Do Over by Emily Evans

back against the pillow. I’d only close my eyes for a second.
    Chirp, beep, chirp.
    The alarm on my cell phone went off and I sat up with a pounding heart. I stared at the screen, uncomprehending for a second, then hit the red dismiss button. It took a moment for me to realize where I was. When I cleared my sleep-fuzzy brain, I stuck out a hand and switched on the lava light.
    Trey groaned and rolled toward me, meeting my eyes. “All fine. Your name is Paisley.”
    He smelled like soap, and sounded sleepy. I glanced at his pupils. “Yeah.” I threw my arm back and clicked off the lamp. I rolled over onto my right side, tugged on the edge of the comforter and went back to sleep.
    ***
    “What do you mean he stayed over?” Aster said. “That’s not okay. She’s going to sneak off and do what she’s going to do, but you don’t put them under your roof.”
    My eyes opened, and I stared up confused. Dad and Aster stood in the doorway.
    Dad waved his arms and sounded defensive. “Star.”
    I shut my eyes and tugged on the covers. They wouldn’t move.
    “I may preach birth control, but I’d never let her boyfriend sleep over,” Aster said.
    “You what?” Dad said in a sharp tone. “Paisley! Get up.”
    I shifted and opened my eyes again. Dad and Aster were still there. Everything about the scene was weird.
    I rose up on my elbow. “What time is it? I’m still tired.”
    Aster said, “It’s okay. Go back to your own room now.”
    I sat up and spotted the back of Trey’s head. “Trey,” I said loudly.
    The pillow muffled his words. “I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Your name is Paisley.”
    I didn’t move until he blinked clear green eyes at me. Then, I stood, stumbled to my room, and sank into bed.
    ***
    When I rolled over again, bright light lit my room. The alarm clock read eleven a.m. I brushed my teeth and hair and headed downstairs. Dad stood with a phone to his ear. I waved at him and opened the fridge to grab the orange juice, filling the glass with the cold pulpy drink. “Where’s Trey?”
    Dad nodded at me, but he didn’t answer. He continued talking on the phone. “Good.” he said heartily. “Glad you got the photo. Yeah. Head injuries bleed a lot. You headed home now?”
    Pause.
    “Where’s your son? Well, when we realized his family didn’t come to the game, we brought him ‘round with us. He’s out back somewhere. Though he may have already taken off.”
    Pause.
    “We’ll send someone around to look for him.”
    Pause.
    “Hospital? No, we couldn’t very well take him there. Who’d sign for him?”
    Pause.
    “Eighteen. Yeah. Well, you can’t really make decisions for yourself with a head injury.”
    Pause.
    “Okay, yeah. I look forward to meeting you, too. There’s one more game left, you know. Your kid’s a starter.” Dad clicked off and shook his head at the phone.
    “Trey okay?”
    “Yeah. Star fed him and drove him home about an hour ago.”
    I felt kind of disappointed and didn’t want to think about why. I drank some of the orange juice. “You take kids to the hospital every season, why’d you say that to his parents?”
    Dad set a blueberry muffin in front of me. “Don’t underestimate the power of a good scare.”
    I crumbled at the ruffled edges of the liner and pinched a blueberry, popping it into my mouth. “No symptoms?”
    “No. He’s good to go.” Dad joined me, making short work of the two muffins in his hand. “His mom should have picked him up.”
    “She lives in New York.”
    Dad muttered something about the Yankees, and crossed his arms over his chest. “About your being in his room.”
    “I fell asleep. Sorry.”
    “Yeah, I could tell.” Dad tilted the chair back on two legs. “I probably shouldn’t have had you checking on him. Star said--” His voice trailed off and his face flushed.
    I felt my own face heat. “Um, we don’t need to tell Mom, do we?”
    “No.” Dad folded the newspaper under his arm and headed out of the kitchen.