At lunchtime I head to the cafeteria, which always smells like a mixture of meatloaf and salad dressing, like those odors have seeped into the concrete walls and tile f loor. I grab a slice of pizza, a salad, and a couple cartons of chocolate milk. I know I’m seventeen and that those little milk cartons are for kids, but I love them.
Today, I’m the first person to sit down at the football team’s table, and when I look up at the lunch line to see where the rest of the guys are, there he is. Ty. He stares at me, smiling. From across the cafeteria, he mouths the words, “Can I sit with you?”
I take a bite of pizza and point at the table. He grins again. Suddenly I seem to lose the ability to chew.
He drops his tray down and slides in beside me. Our elbows touch. “Hey, Woods.”
I nod once. “Ty.”
I scan the cafeteria for the rest of the guys, hoping they’ll be here soon. JJ and Carter are talking to a tableful of freshman girls. From a few tables away, Lacey is glaring at JJ, but he doesn’t even notice because some redhead is feeding him French fries. Carter is listening to a girl with long brown hair, gazing at her as if she’s saying very important things, like giving a play-by-play account of Super Bowl XXXVIII. In all actuality, she’s probably giving him a play-by-play account of some romance novel where some chick is in love with a boy who’s really a werewolf, and a vampire who’s really a dragon with enormous wings, and a handsome king who’s really a vampire.
Henry is standing over by the windows talking to Carrie Myer. He’s leaning against the glass and frowning at her. Is Mom right? Are they going to get back together? Carrie says something, and they both turn and look at me. She stares at me for a sec, then turns back to Henry and says something.
What’s that about? I wish I could read lips. Then he drags a hand through his curls and focuses on the ceiling tiles. Carrie wipes a tear off her face, turns, and walks toward the doors. Her eyes are all puffy and red. Henry follows her out into the hallway, frowning.
Even though she said she’s glad, maybe Carrie is actually pissed that Marie went out with Henry yesterday, thus breaking the cardinal rule of cheerleading. JJ once told me that if a guy dates one cheerleader, the rest of the cheerleaders will never, ever date him because of squad loyalty. Yeah, JJ didn’t understand it either. It’s not like anyone is getting married. But when it comes to Henry, the rule doesn’t apply: the girls disregard it and mess around with him anyway.
Too much drama for me.
Speaking of fooling around, Ty’s sitting so close I can smell him. The scent of soap and detergent wafts up to my nose.
Ty leans over and whispers in my ear, “I don’t know whether to thank you or hate you for sending me home with Henry yesterday.”
“Oh hell,” I say. “What did he do?”
He stuffs a few French fries in his mouth, but keeps talking. “First he takes us to this diner. Those friends of his, Kristen and Marie, are all over us. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but Kristen doesn’t seem to have anything between her ears.”
I snort and chocolate milk comes out my nose. Yeah, I know, I’m the sexiest creature on the planet. Ty grins at me.
“Go on,” I say, wiping up my chocolate snot.
“So we stay at the diner for a couple hours, talking about absolutely nothing. And I mean nothing. Oh yeah—there was no studying going on either. Henry and Marie made out for, like, an hour.”
I start cracking my knuckles as Ty goes on. “Then we go out to his truck, and I’m thinking, great—finally, I get to go home. My grandfather’s probably worried sick about me. But no, Henry doesn’t take me home. He drives us way out into the country into this field. It’s basically a giant mud puddle.”
I grin. “Henry took you mudding?”
“Yup. So we’re in the field, and Henry drives his truck around in circles at about eighty miles an hour. I think I’m gonna die. Everybody’s screaming. He rolls down the windows and mud’s f lying all over the place, all inside the cab of the truck. I’m covered in muck. Finally he stops the truck and we all fall out into the giant mud puddle.” He looks down at his cheeseburger, picks it up, and takes a bite. With food in his mouth, he says, “Pretty soon I’m the only person still wearing clothes. And then Kristen—” Ty suddenly grabs some fries and eats them, his face growing pink.
I’m jealous out of my mind, but I’m still laughing hysterically. Only Henry would do this to the new guy on his first day at a new school.
