FROM: Tucker, Mark (Athletics, University of Alabama)
TO: Woods, Jordan
DATE: Monday, August 30, 12:46 p.m.
SUBJECT: Opportunity
Dear Jordan:
We are so pleased you are considering joining our athletic community at the University of Alabama. Coffee Calendars, a company affiliated with our booster program, produces an athletic calendar that our boosters sell every year. While a certain portion of the proceeds go to support our sports programs, most of the proceeds go to charity.
Coffee Calendars is in the process of taking photographs for next year’s calendar, and our boosters would like you to consider posing for the September picture. Members of the volleyball, softball, and swim teams have agreed to be featured.
If you plan to join our program, which we most sincerely hope you do, we’d like to schedule a photo shoot before your home game this Friday evening. Production schedules require us to begin this process as soon as possible.
Please let me know if you’re available for a photo session.
Yours truly,
Mark Tucker
Director of Athletics
#
jerry rice
the count? 15 days until alabama
Monday at school. Last class of the day, home ec.
Along with music appreciation and auto mechanics, this is another one of the stupid, easy classes Henry and I are taking together.
“Okay, everyone,” Ms. Bonner says, “Pair off into groups of two—husbands and wives.”
Henry’s the only guy in the class, so all the girls automatically turn to him. He puffs out his chest and grins broadly, looking around the room at all the girls he has to choose from. A sophomore sitting in front of us gives him a little wave and a smile.
Henry raises his hand. “Ms. Bonner?”
“Yes, Sam?” the teacher says with a sigh. She taps a forefinger on a textbook.
After slipping a pencil behind his ear, Henry folds his hands in front of him and gets this extremely serious look on his face like he’s about to negotiate a peace treaty. “Before we can choose partners, I think we need a few more details on what we’re going to be doing in these husband-wife pairs. Is, um…” Henry lowers his voice to a mere whisper, “…sex involved?”
All the other girls start giggling as Ms. Bonner shakes her head. “No, Sam. Sex is not involved.”
“Then I don’t understand how we can be husband-wife pairs,” he exclaims. “That’s what husbands and wives do.”
The girls giggle even more.
“We’re just going to be pretending,” Ms. Bonner says. “Now, everyone, find partners.”
The smiling, waving sophomore comes slinking up and touches Henry’s arm. “Want to be partners, Sam?”
“Nope, sorry,” he says. “I’m already married to Woods.”
The sophomore glares at me. What the hell is her problem? Like Henry and I would commit to doing a school project with someone else in this class. Honestly.
“Okay,” Ms. Bonner says, going to a closet at the back of the room, “Now that we all have partners, all husbands should come pick up their projects.”
Pick up our project? Shrugging, I stand up and stretch my arms. Henry also stands. “No way, dude,” I say. “I’m the man in this relationship.”
“Oh yeah, absolutely,” he says, grinning. He sits back down as I walk to the closet to see this project, which turns out to be one of those fake electronic babies. Oh good God. Ms. Bonner hands me a fake baby boy. The doll has these creepy glass eyes that look like they’re staring straight into my soul. I hold the doll out in front of me like it’s a f laming bag of poo and carry it back to Henry.
“Congratulations, Mommy,” I say, dropping the doll into his hands. “You could’ve told me I knocked you up.”
“My bad. I thought you’d force me to get an abortion,” Henry replies, taking the baby and cradling it as if it’s real. “He has your eyes, Woods.”
“And your hair.” The doll is bald. “Can we name him Joe Montana?”
“Hells no, his name is Jerry Rice.”
“No, his name is Joe Montana.”
“I was in labor with him for fourteen hours!” Henry exclaims as he rocks the baby back and forth. “His name is Jerry Rice.”
I grin. “Fine.”
Then the teacher gives us all this shit, like blankies and strollers and toys and other things that babies need. First, Ms. Bonner says we have to carry this crap around all week! But then she explains the real assignment. Apparently these babies have computer chips that make them cry at random times, and it’s up to us to feed them and change their diapers. Feeding them involves putting a metal rod in their fake mouths, which shuts off the crying. If we take out the metal rod before the fake baby is done eating, it will start crying again. We have to keep our babies happy and alive until Friday—for five entire days! So even if the baby cries in the middle of the night, we have to get up and feed the baby or change it. And cheating isn’t an option, because the memory chip inside the baby takes readings that the teacher will check at the end of the week.
