Hey, all. I meant to upload this last Friday oops but I've been sick and basically just slept and attempted homework all weekend blah. I didn't write at all which is incredibly disappointing and not good, but yeah. Ummm hope you like this chapter, please comment and let me know what you think! I love reading you guys' thoughts.
Gracias!! <3 vb123321
Chapter Nine
As expected, most people already knew that Kasey had agreed to go out with me, and though we weren't officially a couple, it didn't stop all her giggly friends from whispering to each other whenever I walked by them in the hall. It was kind of annoying, mostly because Ray busted up laughing every time, but it was worth it.
Gone was the aloof girl from the summer, who had let me kiss her at Six Flags in June and then barely deigned to talk to me for two months. I figured she had just been teasing me because now she was completely fine with holding my hand in the hallways and texting late at night and sneaking in a kiss at her locker between classes.
I practically floated with triumph; there were plenty of other guys in the school who were jealous, regardless of their age, and I knew it. Quite a few girls seemed a little upset, too, especially those I'd previously dated in an effort to make Kasey jealous. Now that I had her by my side, they didn't matter.
Between my soccer and her volleyball, I didn't see when we were going to find time to hang out, but we saw each other enough in school, even though we only had two classes together. She and a couple of her ditzy friends joined my lunch table, which was okay with the other guys; it wasn't every day hot girls wanted to sit with us.
By some luck, she sat right next to me in the back of the classroom in literature.
"Do you like this one?" she asked for the tenth time that second week of school, holding out her phone for me to inspect another glittery pink dress. Though homecoming was still a few weeks away, it was all girls ever talked about. I knew I was supposed to ask her to go with me at some point, but first I needed Mal's help to come up with a creative idea.
"You'd look hot in it," I agreed, though in truth she could show me an empty potato sack and I'd say she would look hot in it. And she probably would, too.
Her lips pouted. "Mm, I don't know...I need something better. My mom said she'd take me shopping Saturday, though she thinks we're only going to spend, like, a hundred dollars or something. Please."
"Uh huh..."
Sometimes it was hard to concentrate on what she was saying and not on the gleam of her hair or her smooth skin or her soft pink lips.
And then Mrs. Jenkins said something like, "Danny, can you tell me who is the most famous Anglo-Saxon hero?" and I realized Kasey made it pretty hard to pay attention to the lit book open in front of me, too. When I plucked someone from a Disney movie as an answer — "Um, that king in The Sword and the Stone?" — my teacher wasn't exactly thrilled.
"You're extending into the Medieval period, Danny. Maybe you should try looking at your book for help?"
The problem with teachers was that they didn't really understand that a gorgeous blonde girl was always so much more interesting to look at than some epic written hundred of years ago.
Thursday afternoon, the day before our first league game, my team was sprawled across the floor in the hall outside of the locker room, which was varsity soccer territory. Practice didn't start until 3:30, so we usually spent the spare half hour goofing off and talking and occasionally doing homework.
"Cruz, I need you to do my Spanish homework," said Joey, sliding across the floor to where Ray and I sat. He held out his notebook with a pleading look. "The subjunctive is impossible, and she thinks this is supposed to be review!"
"Sorry," I said, holding up my hand to stop him, "but he's already doing mine."
"That's right, use the Mexican kid," Ray grumbled, biting the eraser on his pencil as he read through my work. He refused to do my homework, but I could usually get him to check it for me. "Danny, I don't get how you're good at stuff like math and then you suck so bad at Spanish. I mean, obviously this is indicative, and I don't even know grammar."
I shrugged this off, pulling an apple out of my lunchbox. "That's why I've got you, bud. Thanks a bunch."
As Joey tried to copy off my work over Ray's shoulder, I munched the apple and dug through my bag for my socks. The game schedule fell out as I located my socks, and I paused to look at the list of opportunity, feeling a small flutter in my stomach as I looked at finals. First Saturday of November. So much time — but I knew it'd come fast.
This year I was going to be ready.
Stuffing the paper into the side of my bag, I put the apple between my teeth and tugged on my socks. Ray dropped my notebook next to me, saying, "It looks good, bro. You're welcome, again," and I grinned at him around the apple as I put it in my backpack. Rolling his eyes, he sprang to his feet and waded through the sea of bags to the bathroom.
Kneeling by my duffel, I pulled my shirt over my head and rifled through my bag for another. I got to my feet, finishing off my apple while I tried to fix the inside-out shirt single-handedly. One of the guys whistled loudly, smirking at me.
"Too bad your new girlfriend isn't around, huh?"
"What, to see him fail at getting his t-shirt on?" commented Joey, and I chucked my apple core at him, laughing. His mouth dropped open in disgust as it bounced off his head, but before he could say anything, the sound of our AP US History teacher's voice rang out.