“You think it’s funny, do you?” Ty says, grinning. “I didn’t get home until after midnight. I showed up covered in mud and now I’m in trouble.”
“Hell yeah, it’s funny.”
“And that Kristen chick has been stalking me all day.”
I glance over at the cheerleader table, where Lacey continues to glare at JJ and the redheaded French fry slave. I locate Kristen, who is gazing over at us. She waves at Ty and blows him a kiss. I’m tempted to catch the kiss and pretend to crumple it up with my hand, throw it on the ground, and stomp on it.
Instead, I sip my chocolate milk and say, “Sucks to be you, man.”
He elbows me. “I think you planned the whole thing.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.” What is this? Third grade?
“Make it up to me.” He stares straight into my eyes.
Breathe, Jordan, breathe. “I didn’t do anything wrong, so I’m not making anything up to you.”
“What are you doing after school today?”
JJ and I are going out to eat after school. I could invite Ty to get grub with us. I want to, but I just can’t—if he comes, I won’t be able to relax at all, and I need to freaking relax before tomorrow night’s game.
JJ and Carter finally come sit down at our table. The minute JJ’s back is turned and he’s facing me, I see Lacey stand up and go over to the redheaded freshman. I don’t need to read lips to know what Lacey’s saying. I’m pretty sure she just called the girl a whore. The redheaded freshman gets up and rushes her tray to the dishwashing window, then bolts out of the cafeteria as tears fill her eyes.
Ty leans over to me. “Did you see that?”
“Yup.”
“I take it she’s a bitch?”
“Yup. I’ll go make sure that freshman’s okay once I’m done eating.” Gotta keep my energy up for the game tomorrow.
He stuffs more fries in his mouth. “You know, there’s no more dangerous creature on Earth than the teenage girl.”
“Hey! I’m a girl.” I punch him in the arm.
“Ow…” he says, rubbing his bicep, but then he smiles. “So about this afternoon?”
“I’m sorry—I have plans.”
“Oh, okay…”
“So who’s the redhead?” I ask JJ.
“No idea,” he says, shrugging. “Cute though, don’t you think?”
I don’t know what comes over me when I grab some of Ty’s French fries and say, “Hey, Ty, guess who I am?” and lean across the table toward Carter and start trying to feed him.
JJ and Ty laugh.
“Nasty,” Carter says, batting my hand away. “You know I hate school food, Woods.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, sitting back down in my chair. “These are the best steak fries in town.”
“Agreed,” Ty says. Smiling, he opens his mouth, like he wants me to give him a fry. So I pop one in his mouth.
Oh my God.
Did I just feed Ty a fry?
I should probably take my temperature.
stupid fitted tee
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Henry?” I say, shoving him up against a locker.
“What?” he says, shoving me back.
“I told you to take Ty home, not let him get molested by Kristen.”
“He wasn’t complaining last night! I think he had a great time.”
I shake my head.
“What do you care what he does, Woods?” Smiling, he raises his eyebrows at me and looks down at my black tee.
“I don’t care.”
Henry keeps grinning. “Yeah, that’s bullshit. Since when do you wear shirts like that? We never get to see your boobs.” I shove him again. “Fuck, Woods, do you like this guy or something?” he whispers, shoving me back.
I move to shove him yet again, but he jumps out of the way. Damned ballerina ref lexes. “I care about my team. Ty told me you didn’t drop him off until late. You shouldn’t be out past midnight two days before our first game.”
“So he made it home then?”
“What do you mean?”
“He wouldn’t let me take him all the way home. He had me let him out on the highway. It was weird, but I could tell he was serious. He didn’t want me anywhere near his house.”
How bad could his house be? Half the guys on my team live in trailers—it can’t be worse than that.
I stare into Henry’s eyes and tan face, which has broken out recently. He never used to have acne, but now he’s got a smattering of it.
“Sam?” I say, grabbing his hand.
“Yeah?” he says, burying his other hand in his crazy hair.
“Um, I’m wondering if everything’s okay with you. Are you stressed out or anything?”
