallas.

Standing a few feet away, talking rapidly, was Christy.

Josh noticed what I was looking at because he asked, “Are you gonna ask him to eat with us?”

It was that obvious to him? I lifted a shoulder. “I was thinking about it. What do you think?”

“I don’t care.”

Giving him a cross-eyed look, I led our crew over to the pickup just as Dallas closed the lip. He either heard us coming over or sensed us, because he looked over his shoulder and stood there. Christy, who was facing us, scowled just enough for me to notice, but I stopped paying attention to her. Louie was holding on to one hand and Josh was next to me with his bag trailing behind him. The smile that came over Dallas’s face as he took us in was genuine.

“I’ll get back to you on the fundraising. There’s no rush for it,” my neighbor told the woman to his right without meeting her eyes. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Christy’s eyes darted from Dallas to me, and she let out a deep breath that I would bet an ovary had some cuss words mixed into it. She said something to the coach, shot me another look, and started walking off.

I waited until she was a decent distance away before lifting my chin at him and asking, “We’re having hot dogs for dinner, Lex Luthor. You want some or what?”

* * *

“Lou, what’s wrong with your head?”

Louie, who was sitting on the couch playing a video game against Josh, had suddenly dropped the controller into his lap and started scratching the shit out of his scalp, wincing. “It itches.”

I frowned over at him. “Make sure to wash your hair tonight then, nasty.”

He said, “Uh-huh,” just as he grabbed the controller again, focused on the fighting game he was currently playing against Josh.

We had finished eating dinner a half hour ago, and since then, the four of us—Dallas included—had rotated playing what I would have called Street Fighter when I was his age. I had no idea what the game was really called. I’d lost the last match against Josh, and Louie had taken my spot.

Adjusting myself on the couch, I pulled up my knee and accidentally hit Dallas’s in the process. His attention had been on the screen until then, and he turned to give me a small smile.

“Do you want another hot dog?” I asked. “We ate all the fries.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m stuffed. Thanks.”

I wasn’t surprised; he’d eaten four already.

Another spot on my head started to itch, and I reached up to scratch at it with my index finger. Louie wasn’t the only one who needed to wash his hair. When I glanced back at the man sitting one cushion down on the couch, he raised his eyebrows in question and I raised mine right back.

“Ugh!” Josh shouted out of nowhere, his remote flying across the floor as both of his hands went up to his hair, scratching the hell out of his head. “It itches so bad!”

What the hell was going on?

Out of the corner of my eye, Louie started doing the same, except with only one hand. It looked like they were both trying to get blood. I’d barely thought that when another spot on my scalp started to itch, and I went to town on it.

“What the hell is happening?” I asked, scratching.

The only sound in the room was the sound of us raking our nails across our scalps. Then, Dallas said, “Louie, turn on that lamp.”

Louie did what he was told with his free hand.

“Do we have bed bugs or something?” I asked, hoping he might have an idea.

Dallas was too busy bouncing his gaze from one boy to the other and me; his expression was thoughtful. He gestured at Lou to come toward him and the boy did. I was still scratching as Dallas parted Louie’s hair with those big hands, his face dipping forward really close to take a look at his head. He didn’t say a word as he drew his hands back and then moved his palms to a different spot, doing the exact same, his nose coming inches away from Louie’s scalp. He did it a third time, too.