"Mr. Cooper, that is most uncouth!"
I wasn't entirely sure what uncouth meant, but her tone suggested it was totally appalling, so I tried to give her a nice smile as I said, "Sorry, Ms. Wilson. It slipped out of my hand."
"Put on a shirt, Mr. Cooper," she snapped, holding her purse high above our stuff as she stalked through the hall, "and don't let me ever see you like this again. Quite inappropriate."
"She probably enjoyed it," muttered George Harrison once she'd exited the building, sniggering, and I threw my balled-up t-shirt at him.
Ray came back as I was trying to wrench my shirt back out of George's hands. He raised his dark eyebrows as he looked at the two of us, shaking his head and mumbling something like, "I don't even want to know."
Finally rescuing my shirt, I put it on and grabbed my water bottle, glancing at the clock. Ten minutes until practice start. Deliberately stepping on Ray's math worksheet as I went by, I walked sock-footed to the locker room drinking fountain to fill my bottle. Most of the football players had already left for some game, leaving a few gossiping volleyball girls.
"Aren't you supposed to be practice?"
A smile already crossing my face, I turned to see Kasey standing by the row of lockers to my left. She was dressed in spandex and a white t-shirt, her hair up in a high ponytail and her phone stuck in her waistband. Her lips formed her trademark pink pout.
"You didn't come to my game last night."
"I know, baby, I'm sorry." I leaned against the locker next to her, focused on her eyes. "I had practice at the same time, you know. I can't skip."
"You're so dedicated," she said teasingly, her hand on my chest. "How about this Friday? It's not an important game, but you could still come."
I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tomorrow? What time? I have —"
"Practice, I know."
Kasey sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. Actually, it was the day of our first important game, but when I pointed this out to her, she looked less than impressed.
"All you ever think about is soccer, isn't it?"
"Not all the time," I promised, letting my hands rest on her hips as she came closer to me, her blue eyes like magnets.
"That's what I like to hear," she said with satisfaction, her hands slipping behind my neck, and then she pulled me down for a long kiss. I felt my heart speed up and my mind start to blur — it was just the two of us in that locker room with no one watching, and kissing her tasted better than anything. Time sort of slipped away with her soft lips and smooth skin.
Way too soon, she slipped out of my arms, smiling at me coyly. "I have to get to practice now, Danny. See you later?"
"Right now?" I caught her wrists, tugging her back, but she pulled away.
"It's almost 3:40, Danny! Practice starts in five minutes."
3:40? I let go of her, suddenly panicked as I stared around until my eyes lit upon the locker room clock. Sure enough, her ability to tell time wasn't off; my practice had started almost ten minutes before.
Coach was going to kill me.
"I gotta go," I told her, my stomach clenching. "I'll text you later."
Leaving her with an upset expression at this abrupt goodbye, I dashed out of the locker room, sliding on the floor in my socks, and scooped up my bag. I tried to keep everything from falling out as I yanked out my cleats and shoved them on my feet, leaving them untied as I threw my duffel over my shoulder and ran out of the building.
I sprinted full-out to the field, only slowing when I realized my dad stood at the nearest goal watching me come. The guys were running their warm-up laps already, and I dropped my bag and started tying my cleats hurriedly. I felt my stomach plunge as I snuck a glance at my dad's face; he said nothing, but his arched eyebrows spoke volumes.
"Sorry," I mumbled as I got to my feet and jogged to the goal line to join the run. "I got a little caught up with something. It won't happen again."
He didn't reply, but I hadn't wanted him to, so I breathed a silent sigh of relief as I slipped in next to Ray as they looped around the field again. His dark eyes shot me an amused look as he said in a low voice, "You got caught up with something? Did that something happen to have blonde hair?"
"Shut up," I muttered, my ears burning. "If my dad hears that..."
"Oh, I would love to tell him."
"Don't you dare — he's probably mad enough at me as it is." My eyes flicked over to where Coach stood as we rounded the corner, outlined against the white net. "I don't know how I didn't realize what time it is. I'm supposed to be a captain, for Pete's sake."
Ray didn't look concerned. "Don't sweat it, bro, he's not mad at you. This is the first time you've ever been late to practice since, like, seventh grade."
"Like he remembers that. You know what he's like — I do something once..."
For the next two laps, Ray alternately assured me I'd be fine and grumbled at me for picking up the speed — "Dude, it's just warm-up, there'll be plenty of sprints later." When they finished their fifth lap and headed to the center of the field to stretch out, I kept running, knowing I had to get my other two laps in.
