Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance (Beyond the Play Book 3)
Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance: Chapter 5

AS I WALK across campus the next day, a coffee in hand, Giana calls.

Usually, her calls take one of two forms: to complain about our family, or to interrogate me so she can take that information back to our family. Neither sound appealing right now, especially since I’m still standing tall from the conversation with Professor Santoro. My mind is full of ideas for how to contribute to her project. Her research is NASA-affiliated, part of the mission to uncover the billions of exoplanets hiding in the vast darkness of space. The goal is to replace another Earth—but every exoplanet reveals something new about the universe.

Since we can’t see exoplanets directly with our current technology, we need to hunt for them via other means. Professor Santoro is working on a new way of measuring atmospheric properties to determine details about exoplanets, and if I can rework the code on the program she’s been using, we could get much more precise data about confirmed exoplanets.

The thought of all those planets out there, beautiful in alien ways… it’s enough to make me stop and stare at the sky, even though it’s morning. I school my face into a neutral expression before answering the video call.

At least campus has mostly emptied for the summer, so there’s no one around to overhear my conversation. Altocumulus clouds dot the sky, each one as fluffy as a piece of cotton candy. A couple of years ago, scientists discovered WASP-121b, an exoplanet covered in metal clouds that pours liquid gemstones. Rain, just like on Earth, but made completely strange—and 855 light-years away. When I told Penny about that one, she jokingly said it was me as a planet.

“Hey, Mi-Mi,” Giana says. Elementary school in New Jersey is still in session, so she must be on her lunch break; I can see the wall behind her, covered in bright posters. Her thick hair is in a ponytail, and little diamonds sparkle in her ears. “How’s it going?”

I fight a smile at the sound of my childhood nickname. She’s the only one who ever calls me that. In return, I’m the only one who calls her Gi-Gi. “Good.”

“It looks nice there.”

I keep walking. “It’s pretty hot out.”

“Right? The kids think it’s summer vacation already. They don’t want to do any work at all anymore.” She takes a sip of water and adds, “Did you start the assignment yet? Mom was asking.”

“Um, no.” I squint up at the trees. “It’s remedial science, so I have to wait for the semester to finish first. Their semester, I mean.”

“You should come down for a few days before you start. You didn’t even visit for Easter this year.”

I hadn’t wanted anything to do with Easter. Not the Catholic church service, not Nana’s rosemary lamb, or even Mom’s pastiera napoletana. Not the egg hunt in the backyard, my little cousins running around with their starched formal outfits and grubby fingers. I spent the day doing schoolwork instead, even though it fell over spring break. I haven’t liked holidays since Nonno died.

“I’m picking up extra shifts at the café before it closes.”

The Purple Kettle, the on-campus coffee shop that I work at during the semester, closed two days ago for the summer. Another lie to add to the pile. My family thinks I’m sticking around Moorbridge to help high school students who failed their science classes make up the credits, as part of my accelerated teaching degree—but I haven’t spent even a second in that department. If I ever teach, it’ll be like Professor Santoro. An extension of my research and part of my career, not the whole thing. And certainly not introducing the concept of cloud formation to middle schoolers or whatever the hell my family thinks is the most I can handle.

“Well, if you do get a break, everyone would love to see you. I don’t know for certain, but I think Michelle’s pregnant again.”

I send a prayer to the sky. My brother can be an ass sometimes, but his wife is wonderful. “That’s nice.”

“Right? I want us to be aunties to a little girl this time. Enough with the boys.”

“Anthony wouldn’t know what to do with a girl.” He has twin sons, and they’re both mini tornadoes of chaos. Giana and her husband won’t be far behind. I’ll bet if Michelle is pregnant, and if it’s a girl, Giana won’t last until Christmas before trying for a baby of her own.

The thought makes me shudder. Space doesn’t terrify me one bit. Pregnancy, though? Being in charge of keeping a baby alive? It’s never interested me. In fact, it actively scares me if I think about it too hard. That’s another lie I feed my family: Sure, I can’t wait until I get married and have kids. The one time I told my mother I wasn’t sure I wanted to do the whole marriage and babies thing, she blew up at me about my duties as a woman and to my family.

“Right?” Giana says. “Anyway, if you can’t visit now, at least come for the barbecue in June. Nana will cry if you don’t come.”

“Nana has never shed a tear in her life.” It’s one of the many things I respect about her, even though our relationship is difficult at best. At Nonno’s funeral, she stood straight-backed in her black veil, her face covered in makeup, her eyes as dry as a riverbed in a heat wave. No tears during the wake, no tears during the funeral. No tears during the private family gathering afterward, as my father and uncles got drunk on grappa and toasted to his life.

I wasn’t as strong. I shut myself in my room and cried until I couldn’t breathe.

I climb one of McKee’s many hills, holding my phone higher so my face is still in the frame. The dorm I’m staying in for the summer is one of the ancient freshmen buildings on the edge of campus, atop one of the steepest hills. Incidentally, it’s the same one where I met Penny. I arrived first, and I’d been debating where to put my Andromeda Galaxy poster when she burst in, a whirlwind of ginger hair, all freckles and nervous energy. More books in tow than clothes, and ice skates tossed over her shoulder. She took in my black leather jacket and combat boots, the nervous fuck-this energy I must have been radiating, blinked, and stuck out her hand.

She saw me better than anyone else. Better than my own sister. Still does.

On the phone, my real sister sighs. I can tell I’m about three seconds away from a lecture, so I say, “I’m walking into a meeting. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Tell me you’ll come to the barbecue,” she insists. “For me, Mi-Mi, please. Don’t worry about our parents or Nana or the cousins.”

I swipe the keycard to get into the building and push the heavy door open. It’s sweltering in here too. Summer without AC will be murder on my hair.

At least my room is on the first floor. Heat rises, after all.

“Fine,” I say. An afternoon surrounded by my very large extended family, the neighborhood friends, everyone from church—I can suck it up. I don’t know why or how my parents started this tradition, but it’s lasted for over twenty years: the big summer barbecue at the di Angelos. I haven’t spent time with my sister since Christmas, and even then, she was with her husband Peter’s family for half of it.

“Yay!” Her smile tugs at my heart. “Love you, Mi-Mi.”

My breath catches in my throat. “Love you too, Gi-Gi.”

I do. I really do. I love my family so much that it hurts to know I’m not the daughter they want. Not who they planned for. I tried to fit myself into that box—with my sexuality, with my passions—and it just didn’t work. It was impossible to stay there, squished down, and be able to take a full breath. Nonno was the only one who understood that.

If he was alive, he would be supporting my career aspirations, and I wouldn’t be caught up in this stupid lie. In the past, Giana tried, but ever since she got married, she’s acted just like Mom and our aunts.

Despite it all, I still love them and my heritage. And I can be friendly in small doses. Penny has said so herself.

I nearly slip as I walk down the hallway to my room. I glance at the floor, making a face when I see that it’s covered in water. Maybe some idiot left the tap running in the bathroom.

At the end of the hallway, I shove my door open; it’s sticking to the frame.

My mouth drops open. “Holy shit.”

My room is flooded.

Without the door stopping the flow, the water rushes into the hallway, running over my sneakers. I glance up; water weeps from a crack in the ceiling, soaking absolutely everything. The bed. My clothes, still mostly in my opened suitcase on the floor. Shoes bob along in the water.

My gorgeous suede boots, my favorite, are soaked. Ruined.

I take a step forward and promptly trip. I flail, trying to hold onto the bed frame, but instead I land in the cold, disgusting water.

I can’t stop myself from letting out a very embarrassing scream.