Wild Cards (8 page)
Authors: Simone Elkeles
When they realize I’ve followed them, they look at me like I’m an alien from another planet.
“That picture I took was blurry,” I say apologetically. “Can I trouble you for just
one
more? I swear my girlfriend will pee in her Daisy Dukes when she sees I got a picture of you holdin’ your signature.”
Bonk rolls his eyes and laughs, but doesn’t protest as I hand him back the napkin with his signature. He leans on the back of his car as if he’s a stud and holds up the napkin. It couldn’t be more perfect, except . . . “Can y’all get in the picture with him?”
The guys are all too willing to pose for the camera.
Mission accomplished.
Monika comes over Sunday morning with Bree, the two cocaptains of the cheer squad. They want my opinion of a new cheer and a dance routine they’ve made up, as if I possess some insider knowledge of whether my teammates will like it.
On my front lawn, Bree and Monika start clapping and moving their bodies like they’re made of some secret flexible material. I have no clue how they’re able to move like that. I’m jealous, although neither of them can catch, throw, or kick a football like I can.
Derek walks outside and heads for the shed. He looks masculine, wearing jeans with cowboy boots and a white tank. Falkor follows closely on Derek’s heels.
Bree stops her routine. “Who
is
that?” she asks a bit too loudly.
“Derek.”
“He’s Brandi’s stepson,” Monika tells her. “He’s—”
“
Super
hot,” Bree interrupts almost breathlessly. “Oh, my God. You have definitely been holding out on me, Ash. I love his boots, and that knit hat he’s wearing is so cute.”
“It’s a beanie,” I correct her. “I don’t know anyone who wears one in the summer. It looks stupid.”
“I disagree one bazillion percent.” Bree is practically drooling over Derek like he’s a hunk of meat to be devoured in one sitting. I’m tempted to ask if she needs a bib. “If a guy looks like that, he can wear whatever he wants. Introduce me to him, Ash.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to meet him.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” She nods so fast it’s a wonder her head doesn’t just fly right off. Monika and I give each other a knowing look. We’ve been friends long enough to know that when Bree’s on the prowl, there’s no stopping her.
When Derek reappears, I make a weak attempt to wave him over, hoping he’ll ignore me. Unfortunately, he doesn’t.
“Derek, this is my friend Bree,” I say. “You already know Monika.”
“Hey, Monika. Nice to meet you, Bree.” He tips his head like a perfect southern gentleman. I’m surprised he didn’t call her ma’am.
“Want to watch us?” Bree asks. She twirls her hair on her finger and flashes Derek a big smile. Oh, man. She totally bought the southern gentleman act. “We could use another opinion on our new routine. I’m the captain of the cheer squad.”
Derek flashes her an appreciative glance. “I don’t know much about cheerin’.”
Monika eyes his physique. “So, Derek . . . do you play sports?”
“Not anymore.”
“Really? With that body?” Bree cocks her head to the side for a better view of Derek’s backside. “Well, then, you must work out. A lot.”
It sounds like Derek is coughing, but it’s obvious he’s covering up a laugh. “I jog and lift weights.” He shoots me a mocking look. “And I try to stay away from ice cream, Skittles, and cookies for breakfast.”
“What’s wrong with a little comfort food?” I ask him. “It’s good for the soul.”
“I’ll bet.”
“So, Derek,” Bree interrupts. “How do you like Chicago so far? I know we don’t
technically
live in Chicago, but you’ll get used to us suburbanites claiming Chicago as our own.”
“It’s all right, I guess,” he answers. “Let’s just say I don’t plan on claiming Chicago as my own. I’m fixin’ to move back to Cali the first chance I get, then join the Navy after graduation.” After glancing at me again he says, “Well, I’m gonna see if I can get the lawn mower started. It was nice chattin’ with y’all.”
Bree raises an eyebrow after Derek puts his earbuds in his ears and pushes our old, beat-up mower out of the garage.
“What?” I ask.
“Derek is dreamy, Ashtyn. With a body like that he’ll probably end up as one of those Navy SEALs. How sexy is that!”
Sexy? Dreamy? Derek is not what dreams are made out of. More like nightmares, where the girl is continually being annoyed by a boy who haunts her. “He’s not all that.”
