AR - Adella has to work

Adella’s working tonight, so you’d think that would be the perfect time to do some planning, but you get an unexpected text from Stef.

“Where you headed?” your mom asks you from her study as you grab your jacket and purse. She’s hunched over her computer, working.

“Biker bar,” you reply.

She looks up, and you aren’t sure how to read her expression.

“I know that Stef and…” she trails off. “Her friends are in on this Winter Soccer thing. But Riley, don’t let them pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”

“Do you mean like coaching stuff or like, uh, swinger stuff?” you ask.

Her eyes almost pop out of her head and her mouth drops open. Her cheeks flush and makes a disbelieving face. Then she makes a gagging noise.

“Riley! You know that I went to school with them. Don’t even joke about that,” she says.

You’re surprised by her vehemence. You weren’t sure that Jessica was joking when she was flirting with you and Adella the other night, but… she was a little drunk.

“I mean the soccer stuff. Don’t let them trick you into being part of their crusade. Unless you want to be, but I don’t think you do,” she warns. “Ellen is…”

“What?”

“Never mind. God. I’m going to puke. They’re all my age, Riley.”

“Leaving. Leaving. This is me leaving,” you sing, breezing out the door before she can say anything else. It’s a short drive through Gurlberg to the bar, which you don’t know well. It’s busy tonight, but not with live music or anything. The inside smells like cigarettes and beer. There’s a stripper pole on a little stage, but nobody’s dancing. About a dozen women are hanging around, drinking. You don’t see Stef.

“There you are,” a woman says, coming out from behind the bar. She grabs a glass as she approaches. She’s an inch taller than you are, and her hair is short, but not quite butch. She’s tanned and pretty, but slim and small-breasted, like Stef. She wears tight jeans that flatter her lower half and a No Doubt tee with no bra. She’s your mom’s age, but there’s something youthful in her smile and the way that she carries herself. “Last time I saw you, you were playing soccer for GB High.”

You frown. “Carla, right?” you ask, offering your hand. You’ve met this woman; Gurlberg isn’t a big town, but you don’t know her. Mom knows her, and obviously she’s in tight with Stef and the bikers.

“Right.” She grins at you.

“Is Stef around?”

“You’re meeting with me,” she says. “Did she not mention that? It’s not big deal, don’t look so scared. You want a drink?”

“I drove,” you say.

“God.” Carla laughs. “You are just like your mother.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“You have no idea,” Carla says, beckoning. “Come on. Let’s talk.”