This assignment is so stupid. Like I’m ever going to have children. Like I’m ever going to get laid. I bet I could get my chiropractor to write a note saying the electronic pulses from these babies have been known to cause cancer, which would eat away at my bones, which would make me useless on the football field. Wait…
“But Ms. Bonner,” I call out, “What are Henry and I supposed to do during football practice?”
Henry puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, dear. That’s what grandparents and the junior varsity players are for.”
Ms. Bonner throws her hands up in the air. Lucky for her, the bell rings. Henry spends an inordinate amount of time getting Jerry Rice situated in our stroller. Then we leave the room, carrying our diaper bags down the hall toward the locker rooms. On the way, we run into Carter and JJ, who both just about die laughing.
“Shut up!” Henry says, “You’re going to wake up Jerry Rice.”
“Jerry Rice?” Carter says, covering his mouth with a hand. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Carter laugh so hard.
“Carter, would you like to be the godfather?” Henry asks. “You know, in case anything happens to me and Woods this week?”
“Charming,” Carter says. “I’d be honored. Does JJ get to be godmother?”
“Obviously,” I say.
“Can I hold Jerry Rice?” JJ asks. “He’s so cute.”
“No way, man,” I reply. “I don’t want to wake that thing up before practice. We’ll be late if we have to feed it.”
“What does it eat?” Carter asks.
“I have to breast-feed, ’cause I’m the mom,” Henry says, continuing to push the stroller toward the locker room.
“Actually,” I say, “It eats a metal rod, made out of, like, lead. So basically, we’re learning how to poison babies.”
“Radical,” JJ says as we approach the gym, where we find Ty standing with Kristen, talking and leaning against the wall. When Ty sees me, he pushes away from the wall and comes over, leaving Kristen standing alone. What were they talking about? God, why didn’t I just kiss him yesterday? Then I wouldn’t have to worry about why he was talking to the f loozy that is Kristen Markum.
“Yo, guys,” Ty says, peering down into the stroller. “What the hell is that thing? Satan’s spawn?”
“You’d better watch it!” Henry says. He puts on a serious face, throws an arm around my shoulders, and pulls me in close. “That’s our child you’re talking about.”
Ty smiles, then looks at Jerry Rice. “Its eyes are seriously creeping me out. And I knew something was going on between you two.”
“You’re right,” Henry says. “Woods is my husband, and I’m her wife.”
Carter and JJ start laughing again, and then walk off through the gym to the locker room, leaving just me, Ty, Henry, and Jerry Rice. Oh, and the awful Kristen Markum, who barely qualifies as a human being.
“Woods? Do you have a sec?” Ty asks.
“Sure.”
“Alone?” Ty eyes Henry and Jerry Rice, and I jerk my head at Henry.
“Fine,” Henry says, rolling his eyes. “Divorce me if you must, Woods. I can’t believe I’ve only been married half an hour and I’m already a single parent.” Ty holds the door to the gym open so Henry can get the stroller through. I giggle at the sight of him carrying those diaper bags across the gym. Kristen is still standing there glaring at me with crossed arms, looking mega-jealous.
“Kristen—I’ll talk to you later,” Ty says, brushing his hair off his forehead. “Woods and I need to talk football.”
“Oh, okay,” she says, suddenly smiling and bobbing up and down on her toes. “Bye, Ty!” She gives him a hug and takes off down the hallway.
Trying not to barf, I ask, “What’s up?”
“I’m so sorry about yesterday…how I just slammed the door of your truck and all. And I didn’t even thank you for taking me to the game. It was one of the best days of my life.”
Stuffing my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, I nod a single nod. “No prob. Ready for practice?”
“Almost,” he says, putting a hand up to my shoulder, stopping me. Is he going to try to kiss me again? “Um, are you and Henry, um…you know.”
“Are we what?”
“You know, together?”
“Of course not. We’ve been best friends for, like, ten years.”
“Oh…got it. Sometimes it just seems like you’re more.”
“Would it be bad if Henry and I were more?”