My feet pounded against the grass as I completed my laps and headed back to the team. A couple of them glanced at me questioningly, but no one said anything, not even Davis, though he looked like he wanted to. But I could deal with him as long as I wasn't partnered with him for any drills, not that he could really say anything. At least I hadn't been late to a game.
Well aware of the importance of our first league game, I put even more effort than usual into the practice, partially to prepare and partially to stop my dad looking like I'd killed someone. I doubted he was mad enough to pull me from the game, even if he did know why I'd been late — I was too valuable a player to be benched — but it didn't hurt to make sure.
Practice ended early after a long discussion of how to play the game the next day: who to look out for, possible strengths and weaknesses, and a hopeful score. I made my way to the car already filled with pre-game enthusiasm, running through plays in my head and wondering if maybe Kasey could make it after her game. I'd probably play even better if she were there.
I let my dad drive because I was fed up with his distrust of me behind the wheel. He gave me a strange look as he realized I was sitting in shotgun.
"What's this? You're giving up the wheel? Are you feeling all right?"
Rolling my eyes, I tossed him my keys and he started the car. My fingers drummed on the armrest nervously, wondering if he would say anything, but he remained silent as he turned out of the school and stopped at the light. I started to relax as we neared our street and took out my phone to answer Kasey's texts.
"So, are you prepared for the game?"
I looked up, surprised he'd started a conversation. "Yeah, I think so," I replied, rippling my hand through my hair. "Our first game went pretty well last week, so I think we'll be fine."
"When I was at the coach's conference, back in June," my dad began, and I braced myself for a long speech, "a lot of other schools doubted we'd do well this year, since we lost so many talented seniors."
Of course they did.
"We'll just have to prove them wrong, I guess."
"That's right. They don't know what they're talking about." He braked at another light, glancing at me. "So do you find it odd without Jack on the field with you this year? I admit sometimes I find myself looking for him, wondering why he's not keeping control."
I shrugged, sliding my fingers against the armrest. "I guess."
"You should look into the qualifications for that soccer camp he did at Notre Dame last summer," my dad suggested as we turned down my street. "He benefitted a lot from that, and it's possible you could do the same."
"Yeah, okay."
I opened the car door as soon as he put it in park, grabbing my bag on the way out, and then headed up to the house. He hadn't told me off for being late, miracle of miracles, but he still couldn't hold a conversation with me without bringing up Jack. At least that hadn't changed.
After dinner, I started the usual video call to Mal about homework, this time regarding AP Chem. She greeted me with a towel wrapped around her wet hair, slight bags under her eyes as she looked at our worksheet blearily.
"You coming to the game tomorrow?" I asked, since soccer was always more interesting than chemistry. "It doesn't start till five, so you could see part of it after practice."
"Maybe." She yawned, stretching her shoulder with a wince. "We should have a short practice tomorrow because of our meet Saturday. Thank goodness — I'm so sore."
"I feel you," I said fervently. We were still stuck in endurance training.
"Anyway, did you print this worksheet?"
After scanning my desk, I realized I had left it in the printer. "I'll be right back," I told her and made my way downstairs to the den. My dad sat at his desk typing away on his laptop, his brow furrowed as he stared at the screen. I found my worksheet lying on top of the printer, grabbed it, and turned to go before he noticed I'd walked in.
"Hold on a moment, please, Danny."
Or so I'd thought.
Stopping in my tracks, I turned back at him. "Yeah?"
My dad focused on his computer, frowning. "What class does Ms. Wilson teach? I don't remember Jack having her."
"AP US History," I answered, with a sinking feeling that I knew where this was going.
Sure enough, he made a humph noise and said, "Well, I received an email from her today about your attendance these past two weeks. She says you've been late to her class three times already, which results in an absence." He looked up at me. "Really, Danny? You've only been in school seven days."
"She's just really strict about tardies," I said evasively. "Like, if you're not in your seat when the bell rings, she'll mark you tardy, even if you're in the room."
Of course, that wasn't exactly true — yeah, Wilson was super severe in dispensing tardies, but I hadn't been in the room most of the time. I had been walking Kasey to class every morning, and since her math class was across the school and I didn't sprint through the halls like an idiot, that usually resulted in a tardy.
"Hmm." My dad didn't look too convinced, but he was already looking back at his laptop, tapping a key. "Just make sure this doesn't become a habit, all right? Do what you have to do to figure out a good schedule. I thought we were done with the whole teacher emailing me thing after middle school."
And teachers hadn't emailed him about any of his children more than about me; I knew the ending to that sentence.
I wasn't exactly surprised; Wilson had warned me the day before that if I were tardy again, she'd send out emails. And even if my dad hadn't bawled me out for being late to practice, there was bound to be something else. The only place I could do something right, it seemed, was on the soccer field.
Although even then I wasn't sure.