Secret Girlfriend (2 page)

Chapter 2

The next morning, guys stumbled onto the field trying to
hide sore legs and tired bodies. Coach’s one “gift” to the team was having the first
session in the evening. For the next week, tryouts were double sessions every
day—8am, 7pm, 8am, 7pm—until you were cut or handed a blue and emerald uniform.

The guys trickled down to the field in groups and began
their own type of tryouts.

That
is what every
girl at Ridge View High School would have wanted to see.
The
secret life of boys, not only in their natural environment, but unobserved by
the female species.
After watching the ribbing, mocking, tackling, and
pantsing
going on, I had to admit that maybe not having a
brother was for the best. Seriously, how did any house survive the teenage boy
years?

“Hey.”

I must have that woman’s intuition everyone talked about
because, without looking, I knew who it would be. I guess the whole
invisibility-spotting thing wasn’t a hoax.

Luke Parker made me feel tiny at 5’8. Unlike a lot of tall
guys, he didn’t slouch or compact himself in any way. I’d never met a guy my
age who
owned
his height like he did.
Of course, I didn’t know very many guys, so maybe it was just me.

“So,” he continued. “Do I need to check in with you?”

I tried not to give him the “you’re-an-idiot” look since
none of the other guys were checking in with me.

“Nope.
Coach likes to do roll
call.” I found the binder with the Session Two-A roster and laid it open,
marking the page with my pen so I’d be ready to move when Coach started his
pacing-shouting-names-throwing-clipboard thing.

“So, you take care of the stats and stuff?”

I had no idea what that meant, or what “stuff” included.
Besides, every girl learns sometime during elementary school never to answer a
boy’s open-ended question. It’s where we began to fine tune the art of the
Re-Direct.

“Was there something you needed?” I asked.

The same grin, hooked up on the right side, slid across his
lips. “Not really.
Just trying to get my bearings.”

“Shouldn’t you be bonding or something?” I waved my hand
toward the guys at midfield stretching and passing balls between them. None of
them looked our way. Maybe I wasn’t the only one they didn’t notice.

“Nah.
They aren’t going to like me
till I prove myself since I’m slotted against what’s-his-name.”

“Kent. Chris Kent.” Okay, no wonder James Bond says his name
like that. It definitely lent an air of authority. Plus, it was fun to say.

“I get it. It’s a loyalty thing. I even respect it. But,
none of those guys wants me to walk over there and join them until I slot
myself somewhere else.” He glanced at the gathering mob. “Of course, they don’t
want me to grab their spot either.”

He couldn’t help it if Chris was
That Guy
. Every guy wanted to be him—or be around him—and every
girl wanted his attention. He was good-looking and popular. Teachers loved him
because he was charming. One smile and he basically owned you.

He had a gift.
A gift that, when he turned
his gaze upon you, you suddenly felt as though you were the only person who
mattered.
Not just mattered
there
,
but mattered anywhere.

He was that amazing, that much of a magnet. It wasn’t
uncommon for people to move plans—heck, whole parties—just to have him there.
Just so they could bask in that power he brought with him.

Luke couldn’t compete with that. But then again, who could?

Behind him, Chris jogged up the hill from where there just
happened to be a bunch of tumble mats set out. A group of easily distracted
airheads watched him make his escape. At the top of the hill he slowed, his
gaze moving over the new guy and me standing by the dilapidated folding table.
He stutter-stepped, his gaze narrowing on Luke beside me.

Hopefully, I wouldn’t spit my heart out if I cleared my
throat. It was lodged in there so tight it blocked my breath, making me dizzy.
I felt my lips lift at the first good thing that day.

Before I could see if Chris would come over to wish me good
morning, Coach was on the scene shouting and redirecting and shuffling guys in
what appeared to be chaos.

“See
ya
.”

I shifted my gaze up, surprised to find the new kid still
standing there.

“Oh. Yeah. Good luck.”

He waited, just kind of looking at me. Maybe he wanted me to
tell him where to head.