He brushes his hair away again, then rubs his neck. Motioning for me to follow him into the gym, he takes off toward the left, toward the guys’ locker room, and I move right, toward the girls’. He calls out, “Yeah, it would be very bad.”
•••
After throwing on all my pads, practice uniform, and cleats, I grab my helmet and jog out to the field, looking for Henry and our fake baby, Jerry Rice. I spot Henry up in the stands, talking to Mom. He’s holding the fake baby out to her. She starts laughing and takes the doll from his hands and holds it by an arm. I see him waving his arms at her, as if he’s freaking out over how she’s holding the fake baby. He takes the baby back from her and then motions for her to make a cradle with her arms. She laughs again, then makes a fake cradle, and Henry sets the doll down in her arms. She shakes her head.
As idiotic as this assignment is, I can’t help but smile at their exchange. Henry is the funniest guy I know, the funniest person I’ve ever met. Only he would pretend to take this assignment so seriously. I jog up into the metal bleachers, taking two steps at a time until I reach Mom and Henry.
“Why, Jordan, you didn’t tell me I was going to be a grandmother,” Mom says, f lashing a smile at Henry.
“I didn’t know either,” I say. “Henry hid the pregnancy from me. Do you mind watching that creepy thing during practice, Mom?”
Henry grabs his chest. “That creepy thing is our son, Woods.”
“I don’t mind,” Mom says. She nods at something over my shoulder. “Looks like Coach Miller wants you two down there.”
“Thanks, Mom!” Henry says. It seems that Jerry Rice has put Henry back in a good mood again. He throws an arm around me as we walk back toward the field. “So, what did Ty want?”
“To thank me for taking him to the game yesterday.”
“That’s it?” he whispers.
“No…”
“I’m your wife, you can talk to me, Woods.”
“Yesterday, when I dropped him off at home, he, like, um, leaned in for a kiss?”
“And?”
“So, I, uh, told him I had to go.”
“You didn’t kiss?”
“Nope.”
Henry grabs my elbow, stopping us from going farther. “Why’d you do that? Don’t you like him?”
“Yeah…I was scared, I guess. I dunno.” I stare down at a piece of gum that’s melted onto the metal bleachers.
“De-nied,” Henry says. “God, I can’t even imagine leaning in for a kiss and getting rejected. Ty must feel like shit today.”
Shrugging, I grunt.
“So did he try to kiss you again just now? Or talk to you about the non-kiss?”
“No—he wanted to know if we’re together,” I say, laughing loudly and using my thumb to point from Henry back to me.
“You and me?”
“Yeah, he wanted to know if you and I are dating. I told him we’re best friends.”
“Yeah, he definitely wants you.”
I glance at Henry sideways. His face is blank, like no smile or anything. “You think?” I whisper.
“I know.”
Henry looks from my face back to the field, and his eyes pop open wide. I turn to see why he’s gaping: JJ and Carter are messing around, trying to shove a scrawny wide receiver into Jerry Rice’s stroller.
“JJ!” Henry yells, “You can’t fit a freshman in that stroller.”
•••
Later that night, after a couple hours at the batting cages with Carter and JJ, Henry and I are in my basement having a mad foosball tournament. It’s best three out of five games. I’ve won two; he’s won one. In the current game, game four, I’m kicking his ass. Jerry Rice, with his creepy eyes wide open, is sleeping quietly in his stroller. Monday Night Football is blaring on the big-screen television in the corner. We’re watching the Jets/Dolphins game and rooting for the Dolphins, of course.
“Can I stay over tonight?” Henry asks. Light from the television bathes his blond curls, making them shimmer.
“Course.”
“I figure it’ll be easier for us to take care of Jerry Rice that way,” he says. “We can alternate the middle of the night feedings.” He twirls the bar, hitting the tiny white ball into my goal.
“Why are you taking this so seriously? We could leave Jerry Rice in my truck overnight so we wouldn’t have to hear him cry.”
“I want a good grade.”
“You did totally botch that corn bread assignment.” I hit the ball toward Henry’s goal, and his little wooden goalie blocks it. “I can’t believe you got an F in corn bread.”
“Most people can make it through life without having to be good at making corn bread. Being a parent is different.”
