“Uh, Coach, is this one of your, you know, sex things?”
“I don’t have sex things! It was a bra! Just a bra.”
“There’s a good story,” Sonia hums. “What happened?”
“Ronan put on my bra. Red lace. It was very sexy,” I reply. “He likes to wear lingerie.”
Ronan heaves out a gusty breath. “Girls. Please. I have lice. Focus.”
Skeeter’s been silent, his eyes darting from Ronan to us. He pales and presses back against the door. “No, no, no.” He gulps air. “Coach . . . you . . . have . . . lice?”
“Apparently,” Ronan mutters. “One got away already. On the floor.”
“That’s it. I’m out of here—” he calls, his hand on the doorknob.
Sonia throws him a glance. “Best not. You might have it if you’ve sat in the same chair or worn the same hat. I’ll do a check. Just stay over there.”
He gapes at her. “You think I’m going to stay in this closet? I came in here to call my mom! She was going to tell me what’s for dinner!”
She shrugs. “You’re safe, Skeeter. They can’t fly or jump. They’re attracted to people with clean hair. Has your scalp been itching, particularly at night?”
Horror rises in his eyes. “I did wake up last night and scratched my . . .” He pinches his nose. “Oh my God!”
“Gotcha, you little bugger!” Sonia swoops a small thing into her jar, then twists the lid on tight. She glances around. “All right, that’s done. We need to check each other. Who’s up?” She snaps her fingers. “I have class in five minutes, and these things only live for forty-eight hours, and I don’t know how long it’s been alive, so let’s get this thing going.”
“Me! Check me!” Skeeter skates around Ronan and sits on the stool. Her fingers dance through his hair while I hold the light.
“So, um, is head lice—can it get on my, um, my privates?” Skeeter asks.
Sonia snickers. “That’s called crabs, and it’s a different parasite. They like your genitals and make you feverish or irritable. And itchy, of course.”
He breathes out a long exhale. “Thank God. I’d hate to put mayonnaise on my balls.”
“No mayo,” she says. “But if your privates are itching, get that checked out by a doctor.”
He flushes. “They aren’t! I was just trying to learn, you know, for science stuff, and I figured since you’re so smart, you’d know.”
She blinks. “You think I’m smart?”
He shrugs. “Hello. You were our valedictorian. I remember your speech at graduation. The opening line was ‘Live a full life . . .’ I don’t recall the rest.”
Amazement flits over her face. “I didn’t think anyone was listening.”
He shrugs. “We done?”
She gazes down at his head for a few ticks, her hands dropping to pat his shoulder. “You’re good, Skeeter. I don’t see anything.”
He moves to the corner of the closet, his eyes on me. “You’re next, Nova. I need to know who I can and can’t be around.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” comes from Ronan as he rubs his fingers through his hair, then looks at his fingers, as if one might appear there.
I laugh as I sit on the stool.
Ronan marches over to hold the light while Sonia’s hands card through my long hair.
She pauses, and the room grows quiet.
“What?” I ask.
“Lice, babe,” Ronan murmurs, satisfaction in his voice. From his phone, he turns on “Who’s Sorry Now,” by Connie Francis. Kudos to him for the oldie, but . . .
“You’re lying. I’m not itching,” I say and flip around.
Skeeter jumps back. “I saw it. Creepy-crawly was right freaking there in your part.” He points his finger at me and Ronan. “Y’all are contaminated and must be quarantined!”
I gape as my head suddenly feels itchy. I try to keep my hands down. I don’t want to touch them either.
“Skeeter, you need to check me,” Sonia tells him.
His eyes flare. “Me? No!”
“Yes,” she says. “You’re the only safe one!”
He grimaces. “Okay.”
Sonia sits on the stool as Skeeter swallows, then moves his hands through her hair. She lets out a hmm sound. Skeeter is oblivious.
“What’s next?” Ronan asks me quietly as he clicks off the song.