“Parker!”
Coach was already
bellowing. Hopefully he’d wear his voice out early. “Are you looking to count
goals or make them?”

I grabbed my binder and rushed toward Coach, pen in hand and
ready to tally who had shown up for another day of abuse.

“Ok. See
ya
,” came from behind me
as I brushed by the one person who could throw The Plan out of whack quicker
than a varsity sprinter comes off the blocks with those all-seeing superpowers.
Darn that Luke Parker.

# # #

The first morning session of tryouts went as expected. Three
hours of watching the fittest of the fit compete with the guys who had gotten
by playing in the town league was eye
opening.
Coach
let them fight it out, almost literally, but they all seemed to walk off the
field with no hard feelings.

By the end of the early session, I was ready to catch some
shade and grab lunch with Chris. That morning I’d run to school to squeeze in
my workout before the late August heat took over. His ride home would save my
legs from too many miles. He’d even texted me last night. I saved it. I may
have also reread it once or twice… or fourteen times. But knowing he was
thinking of me and that we’d see each other “at lunch” had been just about the
best thing ever.

That had been one of the big draws of quitting cross-country.
I mean, he’d hang out with the guys, too. But still, some of those days would
be mine. And, since I hadn’t seen him in almost a week, of course we’d do
something today.

Now, waiting outside the locker room, I watched cheerleaders
flit into the gym. They glanced around as if expecting to see half-dressed boys
lounging about in all their athletic glory, just waiting for the squad to enter
and appreciate them. At our school, the gym was a temple and jocks the
sacrifice, offering, and idol all rolled into one.

With no male glory lounging, the girls strolled across the
basketball court, oblivious to my presence, and filed into their own locker
room to clean up and re-beautify.

I hoped Chris finished with the team before we had to deal
with Cheryl, or there’d be some issues with getting my boyfriend-time for the
day. The week actually, but who was I to complain? I knew The Plan.

The locker room door slammed against the wall and the
younger guys lumbered past in clusters of threes and fours. Some amped up; others
moved as if they’d been hit by a bus, run over by a Mack truck, and then
keelhauled. Eventually, the upper classmen trickled out to head home or
downtown for lunch.

I shouldn’t have been surprised Chris was one of the last to
appear. He took his senior year duties very seriously. If he didn’t need The
Plan to get into Monroe State, things would have been a lot simpler.

It definitely threw a monkey wrench in my personal plan
(note the lack of capitalization). And, of course, it was the oh-so-joyful reason
for the Public Image Girlfriend, Cheryl.

Unlike Miss Most Everything, I thought popularity looked
more like a curse than a blessing. My best friend Rachel laughed at my
embracing anonymity, but I really didn’t mind living outside the spotlight. Way
outside.
Like in a different time zone.

I know being invisible isn’t a superpower everyone wants.
But my invisibility had come when I’d needed the space, the quiet.
When the two people who always saw me and loved me best… stopped.

My mom, not by choice.
My dad…
well, I have no idea about that one.

Almost all the guys had escaped the locker room when I heard
the girls’ room door open. The cheerleaders had changed from their little
spandex shorts into their little denim shorts—I guess the material negated the ho-factor—and
were leaving in gaggles.
Still no sign of Cheryl.

I hadn’t expected a clean break, but had hoped to escape
without more cheer-friendliness focused on my boyfriend. When the next guy
rounding the corner wasn’t Chris, I gave an inner growl. And, of course with my
luck, it could only be none other than Mr. I-Just-Moved-
Here.

I’m not sure why he picked me to be his new school buddy,
but babysitting him at practice was not on my To-Do list. It wasn’t even on my
To-Consider list. I was not his “in.” He’d learn soon enough that I was
unsweet-talkable
. If he wanted on the team, his only chance
was to go through Coach
Sarche
. And, if he really
thought he was playing left forward, the only way to Coach was through Chris
Kent.

That was so not a train I was getting on, let alone helping
drive.

