“Got it. I’ll play better next time. Hey, weren’t you telling me that you need Mom and Dad to help you with some school project tonight?” I moved my duffel bag in front of me and widened my eyes at her. Selena could be an annoying braggart when it came to softball, but she was also the only person on the planet who could read my mind with only the slightest cue.
“I was,” she said, without missing a beat, then forestalled Mom’s inevitable question. “It’s an extra-credit thing. I’ll tell you about it when we get home. I’m sure Dad’s gonna want to talk about that last out first.”
I groaned. “Can we just not? Let’s talk about something lighter, like teen-pregnancy statistics. Besides, it was a bad call.”
“You looked out to me,” Selena said.
Blood heated my face, but Dad was there before I could respond.
“That’s because she was.” He unlocked the trunk, not looking at me. “The umpire called it.”
I came up alongside him, wishing he could be a little more my dad and a little less my coach the next time a close call cost us a game. “You know, you used to get thrown out of games all the time for arguing when you coached Selena. This would have been a perfect opportunity.”
“Not all the time,” Selena said, though I was positive she was calling a list to mind same as I was.
“More than once,” I said, before turning back to Dad and waiting with raised eyebrows for his response. “There was that game against Chandler. You almost took a swing at the umpire.”
“I was never going to hit him,” Dad said. “Back then I was more of a...” He searched for the right word.
“Calentón,” Mom said, smiling.
I thought it was more than Dad being hotheaded, but I didn’t get to protest before he went on.
“I told you to stay, you didn’t, and we lost. And even if you’d been safe—run through a stop sign again and I’ll bench you for more than a few innings.” He opened the front passenger door for Mom, a practice he’d apparently started on their first date and was still doing more than twenty years later.
“You’re not serious.” But the look he gave me said otherwise. “Fine. Am I supposed to apologize to my dad or my coach?”
“What was that?” he asked, though we both knew he’d heard me.
“Nothing.”
He sighed, coming around to where I stood. “What is this attitude?”
“Why didn’t you fight the call?”
“Because you were out. Hey—hey.” He called my attention back when I looked away. “I’d have fought for you if you weren’t. Same as I did for your sister.” He lowered his voice so that Mom and Selena on the other side wouldn’t overhear. “You are one of the best players on the team. You could be as good as Selena if you worked harder.”
Except Selena never had to work the way I constantly had to. And she’d never cared enough to see how much better she could have been if she had. That was maybe the one bone of contention between her and Dad. So I worked twice as hard to be half as good, and it still wasn’t enough.
“Take the loss and work harder next time. We’ve got the whole season ahead of us, and you’re no good to me or anyone else on a bench. I need you.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I nodded and worked my mouth into a small smile for his benefit. He needed me. I wanted more than that, but I’d settle for need just then.
I cradled my duffel in my lap during the car ride home, feeling the shape of the box within. And I smiled for real.
My plan went off without a hitch. Selena was calm and cool, explaining that she needed family DNA samples for a criminology class she was supposedly taking. Selena was still technically undeclared, but she’d expressed enough middling interest in pursuing a sociology degree that neither of our parents questioned this. I think they both took it as a sign that she was finally committing to a career path. Mom happily swiped the toothbrush-like swab on the inside of her cheek. Dad was equally willing, joking about taking Mom on the lam if they connected him to any unsolved murders. They had no idea what we were really doing—what I was really doing.
After that, Selena passed me Dad’s swab and was officially done with the whole thing.
“I’m officially done with the whole thing,” she said, when we were in my room afterward.
“Fine.” I didn’t even look up from the DNA Detective website open on my laptop. “But don’t come back to me when I’m about to give Dad the birthday present to end all birthday presents.”
Selena peered over my shoulder, chewing on her thumbnail. “You really think you’ll find someone he’s related to?”
Arizona’s Safe Baby Haven Law allowed newborns to be anonymously handed over at hospitals or fire stations without having to provide personal information, which meant Dad’s birth certificate was basically blank. But none of that would matter if we found even a single DNA match. “Yes.” I turned sideways in my chair. “Nick found a bunch of fourth cousins when he took his test, and he sent me links about other people who were orphans just like Dad finding half siblings and even parents.”
“What if it tells us something he doesn’t want to know, something we don’t want to know?”
I frowned. “What, that he’s related to some douchey celebrity? The whole point of doing it as a surprise is that if we don’t like what we find out, then we trash it and he never knows.” I couldn’t believe I still had to convince Selena about this. She knew as well as I did how much it would mean for Dad to find his own relatives. That was part of the reason he and Mom got pregnant with me. They wanted to make sure Selena had a sibling, someone she was directly connected to. Dad didn’t have that. There was such a huge contrast between Mom’s sprawling Mexican clan back in Texas and Dad’s blank unknown. We didn’t see Mom’s family all that often, but they were still there, and I always felt like I was a part of something. Dad didn’t know what that was like. This was a chance to give him a family that consisted of more than the three of us.
“I needed your money and your criminology-class excuse, both of which you gave me. If you want out now, that’s fine. Go ahead and give Dad a tie for his birthday.”
Selena dropped her arms in obvious irritation before fishing her car keys out of her bag. “Fine. I have to get back to my dorm.” She hesitated at the door. “Just don’t tell me if he’s 86 percent more likely to get colon cancer or something. Good stuff only, okay?”
I gave her an exaggerated eye roll. “But if it’s good?”
“Then, since I paid for half of this, my name better be on the birthday card too.”
Under my breath, I said, “A little more than half,” before turning back to the computer and filling out the final field on the registration form.
Selena strode back to my side and blocked the touch pad before I could click Send. “I paid more?”
Oh yeah. “I’m a poor high school junior who has to constantly put money into your old car.”
“And I’m a poorer college sophomore who gave you that old car for way less than it was worth.”
“It