The Art of Lainey by Paula Stokes

year?”
    “Juvie.”
    “For what?” The question leaves my mouth before I even have time to think. I’ve heard all the usual rumors that you hear about someone working the loner-rocker-boy image like Micah. He smokes weed. He deals drugs. He beats up preppy kids behind The Devil’s Doorstep. I always figured the stories were bullshit.
    “Why do you care?” He glances over. “You afraid of me now?”
    “No,” I say quickly. And it’s true. Even if he carries a switchblade and pretends to be a badass, he doesn’t seem much different from the kid I knew in fifth grade. “I’m just trying to . . . get to know you again.”
    “That’s kind of sweet,” he says, throwing my words back at me in a high-pitched girly voice. His lips curve upward, just barely. “Maybe I’ll tell you. Someday.”

Chapter 11
    “Y OU MAY ADVANCE AND BE ABSOLUTELY IRRESISTIBLE, IF YOU MAKE FOR THE ENEMY’S WEAK POINTS . . . ”
    —S UN T ZU ,
The Art of War
    L ater that night, I’m crashed out on the sofa watching a rerun of a World Cup game when Bianca calls.
    “Hey.” I watch as Caleb Waters puts a free kick in the upper-left corner of the goal. The crowd goes wild.
    “Hey, yourself. Weren’t you going to call me the instant you got home from your pseudo-date?” she asks. “I want to hear all about it.”
    “Oh, right.” I mute the TV. “So Micah took me to this completely freaktastic place where his ex-girlfriend’s sister works.” I give her a quick rundown on Mizz Creant’s.
    “That sounds . . . strange. Did you guys get along okay?”
    “Other than the fact that he blasted me with some weird shock device.” I start to smile thinking about it, even though it was totally not funny at the time. “It was awkward at first. He mentioned his dad in the car and I didn’t know what to say. But there were plenty of conversation starters at the restaurant.”
    “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t terrible,” Bee says. “Where are you going to take him?”
    “Not sure yet. Got any great ideas?”
    “Hmm.” She yawns. “I’ll have to sleep on it.”
    “Sounds good. Talk to you soon.”
    Right as I hang up, a commercial for a home game against the Chicago Cubs comes on. That would be perfect. Jason has baseball season tickets. He would never miss a chance to see the Cardinals waste the Cubs. I’ve been to a handful of games with him so I know exactly where he sits. Micah and I can get tickets for the same section.
    But how to make sure Jay sees us at a crowded baseball game? I head into my room and paw through the old birthday cards, notes, and ticket stubs in my bottom dresser drawer until I find a Cardinals ticket from last summer. Right-field bleachers. Fifth row. Seat 14. I’ll just have to look for open seats as close to there as possible.
    After texting Micah to make sure he’s available on Sunday afternoon, I get online and check out the available tickets. Most of the first ten rows are already purchased, but there is a pair of seats way at the outside edge of the fourth row. If Micah and I entered from the wrong side we’d have to squeeze past the entire section. I’d pass right in front of Jay—there’d be no way for him to miss us. I start imagining the look on his face when I stroll by with my new “boyfriend” in tow.
    Hello, mountaintop.
    “I can’t believe you’re taking me to a Cards–Cubs game,” Micah says. “This might actually be kind of fun.”
    “It’s the perfect place to run into Jason,” I say. “He’s got season tickets.”
    We’re meeting up at Micah’s house again because his mom has to go straight from her job at the tattoo parlor to her job at the diner tonight, so no one will bother us.
    During the school year, I also get a lot of parent-free time, but Mom spends her summers camped out in the study writing anthropology books and journal articles. Even though she’s been known to get so into her notes that she forgets to eat, I’m pretty sure me dragging a guy