“Yeah,” I say, knowing how much my dad can suck sometimes. Henry and I are both lucky to have such great moms. At least Henry’s dad isn’t an asshole—he’s just never home. Like my dad, Mr. Henry hasn’t been to one of our football games in forever.
I slam the ball into Henry’s goal, winning the game. I throw my hands above my head and strut around the room, victorious. Cupping my hands around my mouth, I make fake crowd noises. “And Woods wins it all!”
“Quiet! You’re going to wake the baby,” Henry says with a laugh. He f lops down on one of the leather sofas and picks up his glass of lemonade. I pour myself another glass, then grab a few chocolate-chip cookies, sit down, and prop myself up against him. He wraps an arm around me, leans over, and grabs a cookie from my hand with his teeth.
“Thief!”
“Pig!”
•••
The middle of the night rolls around, and Jerry Rice is screaming. Henry’s bare feet are in my face, so I knock them out of the way as I sit up. Jumping out of bed, I grab the stupid doll from its stroller and force the lead rod into its mouth. Then I plop back down on the bed. It turns out that you can’t just leave the key in its mouth. You have to, like, hold the fake baby at the same time or it will keep crying.
I sit back against my headboard and hold the doll in my arms. If I didn’t have the fake baby right now, I’d totally be writing in my journal about Henry.
He’s fast asleep, curled up at the other end of my bed, looking peaceful. The expression on his face says he’s not really sad, and he’s not overcompensating for his sadness by acting all crazy or silly, he’s just…content. And that makes me glad, because more than anything else, I want him to be happy. Part of me doesn’t even want him to wake up, because I know he’ll eventually go back to being depressed about Carrie, or whatever the hell he’s depressed about. If only he’d talk to me…maybe I could help.
My head droops down, and I accidentally drop the metal rod and Jerry Rice starts crying again. Henry stirs. Sitting up, the bedcovers fall down to reveal the plastic football charm and his six-pack.
Is Ty’s body that perfect? I wonder how many times Kristen has already seen his abs…
“What’s up, Woods?” Henry says, rubbing his eyes with fists.
“I dropped the metal rod, that’s all.” I cradle the stupid doll again.
Henry crawls up and throws an arm around me, pulling me in tight. Closing my eyes as I lean against his shoulder, it occurs to me that Henry is going to be a great dad one day. Not unsupportive like my dad or nonexistent like his.
Just a really great dad.
#
opportunity
the count? 12 days until alabama
It’s Thursday, and as is tradition, JJ and I are sitting at Joe’s All-You-Can-Eat Pasta Shack. I’m playing the salt-and-pepper-shaker game and JJ is scribbling in his crossword-puzzle book.
“I can’t believe you’re already doing a photo shoot for Alabama,” JJ says. “Crazy.”
“I know, right?”
“I’m proud of you, Woods.”
“Thanks, man.”
JJ jots on the puzzle and asks, “Ready for the game?”
I shrug, yawning. “I’m tired from dealing with stupid Jerry Rice all week.”
“Where is that baby of yours?” JJ asks, looking under the table, as if I’d actually put a baby down there.
“He’s with his mother, who’s probably sleeping with Marie Baird right now.” I roll my eyes as I stack the pepper on top of the salt.
“She’s a damn nice piece of ass.”
“Don’t be such a pig, JJ.” I pull salt out from under pepper, which falls to the table perfectly.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, before burying his nose in the crossword puzzle again.
I’m so sick of Henry’s mood swings and his sleeping around, but I won’t mention that to JJ. Two nights this week, Henry showed up at my house past midnight and crawled into my bed. I told him that I’ll kick his ass if we play like shit tomorrow night, because I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in over a week, thanks to Jerry Rice’s constant crying and my being stressed out by both Ty and Henry.
It’s like JJ knows what I’m thinking, because he looks up from his crossword-puzzle book, smiles wickedly, and says, “You hooking up with Ty Green yet?”
Stacking pepper on top of salt, I shake my head. “Nah.”
JJ furrows his eyebrows. “Well, why the hell not? I thought you guys were gonna start going at it in the owner’s box on Sunday. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”
Shit. It was that obvious?
Honestly, I’ve been avoiding Ty since Monday, and he’s backed off. Hasn’t approached me in days, which is kinda good, but kinda sucks ass at the same time.