My friend looks at me as if I’m nuts. “Umm, did you take a look at those biceps, and that hair . . . and those eyes? Oh, my God, those blue eyes could make any girl melt.”
“He needs a haircut and was totally showing off his body,” I counter.
“I, for one, am grateful for his body. It’s beautiful to look at. I’m going to ask him if he wants to hang out tomorrow night. Maybe I can get a look at those abs up close and personal.” Bree practically skips over to Derek in haste, as if another girl will steal him away from her if she doesn’t act fast.
Soon she’s laughing at something he says.
“Girls are gonna be all over him, huh?”
Monika nods. “Oh, yeah. He’s no Trey Matthews, but he’s super cute.”
“I don’t know.” I put my hands up when she looks at me like I’m nuts. “Okay, I’ll admit Derek’s kind of attractive if you’re into that California surfer-slash-cowboy look, but he’s not my type
at all
.”
I look down at my charm bracelet, a reminder of my boyfriend. It doesn’t escape my attention that I haven’t heard from Landon since Friday night when he dropped me off. I should miss Landon more than I do. I don’t know why I don’t. The past few days have been a whirlwind of change, and it’s like I’m trying to catch up but I’m moving in slow motion.
“What’s going on with you and Landon, anyway?” Monika asks. She’s got a sympathetic look on her face as if she expects me to break down and cry any second. I feel more like screaming at the top of my lungs. “For a minute I thought you two were breaking up on Friday night.”
I ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach, because I’m not sure what’s going on with us. I know he likes his space when he’s stressed out, so I’ve left him alone, but every day we don’t talk I feel more distant and disconnected.
“Landon and I will be fine. We’ve just hit a rough patch.”
Monika tilts her head to the side. She gets that look when she’s overanalyzing something. “Do you and
Derek
have something going on?”
I can feel my face getting hot just thinking about it. “No way. Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I just sense a strange vibe between you two, and it’s weird that you’re hating on him so much.” She looks back at Bree and Derek, talking to each other. “Looks like Bree is staking her claim on him already. Look, did you see that? She touches his arm every time she talks.”
“She’s perfected the art of flirting,” I mumble. “And he’s totally falling for it, although maybe she’s the one being sucked into his fake charm. I have a feeling that nothing that guy does is sincere.”
“Yo, Bree!” Monika yells. “Get back here so we can show Ashtyn the routine.”
A car pulls into my driveway and honks, delaying the cheerleading show once again. Monika squeals in delight when Vic parks his big SUV in my driveway and she sees Jet and Trey are in the car with him.
“Epic,” Jet says, completely amused as he steps out. He’s wearing a baseball cap backward and he’s got cutoff sweats he probably cut himself. “That’s all I gotta say.”
“What’s epic?” I ask.
He looks confused as he brushes his perfectly styled hair to the side. “You mean you had nothing to do with it?”
“Do with what?”
“I told you it wasn’t her,” Vic says. “She doesn’t have the balls to do it.”
That is so insulting. “I have balls, Vic!”
“I
knew
it!” Jet wags his eyebrows and reaches for my waistband. “Let’s see ’em, Ash.”
I roll my eyes and slap his arm away.
“You need to stop having a life and go online more.” Trey pulls out his phone. “Someone created this bogus profile named Payton Walters and posted pics of Bonk and his teammates holding up signs.”
Oh, no. I’m almost afraid to ask. “Pictures of what?”
Jet holds out his phone. “Here, take a look.”
In one picture, Bonk and a bunch of his football buddies are leaning on the back of a Jeep. They’re holding a napkin that says FAIRFIELD SUCKS in big bold letters and the license plate on the car spells out DMBASS. When I take a look at the second picture, I gasp. Bonk is in Rick’s Subs in Fairfield holding up a napkin that reads I WANT TO BE FREMONT’S BITCH. It’s signed MATTHEW BONK #7.
“Who did this?” I ask the guys.
None of them fess up. This is crazy. The guys from Fairfield are going to freak when they see the pictures that look professionally Photoshopped. It’s impressive. I wish I’d thought of it.
“Maybe it was Landon.” After I suggest it, the guys eye each other as if they have big doubts.
“Yeah, right,” Jet says. “Your boyfriend’s such a hero.”
“Have you talked to him?” Vic asks me.
