Varsity captain, p.19
Varsity Captain, page 19
“Psst,” I say, sneaking up behind her. She startles a little, which is cute.
She spots my tie situation right away, smirking and amused at how flummoxed I am by a strip of silk. I lift my chin as she grins.
“These things are tricky.” She takes the mangled ends and gets to work fixing my neck situation.
“I fucking hate ties. They choke me.” I swallow hard and tug at my collar.
“You’re a big man,” she responds, her words so matter-of-fact. Our eyes flit to one another and I catch the blush that creeps up her cheeks. My mouth edges up on one side with my devilish thoughts, and June slaps lightly at my chest.
“Shush, or I won’t help you.”
I lean back with a thick laugh that I do my best to apologize through. Clearing my throat, I stand up tall so she can finish making me look presentable. She tugs at the knotted tie a few times, either because she’s making it straight or simply likes to jerk my body around. I think it might be a little of both.
My mom made sure my shirt was ready this morning. I haven’t worn it in so long, the wrinkles looked impossible, but through whatever magic she has, she managed to have it looking crisp this morning. I rolled it for my backpack and somehow didn’t ruin her work completely.
“There,” June says, her hands loosely gripping my tie, almost as if she’s afraid to let go. She glances up at me with a faint smile, and I’m hit with every ounce of feeling all at once. I love this girl.
“Wish me luck,” I say, holding on to my view of her green eyes.
She shakes her head.
“You don’t need it. Break a leg.”
I laugh out once and roll my eyes before grabbing the gate just opened by one of the late-start seniors. June follows closely behind me and we pause just outside the gate so I can scan the lot.
“Ready?” I draw in a breath through my nose. I wish my heart would stop pounding. It’s not the interview that has me wrecked by nerves, it’s the fear that my dad or Coach will show up and catch me in the act. At least our principal is on my side for this. I emailed him about the interview late last night and he said he would make sure I was excused. He’s not really a football fan.
June holds up my keys and jingles them.
“Let’s do this,” she says. We’re practically jogging through parking lot. I spot the red car, Candace waiting inside, just like she was the first time I had to slip out for a meeting. June’s already sprinted across the parking lot. She’ll be pulling out soon, hopefully without anyone noticing it’s her driving my truck and not me.
When I reach Candace’s car, I give one final glance around the campus, and when I don’t spot my coach or anyone who might mention they saw me doing this, I dip inside and finally exhale.
“Lucas, great to see you. I hope you like sushi.” Candace gives me a nod and smile as I buckle up.
“I think I’m too nervous to taste. We could be going to a cardboard restaurant and I’d think it was five-star,” I joke.
She laughs at my humility and tells me to relax, reminding me this is all a formality. I breathe out and flatten my palms on my thighs to play along.
“Right. Got it,” I say, my insides still a twisted mess. Again, not nervous about the interview part.
We drive several blocks to the other side of town to a place called Tiny Plates. I’ve never been here but I know my mom has. I wish I had time to text her and ask what I should order. She knows what I like.
“So tell me, Lucas . . . what drew you to MIT?”
She’s making small talk but I know my answers still matter. I don’t merely want to be their selection for this scholarship; I want to be the stand-out.
“I remember hearing one of my mom’s old friends talk about the school when I was younger, and it stuck in my head. As I got older, I found out that me and math? We gel.”
She laughs when I bring my hands together as if math and I are puzzle pieces.
“That’s not something many people say,” she muses.
“I guess not,” I say, laughing lightly at myself. I regroup, though, and set my expression to a more serious one. “But the idea of doing something with this weird skill I have, maybe changing the world in some small way for the better? That’s what I see at MIT. It enables so many good things.”
Our gazes meet briefly, and she gives me a tight-lipped smile. That was a good answer, the kind the trustees will want to hear. I tuck it away and remember to repeat it in the next thirty minutes over my plate of raw fish rolls.
