Traffic » Zach Herron

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(GIA'S POV)

No one says anything, everyone just stares at the gaping hole.

"Zach... I think we know why you didn't play basketball." Jack speaks up, cutting off the silence.

"I give it a good four and a half points." Daniel adds on, trying to make this less of a situation.

I look at Zach and see him still staring at the hole in the ceiling, looking extremely upset.

He had a frown and had his hand behind his neck, the look of complete remorse covered his face.

Now, there's two types of people in this situation:

The one who makes you feel less bad about whatever you did wrong.

Then the one who makes you feel ten times worse, like thanks, totally needed the reassuring gesture to know that you hate me.

I laugh, hoping to make Zach feel better because I mean, I don't know what you can expect from playing basketball in your living room.

Plus, Zach was anything but a bad person.

Everyone looks up at me, a look of wide eyes and shocked faces.

"What?" I ask, still smiling.

My dad would be enraged, that is, if he comes home.

Okay, that sounds like the beginning of a murder plan, let me rephrase that: keep him away from the house while/until they fix the ceiling.

My mom essentially doesn't even live here, since I barely see her at this point.

"I'll pay for it." Zach blurts out, finally easing up to say something.

"I was thinking some glue and paper." I jokingly plan out, wanting Zach to at least have a different expression on his face.

"With the fancy clear tape." Jack shrugs, joining in on the joke.

I think this may have made Zach feel worse because he only looks back up at the ceiling.

"Let's find some of the people who fix ceilings, I have no clue what they're called." I suggest while grabbing my phone that was somehow on the counter.

My bad memory will be the death of me.

Or Zach.

There's always something about the person who makes a hole in your ceiling with a basketball.

The boys scatter to get their phones, but Zach kept quiet the whole time while the other boys made quiet conversations with one another.

"Who hasn't showered?" I ask, remembering that Zach did, so I'm sure one or two other boys did, too.

Jack and Corbyn raise their hands.

"Okay, there's a shower in the guest room and a shower in the master bedroom, guest on the left, master on the right. Guest room has the towels and shirts." I tell them.

"Thanks." Corbyn and Jack say in unison.

I look at Ava and signal her to come with me as I head towards the stairs.