I shake my head.
“Hmm,” Trey says. “McKnight’s been MIA since Friday night.”
I don’t tell them that he’s been MIA in our relationship, too.
On Monday morning I wake up late and realize everyone else is already out of the house. As I eat breakfast, I look out at the neglected backyard. This house sits on a big piece of land, but nobody cares enough to make the backyard look decent. It’s as if they’re making the front look good to put on a facade for everyone who passes by.
The mower I found yesterday is in crap condition, but at least I got the engine to start up. It’s not gonna be easy to cut the grass since the entire backyard is a haven for overgrown weeds, but I need to busy myself or I’ll go insane.
I turn on the mower and put on my headphones so I can zone out like I did yesterday when the girls were over and Ashtyn’s teammates came by. My mom used to tell me that music always helped her escape to another place. She used to make me listen to Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, especially when she was in
the hospital going through chemo. At first I hated it, but then those singers became a symbol of her.
Moving on is fucking tough.
An hour later I’m sweating my ass off. Little pieces of grass stick to my back, arms, and legs. I look back at my progress, proud that I’ve made a sizable dent. The shed, the place where Ashtyn and I first met, has seen better days. I spotted some old paint in there and figure it’s long overdue for a new paint job.
As I soap my body in the shower, thoughts of Ashtyn invade my mind, and my body starts reacting. I reach down and fantasize for the moment, glad nobody can read my mind. Afterward, I rinse off and am about to just chill in my bedroom, but Falkor bolts to the front door panting like crazy. The poor guy wants to go out. I put the leash on him and jog toward the football field. The place is like a magnet to me.
It doesn’t take long to get to the school. The football team is having practice. I watch some players do drills. Immediately I’m thinking like one of them again. I haven’t been on a team in almost two years, but those plays and drills are still so familiar I could run them with my eyes closed.
Ashtyn is doing sprints. She doesn’t notice me, but when she does I fully expect her to ream me out for taking her dog without permission.
I watch as she grabs a few footballs and jogs to the opposite end of the field. She moves with grace as she sets up a ball and positions herself. A couple of guys on the sidelines watch her and nod, impressed. I can tell she’s so focused she isn’t aware of
anything but the ball and the white goalposts. She kicks the first ball through the posts with ease.
As she gets into position for another kick, she spots me in the stands. She misses her next two attempts, but keeps trying. She makes six out of ten. Not bad, but nothing to write home about.
I size up the team, something I used to do to my rivals. It’s easy to spot the head coach—he’s sporting a black-and-gold golf shirt and Rebels cap as he calls out plays. The guy has been ripping into the offensive linemen since I’ve been here, although I’m impressed with their execution. Without solid linemen, the quarterback is vulnerable and the team is weak.
I turn my attention to the current QB, a lanky guy wearing the number three on his jersey. Number three doesn’t look confident even though he’s got good form. He makes a few plays, but can’t connect with his receivers when the defensive line rushes him.
Number three buckles under pressure. The problem is that he knows it. He’s stuck in his head. He’s got to stop thinking when he’s in the game and let instinct take over.
After he repeats the same mistake three plays in a row, the coach grabs the QB’s face mask and gives him hell. I’m too far away to hear his exact words, but I know he’s getting an earful.
“Yo, Derek!” Ashtyn calls out. She throws a perfect spiral into the stands toward me, but I duck and let it fly past. It bounces onto the benches behind me and Falkor sniffs it. I haven’t touched a football since the day my mom died. While instinct tells me to catch it, I’m conflicted.
“Yeah?”
“Who said you could take my dog for a walk?”
“He begged me to take him out. He obviously thinks I’m the alpha. You know dogs have a hierarchy.” I shrug. “I’m just sayin’.”
“Toss the ball back, will ya?”
I look at the football, lying there waiting to be put back on the field. I never thought I’d pick one up again. It’s not like I’m committing to play again.
It’s just a football
.
I slowly pick up the ball and toss it underhand to her, the familiar feeling of the smooth leather rolling off my fingers a reminder of the past. Most girls I know would be afraid they’d break a nail when a football comes flying at them, but Ashtyn reaches out and catches it without hesitation.
“You’re not the alpha. I am.” She tucks the ball under her arm and starts walking back to the field. “I’m just sayin’.”