The restaurant is busy, but we find our party waiting at a table when we arrive. Candace introduces me to a tall man with an incredibly expensive-looking suit and an older woman with short-cropped hair dyed a purplish-gray. She’s wearing a black suit with perfectly square frame glasses, and in any other situation I would probably observe how very Men In Black she appears. But my dad’s old boss from the first law firm he worked for just sat down at a table on the other side of the room, and now the only thing running through my head is fear that he’ll see me and feel the need to come say hi.
I twist in my chair, doing my best to shield myself from his view. I’m glad to see three other people join him, but it doesn’t stop my imagination from conjuring what ifs.
Hey, Todd. Ran into Lucas at Tiny Plates while he was meeting with MIT. Wow! You must be so proud.
Of course, my dad wouldn’t be. He’d be furious. And he’d come home ready to lay into me, which would probably be the final straw to get me to open my mouth about his current affair. It wouldn’t be the way my mom should find out, and it would only make these final few months at home with my family worse—if I even had a family left.
“Lucas? You were mentioning in the car on the way here why you liked MIT?” Candace brings my thoughts back to the present, and I realize I spaced out a bit. I don’t think for long, though, so I go to work covering my daydreaming.
“Yes, I was just thinking about our conversation, actually.” Everyone at the table leans forward and I recite, nearly verbatim, what I told Candace in the car. For the next forty minutes, I switch off the part of my brain that seems to only be out to make my stomach sick, and I play the role of perfect MIT candidate. The two trustees insist on taking photos with me, and I don’t worry about my reality again until Candace drops me off in front of school and asks if it’s all right to post one of those photos on social media.
“Sure,” I croak.
The odds of my dad knowing how to use social media are slim, so I rid myself of the extra worry and shake her hand before exiting the car.
“Oh, and hey, Lucas?” She’s rolled the window down.
“Yes?”
I’m so close to getting inside. I’ll make it to my next class and nobody will know anything. My truck is in its spot. June pulled it off. I can push off having it out with my dad and wrecking my mom for one more day.
“Welcome to MIT.” A grin stretches the width of her face just before she drops her sunglasses down and drives away. I utter “Thanks” but I don’t think she hears it.
It’s official. A few signed documents is all that stands in my way. I laugh to myself, and as I make my way to class, passing through throngs of students, I catch a few of them looking at me oddly. It’s probably because I’m still wearing dress clothes, but maybe it’s also the enormous smile and skip in my step. I can’t help it. I’m happy. There are things I want in my life. The school I dreamt of is within reach, a stepping stone to a life doing something I’m passionate about. The only thing left to do is kiss the girl I love to celebrate.
By the time the final bell rings, I’ve come around to embracing everything good, and not giving a second thought to the shit brewing beneath the surface. I practically skip toward the locker room, where June and I planned to do a quick key exchange. All of the warmth brewing in my chest grows cold, though, the second June turns her head and I spot her swollen black eye.
“What the fuck happened?” I kneel to inspect her skin. June tries to look away but I follow her face, moving to keep a good view. I also shoot a glare at Tory over her shoulder. He better not have been involved in this.
“I’m fine,” June insists. She twists, but I reach up and gently coax her chin back in my direction.
“Your ex had a field day with her face,” Tory says. I’m glad to hear he’s pissed off, too, but his tone seems to indicate this is my fault. I stand and we have a mini stare-off. I glance down to the bag of ice in his hand, and because I’m an immature asshole, all I feel is jealous that he was here to get her ice and I wasn’t. Which is not the point. And maybe he’s right to take the tone he does with me.
“Gentlemen?”
We both shift our focus to Coach Loma as he walks up. My pulse races, excuses flying wildly around my head. He’s going to want to know what happened here, and maybe he also knows I went rogue.
“I had an accident, Coach, and they happened to catch me before I fell all the way. I went end-over-end,” June lies. I swallow down my guilt. I should cut her off and tell Coach what really happened. Ava deserves a world that knows what type of person she is.