He sighs and leans against the lockers. “Yeah—maybe a little.”
“Is it Carrie?”
He shakes his head.
“Then what’s up?”
He brushes the curls off his forehead and stares at his f lip-f lops. “I dunno…a lot’s up…Dad’s never home and Mom’s sadder than ever…I’m worried about college. I want to go so bad and I think a football scholarship is the only way my family will be able to afford it.”
Judging by his eyes darting around and that familiar twitch of his mouth, I can tell he’s hiding something. But I rub his arm anyway and play along. “I know. But you’re great—just keep playing hard and you’ll be fine. And I’m sure you can get some money since you have great grades.”
He stares at f lyers tacked all over the bulletin board on the other side of the hallway. “I hope so. My future’s riding on football.”
“I get it,” I say, and looking away from Henry, I notice Ty coming down the hall. He stops for a sec when he sees me with Henry, but just passes right by us and doesn’t say anything as he goes into the art room.
Henry smiles, shaking his head. “Listen, I won’t say anything to anyone about your liking Ty. Promise.”
I wince.
He bumps his fist into mine, then puts an arm around me and walks me down the hall toward music appreciation class. Now that we’re seniors and only concentrate on football, I swear, we are taking some of the stupidest classes ever. Today we’re learning how to play the xylophone.
“Just keep wearing those shirts,” he says with a wink. “He’ll notice those boobs for sure.”
•••
Before music appreciation/xylophone class starts, Henry and I are huddled over a piece of scrap paper, playing Hangman. I jot down
_ _ _ / _ _ _ _ _ _. “Category is famous football players.”
Henry says E, and I draw a head hanging from a noose. “A,” he says, and I fill in the second letter of both words. Then Marie walks up behind us, looks over Henry’s shoulder at Hangman, and says, “I know it.”
I snort, and Henry elbows my side and gives me a look. He pulls her onto his lap and wraps an arm around her waist. I sit up straight when he gives her a peck on the lips.
“I wish you could’ve come out with us yesterday, Jordan,” Marie says, and I shrug. “Ty was asking about you.”
“What? Sizing up his competition?” I ask Henry, who starts staring at the idiots trying to smash each other with cymbals on the other side of the room.
“No,” Marie says, smiling. “He wanted to know what you’re interested in. He wished you had come out too.”
I sit up even straighter. “I had stuff to do.”
“How’s getting ready for Alabama going?” Marie asks me as she drapes an arm around Henry’s shoulders.
“Why do you want to know?” I ask.
“I know it’s important to you,” she mutters. Then she climbs off Henry’s lap and walks back toward her desk. “Dan Marino,” she calls out over her shoulder.
How the hell did she know the answer?
I start filling in the other letters, and Henry whispers in my ear, “Not every girl is bad.”
“You wouldn’t know, ’cause they fawn over you all the time. You don’t see how Kristen and Lacey treat other girls, how they treat me in the locker room and bathroom, and back in—”
I shut up, not wanting to talk about what happened in seventh grade, and start drawing Alabama Roll Tide logos.
Henry whispers, “I really doubt Marie’s ever said anything bad to you.”
I shrug again.
“Give her a chance,” Henry says, “I bet you’ll like her.” He takes the pen from my fingers, pulls the scrap paper closer to him, and writes _ _ _ _ _ _/_ _ _ _ _. “Dan Marino,” he says with a smile. “I knew it the second you wrote out the blanks.”
“Bullshit,” I say, and he punches my thigh and we laugh.
“A,” I say, and Henry draws a head. He looks over at Marie.
Staring at him, I call, “Yo, Marie. Come help me figure out Henry’s puzzle.”
•••
After school, JJ and I jump out of my truck and head into Joe’s All-You-Can-Eat Pasta Shack. I don’t know why Joe decided to call his place a shack, considering shacks don’t make anyone think of Italy, but the food is amazing. Before every game, JJ and I come here and load up on carbs for hours. We’ve been doing this for just about forever. Not only does this give us the opportunity to de-stress, but we get to eat tons of food while talking strategy.
