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Authors: Miranda Kenneally

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Love & Romance

Catching Jordan (6 page)

BOOK: Catching Jordan
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JJ and Carter final y 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 cal ed 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 fil her eyes.

Ty leans over to me. “Did you see that?”

“Yup.”

“I take it she’s a bitch?”

“Yup. I’l 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 hel ’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 bul shit. 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 bal erina reflexes. “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 al the way home. He had me let him out on the highway. It was weird, but I could tel 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 flip-flops. “I dunno…a lot’s up…Dad’s never home and Mom’s sadder than ever…I’m worried about col ege. I want to go so bad and I think a footbal scholarship is the only way my family wil be able to afford it.”

Judging by his eyes darting around and that familiar twitch of his mouth, I can tel 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’l be fine. And I’m sure you can get some money since you have great grades.”

He stares at flyers tacked al over the bul etin board on the other side of the hal way. “I hope so. My future’s riding on footbal .”

“I get it,” I say, and looking away from Henry, I notice Ty coming down the hal . 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 hal toward music appreciation class. Now that we’re seniors and only concentrate on footbal , 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’l 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 footbal players.”

Henry says
E
, and I draw a head hanging from a noose. “
A
,” he says, and I fil 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 pul s 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 cal s out over her shoulder.

How the hel did she know the answer?

I start fil ing in the other letters, and Henry whispers in my ear, “Not every girl is bad.”

“You wouldn’t know, ’cause they fawn over you al 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 Rol Tide logos.

Henry whispers, “I real y doubt Marie’s ever said anything bad to you.”

I shrug again.

“Give her a chance,” Henry says, “I bet you’l like her.” He takes the pen from my fingers, pul s 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.”

“Bul shit,” 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 cal , “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 Al -You-Can-Eat Pasta Shack. I don’t know why Joe decided to cal 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 pul the table back toward me so he’l 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 pul s a pen and a book of crossword puzzles out of his bag. He clicks the pen and shuffles through the book. This is how he de-stresses. “You worried at al ?” he asks.

“Hel s 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 hel 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 pul the bottom shaker out quickly so the top one fal s straight down onto the table. But you can’t let it fal 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 bal .” 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 bal ? Maybe it’s different for him since he’s a guy.

But I’m practical y 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 bal , 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 real y 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 hel should I know, man? Anyhow…how do you manage to keep your, uh, thoughts of Lacey separate from footbal ?”

“Look, Woods, I hate talking about this shit, but if you must know, I don’t real y think about it. I enjoy sleeping with her and that’s al . It helps me relax, which helps me play footbal 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 tel 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 ful of flies. The teacher said he’d never seen a frog with such a ful 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 Al -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 yel ing. 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 yel , “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 al puffy. “Damn it,” he mutters.

Dad squeezes Henry’s shoulder. “I can tel how hard you’ve been working out, Sam. Keep it up, and you’l get into a great col ege program. I’m real y 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 bal around for awhile. When I start to head outside with them, Dad tel s 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 tel Dad that.” I drop a fork onto a plate, causing a clanking sound.

“Tel 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 al pissy, Dad actual y 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 al 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 stil stuffed from Joe’s Al -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 pul s a piece of bread apart. “How’s school?”

BOOK: Catching Jordan
8.65Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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