June takes the ice and towel from Tory, pressing it to her eye.
“Lemme see what you’ve got going here,” Coach says. He straight-arms me out of the way and bends to give June’s face a closer look. Tory and I make eye contact above the two of them, and my friend’s brow furrows. He doesn’t understand why June would lie . . . or why I let her.
“You said you got this falling down the stairs?” Coach is asking June, but he glances to Tory and me with skepticism. His lips are pursed and his eyes squint a hint to show his suspicion.
June nods, lifting one shoulder in a shrug as if to say she’s just a clumsy girl. Fuck, I’m an asshole. Tell the truth, Lucas! Make Ava pay.
“Mind if I get our trainer to come give you a look? Just a little concussion protocol, and since it happened on campus, we’ll need to fill out an incident form.” Coach takes things like this seriously. He’s the father of four daughters.
“Okay,” June says, her voice barely above a whisper.
We all stand, except for June, who flashes the inside of her palm to me to how me she has my key. She wants to give it to me now, but it can wait. It should wait. Clearly Coach Loma is ready for Tory and me to move along and get our asses to practice.
I meet June’s gaze and lift my bag to bring it to my shoulder, but before I get it all the way up my arm, June yanks it back down to the ground. It’s ridiculous, and I have to roll my eyes at her covert attempt.
“Oh, dang, sorry. I thought this was mine,” she fibs. Her bag is pink. Mine is black. If anything, she just sold Coach on the idea that she’s concussed. She manages to slip my key into the side pocket of my bag during the confusion, though.
“It’s fine,” I say, lifting my bag to my shoulder. I can’t help the constant frown that’s forced its way over the smile I was wearing most of the afternoon. Tory and I hover for a few more minutes, but Coach Loma conveniently steps into the space between us and June, essentially boxing us out.
“I guess . . . we’re done here,” Tory chuckles.
I can’t laugh, though. I’m too angry. And guilty. And ashamed.
“She’s okay. June’s a tough one,” Tory says, easing up on me as we head into the locker room. I drop my bag on the bench when we make it inside and it lands with a heavy clunk.
“What was that? She gave her a black eye, dude! Who does that?” I press my palms into my eyes and rehearse the conversation I need to have with Ava, one that makes it abundantly clear that she needs to back off when it comes to June.
“I mean, dudes in bars punch each other all the time. And I’m pretty sure I punched you in the face over pizza once.” I drop my hands to meet Tory’s gaze and he shrugs with a half-smile.
“We were ten,” I clarify.
“Yeah, but I’d probably still fight you for pizza. I’m not very mature.”
I breathe out a quick laugh, his joke releasing some of the tension. Tory swings open the door of his locker, dropping his backpack inside and pulling out his practice jersey and pads. I stare at his back for a few seconds, wishing there was an easy way for me to tell him about his mom and my dad. This whole thing gives me sickening flashbacks to when I struggled with this same question while looking at June.
“You checking out my ass?”
Tory caught me staring, and is now standing on his toes and glancing over his shoulder at his boxer briefs. I huff out a laugh, then rub my hand over my chin and give his rear a good look before shrugging.
“Eh. I’ve seen better.”
Tory’s face contorts. He’s playing offended—or maybe he actually is—and does a few calf raises to flex his glutes.
“Nah, my ass is fiiiiine.”
Damn, his confidence. I roll my eyes and we both dress out for practice.
For two hours, my mind shuts off. Coach never asks about my dad or mentions me leaving campus, and I almost forget that I did. It’s only when I’m fishing the key out of my bag that my thoughts return to the fact I pulled off a pretty major secret meeting today. I check my phone, worried about June, but the only texts are from my mom, asking how the day went. I send her back a short reply, letting her know that it’s official, and when she doesn’t write back right away, I tuck my phone in my back pocket.
Zachery, one of the bigger guys on our defensive line, lingers on his way out of the locker room, stopping a few feet from my bench.