I sit up straight and say, “Ty’s already hooked up with Kristen, and he can get whatever he wants from 99.9 percent of the girls at school.”
“So?”
“So why should I be any different? I don’t wanna be another random girl to him.”
“What’s wrong with just fooling around?”
“First of all, we’re on the same team, and second, unlike you and Henry, I’m not a man-whore and wouldn’t want to be a one-night stand.”
“Then I’ll kick his ass if he does that to you,” JJ growls, clutching his pen.
“I know, I know,” I say, putting my hands up in the air as if I’m being arrested. “Look, I’m just going to focus on playing ball. Okay?”
“Whatever you want, Woods…” JJ grins slightly and shakes his head.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Getting a college scholarship should be my number one priority, not hooking up.”
JJ keeps smiling at his crossword book, obviously trying not to laugh at me. “What’s a four-letter word for a soothing plant?”
Shrugging, I say, “I dunno…weed?”
He points the pen at me. “Right on.”
•••
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, staring at myself in the mirror.
One of the Coffee Calendar makeup artists has completely straightened my hair—it falls down my back like a stream of water from a faucet. And now the lady’s dabbing foundation all over my face. Another woman brushes some pink shit onto my lips.
“Perfectly sure,” the woman replies. “You look great.”
“What does it matter? Aren’t you taking a picture of me wearing a helmet?”
“Not exactly.” She passes me an oversized Alabama jersey and a pair of short shorts. “Wear these.”
I burst out laughing. “You must be joking.”
The woman purses her lips at me, obviously getting sick of dealing with a girl who doesn’t want to play dress-up. Or in the case of these clothes, dressing down, meaning barely wearing anything.
But if this is what the Alabama athletic director wants, this is what he’ll get.
I walk into the bathroom and put on the jersey and short shorts, and then walk back out into the locker room, where I find Carrie and Marie.
They both take a step back when they see me.
“Wow, Jordan,” Carrie says. “Your face looks really pretty.”
“What are you wearing?” Marie asks, staring at my thighs.
I shrug, feeling my face burn. I close my eyes and somehow resist the urge to pull my hair back up into a ponytail and wipe all this crap off my face.
“You’re wearing that for your picture?” Marie exclaims.
I nod slowly.
“This is seriously messed up,” Marie says, shaking her head. “It doesn’t even look like you’re wearing pants.”
The Coffee Calendar people motion for me to follow them outside, and I dart after them, happy to get this over with. When I peer over my shoulder at Carrie and Marie, to make sure they aren’t teasing me, I find them looking concerned and sad.
We walk out onto the field, where a camera is set up next to a goal post.
I hear whistling, so I jerk around to find its source and see some of my teammates coming out of the guys’ locker room. I spot Ty looking at my legs.
“You look smoking hot, Woods!” a junior varsity guy shouts, and then another JV guy echoes that horrific sentiment before Carter and JJ step in front of them. Then the whistling stops.
My face must match our Red Raiders jerseys.
Henry jogs over to me and pulls me aside. “What the hell are you doing?” He stares down at my legs and back up at my face and hair.
“I have to do it, ’cause Alabama wants me to.”
“You don’t have to do anything,” Henry replies. “You’re a killer player. You shouldn’t have to demean yourself for them.”
“I’m not! I’m happy to do this for my future team.”
Henry nods slowly and pats my shoulder. “Okay…”
He looks kinda down, so I say, “You look taller without a Baby Björn strapped to your chest, you know.”
“I’m gonna miss that Jerry Rice. He made me into a chick magnet,” Henry says, grinning. “And Ms. Bonner told me that you and I made the highest grade in the whole class. We were excellent parents.” He nods seriously, and I shove his chest, shaking my head and laughing.
“Picture time,” I say, nodding my head at the photographer.
He starts to walk back to the team, but then turns and says, “Your hair looks great.”
I smile at him.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say to the photographer. I pick up a football and hurl it fifty yards downfield so he can get a great shot of my wind-up.
“No, no,” the photographer replies. “Put one hand on your waist, and hold a football with the other.”
I do what he says, and the catcalls start again.
“Sexy!”
“I want a piece of that!”