I grab our usual spot, and JJ squeezes into the other side of the booth. I have to pull the table back toward me so he’ll fit comfortably. Joe comes over and we order water and our first plates of spaghetti.
“So,” I say to JJ, “ready for tomorrow?”
“Yeah—nothing to worry about. It’s just Lynchburg,” JJ replies, taking a sip of water. He pulls a pen and a book of crossword puzzles out of his bag. He clicks the pen and shuff les through the book. This is how he de-stresses. “You worried at all?” he asks.
“Hells no, I’m not worried about Lynchburg.”
“Worried about anything else?” He glances up from his book and looks at my face, then down at my shirt. Why in the hell did I wear this fitted tee?
I shake my head and drink some water. Then I start playing with the salt and pepper shakers. I do that game where you put one shaker on top of the other, then pull the bottom shaker out quickly so the top one falls straight down onto the table. But you can’t let it fall over. Or you lose.
“You sure, Woods? I hope you’re not upset about Ty Green. I can’t believe Coach let him on the team.” JJ clenches his fists and starts clicking the pen repeatedly.
“It’s not a big deal. I’m not sure what the story is, but apparently Ty just had to move here with his family and didn’t have a choice. I think he just wants to play ball.” I cough, then take another sip of water, which I proceed to choke on. I hit myself in the chest with my fist.
JJ focuses on his crossword puzzle. “Let me know if he’s
a problem.”
Hiding behind my glass of water, I smile. How does he keep his “love” life with Lacey separate from ball? Maybe it’s different for him since he’s a guy.
But I’m practically a guy. I mean, except for these fucking hormones that make me want to jump Ty and Justin Timberlake. I don’t obsess over things that other girls care about, like clothes, movie stars, hair, painting nails, knitting, or whatever shit they’re into.
I just want to eat a bunch of hot wings, sleep, play ball, and maybe, someday, make out with Ty.
“JJ? Um, how do you feel about Lacey? Like, do you love her…or anything like that?”
JJ drops the pen on the table and looks up at me. He narrows his eyes. “Why? Has she been asking about me or something?”
“Yeah, once…but I don’t really care what she feels about you, I’m more wondering what you think of her?”
“She’s a good lay,” he says, picking his pen back up. He chews on the end of it and focuses on his book. “What’s a four-letter word for a past Russian leader?”
“How the hell should I know, man? Anyhow…how do you manage to keep your, uh, thoughts of Lacey separate from football?”
“Look, Woods, I hate talking about this shit, but if you must know, I don’t really think about it. I enjoy sleeping with her and that’s all. It helps me relax, which helps me play football better.”
I chew on my lip. A “stress reliever” is the last thing I want to be. Is Ty the kind of guy who would only care if I’m a good lay?
Are these the kinds of things cheerleaders discuss at slumber parties?
JJ continues, “Now shut up about Lacey and feelings and shit and tell me the capital of Yemen. Five letters.”
•••
Last year, in biology, we dissected frogs, and when I cut the frog’s stomach open, it was just full of f lies. The teacher said he’d never seen a frog with such a full stomach. If some higher being were to dissect me right now, I can’t imagine how grossed out he’d be by the inside of my stomach. I’m stuffed with spaghetti. Now I’m super-glad I didn’t invite Ty to Joe’s All-You-Can-Eat Pasta Shack, because he’d probably never want to look at me again. I’m a blimp.
Opening the back door, I walk into my kitchen and hear Mike and Dad yelling. The noise is coming from the dining room so I jog in there to find Henry arm-wrestling with Jake Reynolds. Both of their faces are red and Jake is clenching his teeth.
“How long has this been going on?” I whisper to Mike.
“Forty seconds!”
I gasp. It’s not every day a high school senior holds his own against a sure-to-be-first-round draft pick. Henry glances up at me, so I yell, “Go, Henry! Kick this pretty boy’s ass!” Smiling, Henry bites into his bottom lip and starts to force Jake’s arm down. Jake seems to grip Henry’s hand harder. With one swift movement, Henry slams Jake’s hand down to the table.
“Good God!” Dad says.