“Hey, Fuller? You hooking up with Mabee or what?”
I glance up and quirk a brow. It’s none of his fucking business, but also . . . this is what June was talking about. She doesn’t want to be kept a secret. She deserves better. And I’m proud she’s willing to forgive me after the last two years of silence.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
The smirk on Zachery’s face falls, and the joke he was probably waiting to make seems to be caught in his throat. I see him swallow it.
“Oh. Cool, man.” He pulls his mouth into a tight smile and awkwardly exits the room.
“That was fuckin’ weird,” Tory says from behind me.
I nod. But now that Ava’s involved, who knows what story she spun about me and June. And the fact I maybe told her things I shouldn’t have about June’s mom doesn’t sit well in my gut. I’m an idiot when I’m drunk.
“Hey, you see anything on social?” I ask Tory as we gather our gear and head out to the parking lot. He flips through his phone while we walk, not really looking too deep into anything, which makes his lack of findings not very credible. I’d rather believe he’s right, though, so I take his word for it and drive home under the pretense that Ava hasn’t started the rumor mill yet.
That bubble bursts the second my headlights flash on the Mabee garage.
WHORE
The word is sprayed in red and it stretches from one end of June’s garage to the other. I gnash my teeth and let a growl simmer in my chest, breathing out a “Fuck!” I kill the lights on my truck and let my temper heat to a boil. I’m tempted to peel out of here and race to Ava’s house so I can drag her back and make her fix this. I probably would, too, except I know in my heart that June is inside suffering because of this. And taking care of her is priority number one.
My muscles are sore and tired, so my scale up the side of her house and eave isn’t as smooth as last time. June’s window is open when I get to the crest of the pitch, wrapping my hands around the sill of the window. I step through and find her sitting on the edge of her bed, her face void of emotion. Drained.
“June,” I say, rushing across her room and dropping to my knees in front of her. I hold her face between my palms while her eyes hover on the cusp of forming tears.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, running my thumb over her puffy skin. The bruising is worse now, the swelling down some.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again. I repeat those words every time I take in a new piece of her. Her hair is damp, either from showering or crying. And her fingernails are stained pink on the tips, likely from scrubbing the garage door to no avail.
Fuck, Ava!
Her palms fall to my chest, gripping my shirt, and she falls into me, laying her unbruised cheek against my heart. Her body shakes and she finally lets out a sniffle. I slide one arm under her and lift her to me as I stand, cradling her trembling body while I shift to sit on her bed and hold her in my lap. My hand strokes her back, a smooth rhythm meant to bring her peace. Her face finds reprieve under my chin, and she shivers with another sob.
“I know, June. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” I whisper at her ear. I rock her gently as tears well in my own eyes. Mine are a mixture of hurt and anger, like hers but different. I can’t explain the vengeance swelling in my chest. I want Ava to pay for what she did. This is inexcusable. So was my act, though—sharing secrets that weren’t meant for Ava’s ears.
“She painted my house,” June cries.
“I know,” I say, my mouth against the side of her head.
She painted her house.
I squeeze my eyes shut and the moisture falls to my cheeks. June has been hurt so much in all of this. How could I not see what the last two years has done to her?
I hold her for nearly an hour, never once letting my biceps relax. I keep her nestled into me, my fingers drawing gentle lines up and down her bare arms until she seems to be feeling the call of sleep. Her tears have stopped.
“How was the interview?” Her voice is raspy, and it makes me laugh quietly that of everything she’s been through, she’s focused on me. I lean back, resting on her bed, but keep her tethered to me.
“There are more pressing things,” I say, sweeping her hair into my palm. The waves fall through my fingers, but some of them stick, leaving me to gently smooth them out.
“Not really,” June sighs. “I mean, if all this happened and you didn’t get in, that would suck.” I smirk and let out another tiny laugh. She’s funny, even when she isn’t feeling it.