I clutch the ball as hard as I can and look down at my sneakers, trying to think of something happy to get my mind off the most mortifying experience ever. I’ll do whatever I have to do to play ball for Alabama…but this feels so wrong.
I can’t believe the guys are still whistling and disrespecting me like this.
But when I glance over at the team, I find JJ has taken his jersey off and is modeling for the guys. His extra weight f lops around as he struts up and down the sideline with his jersey thrown over his shoulder.
I breathe deeply, so incredibly relieved that my team wasn’t making fun of me after all.
I crack up when JJ calls out, “I’m ready for my photo op, Jordan!”
#
game #2
Hundred Oaks High versus Stones River High, our main rival.
Final Score?
24–21 Hundred Oaks.
I threw three great passes
and Henry scored three great touchdowns.
Ty didn’t get to play at all,
which made me feel horrible.
I seriously considered asking Coach to put him in for the second half
but my pride won the internal battle over my pity and guilt.
Michigan was a no-show
Henry yanked his hair.
Ohio State was a no-show
Carter acted relieved…?
The great Donovan Woods was a no-show
I threw my helmet at my locker.
#
truth or dare?
the count? 10 days until alabama
“Who the hell invited the cheerleaders?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder into the family room. It’s the Saturday night after our game versus Stones River and my parents are out of town for my dad’s game in Jacksonville on Sunday, so I invited JJ, Carter, and Henry over to hang out, and they freaking showed up with Lacey, Kristen, Marie, Carrie…and Ty.
JJ and Carter stuff their hands in the pockets of their jeans and turn to stare at Henry.
“You guys are such great friends,” Henry says. “I can’t believe you threw me under the bus that is Jordan Woods.”
“Don’t call me a bus! That makes me sound fat.”
“Since when do you care if you’re fat?” Henry asks. He smiles and glances from me to Ty and back to me again. “You know, Woods, I’ll keep saying it until you believe it—you’d like Marie if you’d just give her a chance.”
A little embarrassed at being called out by Henry, I shrug. “Yeah, she does seem pretty cool in music appreciation.”
Henry moves close to my ear and whispers, “Why does it matter if the cheerleaders are here?”
“The giggling gets on my nerves,” I reply, but the truth is, I don’t want Kristen around Ty.
“If I ask them not to giggle, can they stay?”
JJ gives me a pathetic puppy dog face that’s just screaming, “I need to get laid, please let them stay.”
Carter mimics JJ’s “I want to get laid” face even though he’s not dating any of these girls, has never gotten laid, and has never once actually mentioned that he wants to get laid.
Ty looks at me and shrugs.
I don’t want the guys to leave, especially Ty. “Fine. They can stay. But under no circumstances will anyone make out on my bed or touch any of my personal possessions.”
“Shucks,” JJ says. “I only came ’cause I thought I’d get to fool around on your bed.”
“You’re such an ass,” I say, grabbing a soda from the fridge as Carrie comes into the kitchen.
“Jordan,” she says, “Do you have any Tylenol? I’ve got a headache.”
“Sure,” I reply, gesturing for her to follow me upstairs.
“You okay?” Carter asks as he cups her elbow with a hand. “Need a ride home or anything?”
“I’m cool, but thanks,” she says to Carter, grinning as she follows me. As soon as we’re in the bathroom and I’m rooting around in the medicine cabinet, Carrie shuts the door and whispers, “I don’t need any Tylenol.”
“Huh?”
“I just wanted to talk to you alone. What’s going on with Ty?” she squeals.
“Nothing.”
“Jordan, come on. You like him, right?”
I shrug and nod, averting my eyes.
She looks up at me and rubs my forearm. “So what’s wrong?”
Why is everyone so interested in what happens with me and Ty? I feel like I’m on one of those shitty reality shows like The Bachelorette or something. Unknotting my hair, I let it fall down my back. I grab a hairbrush, untangle my hair, and then pull it back up again as I decide what to tell Carrie.
“Uh, he tried to kiss me last week, and I didn’t let him. What if he never tries again?”
Carrie’s kind blue eyes shine as she smiles. “He will.”
“And, um, if he does, what do I do?”
“What do you mean?” Carrie asks, raising an eyebrow.
I purse my lips, incredibly embarrassed at having to ask. “How do I kiss him?”