“Holy shit!” Mike exclaims, whacking Henry on the back.
Jake’s face is all puffy. “Damn it,” he mutters.
Dad squeezes Henry’s shoulder. “I can tell how hard you’ve been working out, Sam. Keep it up, and you’ll get into a great college program. I’m really proud of you.”
Henry’s eyes find mine, and he doesn’t look away.
My dad is such an asshole. The great Donovan Woods would never stoop so low as to compliment his own daughter—a daughter who has just as much of a chance at getting into a great program as Henry.
•••
A few minutes later, Dad takes Henry, Mike, and Jake out into the backyard to throw a ball around for awhile. When I start to head outside with them, Dad tells me to help Mom with dinner. What a sexist pig. I carry the lasagna to the table, I carry the bread to the table, I carry the water pitcher to the table. I’m tempted to spit on my dad’s plate, but decide to act mature, unlike the great Donovan Woods. I’m slamming plates and glasses on the table when Henry comes up and shakes my shoulders.
“You’d suck as a waitress, Woods.”
“Maybe you should tell Dad that.” I drop a fork onto a plate, causing a clanking sound.
“Tell me what?” Dad says as he walks into the dining room. He sees Henry standing there with his hands on my shoulders, and instead of acting all pissy, Dad actually smiles at us.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. I wiggle away from Henry, shrugging him off me. I finish setting the table, taking care to put all the forks and knives in the wrong places. And even though I just ate about a hundred pounds of spaghetti, I start shoveling lasagna onto my plate. Henry sits down next to me, and Jake takes a spot across the table. There’s a mad scramble for garlic bread, but I manage to come out victorious with five pieces. I’m not hungry; I just don’t want my family to think I’m getting soft.
Mike frowns at me because he’s only managed to wrangle three pieces. Since I’m still stuffed from Joe’s All-You-Can-Eat Pasta Shack, I donate two pieces of garlic bread to Mike’s stomach.
“So,” Dad says, looking from Henry to me as he pulls a piece of bread apart. “How’s school?”
“Good,” Henry replies. “Jordan and I are rebuilding a school bus engine in auto mechanics this semester.”
Dad smiles at me. “How’s that going?”
“Okay so far,” I say, sipping lemonade. “Once we’ve rebuilt it, our class is gonna put it in an old broken-down bus we’re refurbishing.”
“What are you gonna do with the bus?” Dad asks.
Henry sets his fork down and wipes his mouth. “Jordan suggested we donate it to the Haskell Youth Center. You know, the orphanage? The kids like coming to watch our games, but they don’t have an easy way to get to them.”
Dad says, “I think it’s a great idea. When do you think it’ll be ready?”
“Definitely by the end of the semester, so we’ll give it to them for next year,” Henry replies.
I add, “We’re missing a few parts, but we’ll take a look through Murphy’s Junkyard next week.”
“Let me know if I can help,” Dad says before drinking more Gatorade. “Some guys on my team might want to donate money for parts. Hell, I bet they’d buy them a bus.”
“Thanks, Mr. Woods,” Henry says. “If we screw it up, we’ll definitely take you up on the offer.”
“But we won’t screw up,” I say. Henry and I grin at one another.
For a few seconds, I only hear forks and knives clinking against plates, but then, as usual, Dad speaks up—silence makes him uncomfortable or something.
“You look nice today, Jordan.”
How lame. He wants to fill the lull by discussing my fashion choices? We’d have a lot more to talk about if he’d just discuss ball with me. Like that’ll ever happen.
So I ignore Dad and crunch on my salad. Sipping my lemonade, I look up and see that Jake’s staring at my chest.
“Yeah—you look nice,” Jake says. Beneath the table, I kick him in the knee. Hard. His eyes clench shut and he coughs. I grin.
“I think we all agree that you look nice,” Dad says, taking another bite of lasagna. “I’m glad you’re starting to act like a lady.”
I drop my fork onto my plate. “Just out of clean T-shirts, Dad,” I say. “Mom? May I be excused? I ate too much at Joe’s today.”
Mom nods and reaches out for me, so I walk over and bend down so she can kiss my cheek.