He slowed as he approached, hitching his sports bag higher
on his shoulder. “Hey.”

I tried not to roll my eyes, especially since he was
blocking my view of the doorway.

“You waiting on Coach
Sarche
?” he
asked.

“Nope.”

He pursed his lips and nodded.
“Yeah.
Good. He’s got some of the guys in there, some of the veteran seniors.
For a chat.”

“Oh.” I mean, what else could I say to that, besides:
Crud. Now I have no ride home and haven’t
hung out with my boyfriend in five days?

“So, you’re waiting for one of the guys?” This kid didn’t
know when to give up.

“Yes. I mean, no. No.” I tried to glance past him again. “I
was making sure there wasn’t anything else I have to do. You know.
First full day and all.”

“Cool. So, you know, I’m Luke.” He looked down at me from
his six-foot-something frame.
Waiting.

Waiting for what? I thanked my stars most people didn’t
typically notice me if this was how interesting small talk was. I just did
not
have the energy for this. To be
honest, Luke Parker made me a bit nervous with all that focus. I didn’t like
when he turned it on me. Invisibility was looking even better with him standing
there studying me like a new playbook.

“Yeah, so I’m Luke,” he repeated. “And that would make
you…?”

The door to the girls’ locker room swung open again. The
senior squad poured out and sauntered across the basketball court to the boys’
door. Cheryl emerged from the formation, gliding toward the sacred portal.
Without batting an over-blackened eyelash she did something I never would have
considered—even as the team’s stats girl.

She knocked on the door.

A moment later, the assistant coach pushed his head through
the entry. After much hair flipping and some over-played giggling—from Cheryl,
not the AC—he shouted “Kent!” over his shoulder and let the door fall shut.
When it reopened, Chris stuck his head out, nodded a few times, and then
disappeared back inside.

“I’ll see you guys tonight,” Cheryl called to the other Rah-
Rahs
and made
herself
comfortable
on the bleachers.
To wait for Chris.

It might have been the disappointment talking, but wasn’t
Cheryl taking her role as fake girlfriend a bit too seriously?

And just then, BING! My text sounded.
Can’t do lunch. Catch you later.

Catch me later?

I glanced Cheryl’s way to
catch her
looking right at me. When our gazes met, she gave me a
sticky sweet smile and finally those eyelashes fluttered.
Ironic
eyelash fluttering.
Who would have thought she was that clever?

“So?”

I blinked and looked up again. I’d forgotten Luke Parker was
standing there.

“So, I have to go. Good luck at tryouts.”

I pushed past him and made it to the parking lot before the
queasiness tickled my stomach and headed out toward the road without bothering
to stretch.

Chris was going to bring
her
home.
Or to lunch.
It didn’t matter which since I
wasn’t the “her” in the picture. Every night this week he’d hung out with
Cheryl and her friends to get ready for Homecoming nominations. He’d said
people needed to
identify them as a
couple
(can you see the annoying air-quotes?) before classes started
because new-school-year couples never won. The popular vote always decided the
court. And, let’s be honest, Cheryl’s Rah-Rah status won the popular girl vote
and her short skirts won the guys… and their votes.

I’d felt horrible as he stood there trying to explain. It
hadn’t just been the words that upset me, but the tone of his voice. The
exasperated-yet-trying-to-be-patient tone layered over everything as he
discussed the need to align himself with someone who wanted to win.
Someone who would play the game and get the Homecoming Crown on his
head.
It had been like a Survivor episode—all in or
get
voted off. But if there was ever a deadly environment to the soul, it was high
school.

Or at least, that was the unsaid part of the argument.

Shockingly enough, I was suddenly glad I didn’t own a car.
The run home would burn off my annoyance at expecting Chris to be free at a
school thing.

I picked up the pace, trying not to wonder how I’d get back
by seven for the evening session. If Rachel were here, I could have gotten her
to drive me. She’d probably like the excuse to sit “reading” while the team ran
around doing quasi-manly things. One more reason her being away for the summer
stunk.