“Oh.” She pauses. “Well, sit here,” she says, pulling the toilet seat down and patting it, telling me to sit. I take a seat and look up at Carrie. “Pretend I’m Ty…so when he leans in, just sort of wrap your fingers around his neck like this.” She takes my hand and puts it on the back of her neck. Jesus, this must be the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.
She leans in as if she’s going to kiss me. “When his lips touch yours, just start touching him everywhere. His back, his jaw, his neck, his cheeks, his hips. Move your hands slowly, but keep him guessing.”
“Got it,” I say, taking my hand off her neck.
“And then use lots of lip, not so much tongue.” She kisses the back of her hand, demonstrating for me.
“Got it,” I say, but skip the part where I make out with my hand.
“That’s it.”
“That’s it?” I exclaim. It seems so much more complicated on TV.
“Yup, now go get ’em,” she says, sounding just like Coach when he gives us pep talks before games. I’m surprised she doesn’t slap my ass too.
Carrie and I walk back into the family room, where I sit down in my dad’s favorite armchair and pop open my Diet Coke.
“I love your house, Jordan,” Marie says, looking around. “Thanks so much for inviting us.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply.
“I can’t believe I’m getting to see your dad’s Heismans,” she says, gawking at the trophies on the shelf. She walks over and peers up at them. “My dad and brother will be so jealous.”
I raise my eyebrows at Henry, who shrugs and smiles. All right, Marie does seem nice and sweet. Henry sits down on the f loor and pulls her onto his lap. He whispers in her ear and kisses her cheek, and she giggles. He seems happy tonight, so that makes me happy. Carrie smiles at them, but I can tell she’s still hurt. I’m dying to know why they broke up.
JJ sits with Lacey, and Carter sits with Carrie, probably because she’s the only option left besides Kristen, who’s still eyeing Ty with a shitload of interest. When Ty picks a seat, I notice he sits as far away from Kristen as possible, but she crawls over next to him anyway.
With everyone else paired off into couples, I feel like a ninth wheel.
“Who wants a drink?” Lacey asks, pulling these lame piña colada wine coolers out of her bag and passing them out to the other girls.
JJ moves to grab one, but I shake my head at him. I don’t care if my team drinks, but they’re not drinking on my watch.
“Couldn’t you have brought something good?” Carter asks Lacey. “Like a nice Pinot Grigio or a Chianti?”
“I love Pinot Grigio,” Carrie replies.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask Carter. “Chianti? How could that possibly compare with a Slurpee?”
“Hear, hear,” Marie says, and we grin at each other before she takes a sip of her wine cooler. I laugh when she grimaces.
Ty’s leaning up against a leather sofa with Kristen nestled up next to him. She’s beaming, but he’s staring at his fingernails. Then he peers over at me and I turn away as fast as I can and focus on the clown fish in our tank.
JJ and Henry are looking at me with eyes wide open, shaking their heads. Carrie whispers something in Carter’s ear, and he starts nodding and laughing.
“Truth or dare time,” Carrie says. She tucks her hair behind her ears.
“What the hell…” JJ says. “This isn’t seventh grade.”
“I still haven’t recovered from seven minutes in heaven with Woods,” Henry says. He sticks his tongue out and pretends to gag, then smiles.
“What?” Ty blurts, looking from Henry’s face to mine and back again.
“It was awful, man,” Henry says, cracking up. “Woods beat the shit out of me in the closet. She gave me a black eye.”
Ty starts laughing and grins at the carpet.
“Okay, okay,” Lacey says, holding up her hands trying to calm us down. “Carter—truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
Staring at the ceiling, Lacey cocks her head. “I dare you to hump the Heisman Trophy.”
“Sacrilege!” Henry yells.
“That trophy is not on the table!” I say.
“Over my dead body!” JJ exclaims, glaring at Lacey as if she’s just killed Peyton Manning.
“Geez, sorry, guys,” Lacey replies. She scoots away from JJ, putting a good foot between them. “It’s just a trophy.”
“No, it is not just a trophy,” Ty says, glancing up at my face.
“Pick a different dare, honey,” JJ says. Grinning, she unscoots and moves to sit on JJ’s lap. He gives Lacey’s hip a quick squeeze.