After taking my plate to the kitchen sink, I run up to my room. I’ve gotta get rid of this stress, or I’ll be a wreck at tomorrow night’s game, so I pull on workout clothes and trainers.
Outside, I run up and down the little country roads near my house. The streets haven’t been paved in forever, so it takes a lot of concentration to make sure I don’t trip on bumps or fall in holes and hurt myself. As I run, I let daydreams of playing for Alabama totally absorb the part of my brain that isn’t focused on running.
I pretend I’m carrying the ball for a touchdown. I dart left, then right, dodging an imaginary cornerback, and run even faster.
Then I hear footsteps behind me, so I peek over my shoulder and see Henry trying to catch up to me. His curls are bouncing all over the place. “Woods,” he calls out. “Your dad was all trying to talk about college with me, and I told him to shove it!”
Laughing, I speed up. Soon I’m sprinting as fast as I can go, but Henry catches up anyway. He’s so damned fast. He might as well be Forrest Gump. Passing by me, Henry runs to the end of the block, where he turns around and does this stupid victory dance. It looks like he’s roping a bull at a rodeo.
I’m still running at full speed, so I crash into him, catapulting him into a ditch. “Show off!”
“Shit!” he shouts, laughing as he picks himself up. He wipes grass and dirt off his shirt and dusts his hands.
“How did Dad react when you told him to shove it?”
“He laughed in my face.”
“That sucks.”
“I don’t care,” he says, looking into my eyes.
“Why’d you say that anyway?”
“If he’s not going to support you, then there’s no way in hell I’d ever let him support me.”
I smile at Henry. My best friend believes in me. What else does a girl need?
Still, I should be happy for him, because Dad’s comments about football must mean a whole hell of a lot to Henry, whose own dad is never home and never talks to him about his future. Henry’s father probably expects him to become some kind of a bum, working in a factory, or hell, driving a truck too.
“I can’t believe you destroyed Jake at arm-wrestling,” I say.
Henry grins. “Yeah, I’ll never forget that.”
I take a deep breath. “I was thinking. Maybe you should talk to Dad about Michigan. Maybe you could ask him to come watch you at one of our games. He might be able to help.”
Henry’s eyes find mine, but he stays quiet.
“Want to race back?” he asks finally.
“Does the winner get the necklace?” I put my hand on the plastic football charm hanging from a cheap silver chain that Henry always wears.
“Hell, no,” he says, fingering the Cracker Jack prize we’ve been fighting over since we were nine. I’ll never forget how we were sitting out in Henry’s front yard playing rock, paper, scissors while eating a big box of Cracker Jacks. I pulled the prize out, and we both desperately wanted it. Since we were at Henry’s house and they were his Cracker Jacks, he thought he deserved the plastic football. But since I’m the one who pulled the football out of the box, I thought it should be mine.
So we rock, paper, scissors-ed for it. I made scissors with my hand. He made rock.
He’s worn the charm around his neck ever since.
“How about we race for an ice cream?” Henry says. “First person back has to make the other a hot fudge sundae.”
I sprint off, passing a tractor chugging down the road. I yell, “You’re on!”
The sun starts to set, and we race into the pink-lemonade sky.
pep
I understand the importance of pep rallies.
The cheerleaders can show off, doing tricks
and the guys can strut around acting all big and badass.
For me, the important thing is that I get out of class for an hour this afternoon.
Coach introduces all the players, starting with me.
The school goes wild when I wave.
But the applause I get
is totally lame compared to what Henry gets.
He does some of his stupid dances
and all the girls swoon and say, “Aww” and “He’s so cute.”
But the applause Henry gets
is totally lame compared to what Ty gets.
He does his signature smirk
and all the girls swoon and say, “He’s so hot.”
So I’m even happier when Ty jogs over to me
knocks his fist into mine and pats my shoulder.
I’m never washing my jersey again.
***
Can’t wait for the next post to read more? Purchase the complete story in paperback or ebook at Amazon.com, Barnes&Noble.com, indiebound.org, iBooks or Sourcebooks.com.