I Hate Football Players

35: A Rare Specimen

"We'll have to make these granola bars again." Mom bit into an explosion of crumbs. "They came out pretty good, Ellie."

"They do look like birdseed." That was Harper's critique, which I couldn't argue against and popped in my last bite.

"Ellie, remember. Don't touch anyone," Dad warned with another paper flip and extended a can of mace to me. Where had he hidden that? "You sure you don't want Mom to come too? She can sit in the lobby or parking lot the whole time."

Total mortification from a Mom-sitter? No thanks. "I'll be fine. I won't catch rabies." I rolled my eyes but took the mace can that he shook at me. "I'll text updates if you want."

He gave a tight nod. "Don't forget to clip the mace to your pants or hide it in your bra."

"It's for charity!" I wasn't sure if he realized what a blood drive involved. Fuck, I wasn't sure either, but nothing would be stuffed into my bra. In particular, Logan's hands.

After too many 'I'll be fine's, I set the granola bars and my lunch on Jake's back seat. A faint vanilla scent wafted off the leather. Harper's hand lotion was a pleasant alternative to Jake's boy stink. To her disgust, he took a giant sniff of her neck when we hauled him up the driveway.

Not my first drive to Salinas, I knew how to get there, but uncertainty hummed through me the closer I approached. I shouldn't have told Logan the crib notes, but I couldn't take my words back. So, today I would slip into my introverted shell and, like an ostrich, bury my head and pretend I hadn't outed myself. Last night's anger had simmered down, but would Logan reignite it or stir other feelings? Part of me wanted to smack him upon sight. The other part voted that I tackled him and kissed him myself.

"Cleary, I'm insane." I wrenched the steering wheel to a flash of red from my sleeves. Per the email recommendations, I wore a red long-sleeved sweater over black leggings and comfortable shoes. Stopped at a light, I braided my hair to contain it and wished I could tie down my racing thoughts. They weren't distracted by the radio on the drive down, and my heart climbed to a professional racecar pace my heart by the time I passed Salesian High.

"Guess this is it." Despite being football rivals, I slowed down for a first look. The building had high, white stucco walls, a flat gray roof, and minimal landscaping. Smaller than Santa Cruz, I preferred our charming, thick cement columns and red brick... without the painted steps. "Don't think about Grace's house being about fifteen minutes from here," I whispered and gripped the wheel. "It's Saturday, no guarantee that he's there."

Relief and disappointment relaxed my shoulders when I didn't see his truck in the crowded parking lot. A carwash fundraiser was full of skinny high school girls hopping around in bathing suits and sort of cleaning cars while guys gawked at them.

An American Red Cross bloodmobile and 'Blood and Plasma Donation Event today' sign steered me away from the bikinis. Nerves electrocuted my skin on my approach. The lobby filled my nose with a sterile, bleach-based scent, and my shoes squeaked across the floors. A white leather sofa faced a receptionist's desk, white walls, white chairs, and large rectangular white floor tiles. Black framed posters advertised blood, plasma, and platelet donation benefits. I hugged my elbows.

So much white.
I'm afraid to touch anything.

"Eleanor?" A woman with brown hair peered from behind the desk. "Marla and Caleb called in sick. I'm Amy."

Sick? Why hadn't I thought about that? Logan, too? "That's me. I made some, uhh... snacks. I hope that's okay."

"How thoughtful." She smiled and pushed her chair back. "Usually, we aren't allowed to give out homemade snacks, but Salesian's football team is coming today. They can eat our month's supply, so this is great."