Honey?
Obviously he knows he’s not getting any tonight unless he’s nice and supportive, but honestly? So what if her waist is the size of a green bean and her breasts are like cantaloupes? Her brain is the size of an M&M.
“Hump the Heisman Trophy, my ass,” I mutter.
“Okay,” Lacey says, tapping her lip with a finger. “Carter, I dare you to make out with Carrie.”
Carter raises his eyebrows at Henry, who shrugs. This surprises me, because even though he says he’s not upset about Carrie, I totally thought he was depressed because she broke up with him. So why would he be okay with her kissing one of his best friends?
Then Carter turns to face Carrie. She smiles and lets out a short burst of laughter, then leans back on her hands and crosses her ankles in front of her. Carter coughs into a fist and kisses her quickly on the lips. When he pulls away, they smile at each other for a few seconds. It’s actually kind of cute, and I wonder if Ty would smile at me like that after a kiss. If I had just let him kiss me last week, maybe I’d know.
“That wasn’t making out!” Lacey squeals.
“My turn,” Carter says, ignoring Lacey. “JJ—truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“What is your favorite NFL team?”
Lacey snorts. “Oh God.”
JJ strokes his chin and pretends to take a long time choosing an answer. A minute later, he folds his hands. “Uh, I guess I’ll have to go with the Titans.”
Lacey throws a pillow at Carter, who puts his hands up in a gesture that says, “What?”
“Kristen—truth or dare?” JJ asks.
“Dare,” Kristen replies, gazing at Ty.
“I dare you to go in the kitchen and make me a steak and mashed potatoes, woman. Medium-well, please. Steak’s in the freezer!”
Henry dies laughing, rolling over onto the f loor, clutching his stomach.
“Jerks,” Marie and Carrie say, shaking their heads.
“You chauvinist pig,” I say to JJ, who starts laughing just as hard as Henry, which makes me laugh, which makes Ty laugh.
Then he and I stare at each other, laughing.
Kristen clearly sees this and sighs loudly. She glares at me and then stands up, puts her hands on her hips and stalks toward the kitchen. I hear her banging around in there, rattling pans and opening and shutting the fridge.
“Jordan—truth or dare?” Kristen calls out from the kitchen. I hear her slamming a pan down on the stove. Then I hear drawers and cabinets opening and slamming shut.
Truth is always God-awful, but what if she dares me to spend the rest of the night alone in my room, or dares me to leave my own house so she and Ty can be all alone? Shit.
“Dare,” I reply.
Kristen, now wearing an apron, pokes her head back in the family room. “I dare you to jump into the lake.”
I stand up. This dare is a cinch.
“In your underwear,” Kristen adds, pointing at my body with a spatula.
Crap. Which underwear am I wearing? Do they even match my bra? Do they look…gross? I think I’m wearing plain white underwear. God, I don’t want Ty to see me in ugly underwear. I cover my face with my hands. I just need to get this over with, so I sprint out my back door to the dock.
•••
I jump into the freezing water, which reeks of algae and fish. I love it. The cool water lowers my temperature and makes my racing heart slow down.
I look down at my plain white tank and boy shorts, which are sticking to me like a wet paper towel clinging to spilt Coke on a kitchen f loor. Why can’t I just wear pretty underwear like the cheerleaders? It’s not like the team would ever have to know…
I submerge my body in the water up to my neck so no one can see me. Hopefully everyone will take my clothes lying on the docks as proof that I’m in my underwear. A minute goes by, but no one comes out. Then, illuminated by light from my house, darting through the trees, I see him walking toward me. Just him. Just Ty.
“Hey,” he says. “How’s the water?”
“Freezing. Where’s everybody else?”
“I told them that if they want to keep their arms, they wouldn’t come out here.”
I laugh. “You told them you’d pull their arms from their sockets?”
He grins. “Yup.”
“And how do you, Mr. Measly Quarterback, expect to do anything to JJ?”
“I imagine I could do some damage if I were mad enough.”
I chuckle. “Keep telling yourself that. Thanks for scaring them off. Turn around so I can get out and get dressed.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” He stares straight into my eyes. “I didn’t scare them off for you. I did it for me. I’m coming in with you.”
***
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.