“Or, as I like to call her, ‘Mom.’”
I swallow.
Grey is half-smiling his heart out, football cradled in his hands. I can see it now—the square jaw, wavy hair, long eyelashes—Trudi Kitterage’s features chiseled in masculine relief. Even without Coach Shanks’s nod of confirmation, it’s suddenly completely obvious that Grey Worthington is most definitely Coach Kitt’s son.
Over on the field, the players are done and walking away—helmets off, patting butts and all that machismo crap signaling another practice down. Jake is right there in the middle of it all, sweat glinting off his brand-new buzz cut. My heart drops at the loss of his dreads, perfect as they are in my memory against his dark brown skin—as he laughs. Probably at the farce going on over here on the track.
“There are fifty kids dressed out in jerseys over there,” I say. “I’m sure at least one of them played quarterback at some point before getting booted to another position.”
Grey hangs his head in a nod. “Sure did.”
Coach nods, too. Wow. Maybe the other possibilities really are awful.
“What about the baseball team?” I ask. “Surely there’s a pitcher you could harangue.”
Grey serves up another half smile. “My mom’s the softball coach. You think I don’t play baseball?”
Duh, Liv. Duh. “Starting quarterback and ace in the rotation, eh?”
He shrugs, face still deadpan. “Outfielder.”
I stare at him as Coach Shanks cuts in. “Look, I hate to say it in front of Worthington, but our baseball team is crap.”
Grey shrugs. “He’s not wrong.”
“Our football team, however, was tops in the league last year, and we stand a great chance to do it again. But only if I bring in winners. And you, softball princess, are a winner. Plus, I saw that spiral just now and it was magnificent.” Okay, now I’m sort of blushing. “And before you ask, yes, there have been female quarterbacks in high school. It’s legal, and there’s no rule against it.”
Suddenly, I want to believe them. Both the kid who scouted me as a solution to his problem and the coach desperate enough to add a girl to his roster, ready to embrace the huge can of worms that’ll come along with it.
“You guys must be in deep if you’re willing to coerce a sixteen-year-old girl into joining your football team,” I say.
A new half smile curls on Grey’s lips, and he pops the ball to me, my fingers snagging the point. Though he could wink, he keeps that move in the holster. “Ding, ding, ding,” he says.
It’s got to be at least a hundred degrees, and I’m still sweating in the blistering air, but a chill shoots the length of my spine when it hits me that I might actually want this.
I want a fresh start. I want a chance at playing for Coach Kitt, at a softball future and all the things that come with it. And I want actual friends at this stupid school.
Plus, Jake will hate it.
I grin. “What time’s practice?”
6
THE SECOND I GET HOME, I HEAD STRAIGHT TO THE room I share with Ryan, my cell phone in hand. I thump onto my twin bed, which is shoved into a corner in my half of the room, and dial the one person I know who won’t think what I’ve agreed to is batshit: Addie.
She’ll pick up because I’m calling. An actual phone call beats a 911 text any day. If I have to verbalize it to her, it must be completely serious.
She answers the phone in two seconds flat. “Oh shit, who’s dead?”
“What? No, Addie, everyone in my family is perfectly fine.” At this, I hear shuffling and the metallic clang of a locker—Addie’s still at Windsor Prep for marathon practices with the volleyball team. “Well, Mom is as fine as she can be,” I add. Because it’s hard to use definitive language when the subject has lethal boobs.
I hear Addie let out a breath. “Christ, O-Rod, don’t scare me like that.” In the background, there’s some chatter from the volleyball girls—most I haven’t seen since that night, too embarrassed to show my face to anyone from our circle. I have to swallow a hard lump that’s formed in my throat at the thought of Addie walking through the halls of Windsor Prep without me, even though she’s probably been doing it all week. And will be doing it at least for the next year. “What’s up?”
“I’m calling with news.”
“A reclusive, softball-loving benefactor paid for your Windsor Prep tuition?”
I snort. “Not even close.” God, I miss Addie, and I saw her Monday. But hitting the mall together is totally different from sharing four classes and endless pop-up drills. “I just walked on to the Northland football team.”
I can almost hear her eyes narrow. “Like, what the boys do?”
“Have you been going to an all-girls school so long you forgot what football is? Yes. Duh.”
“Wait.” There’s some commotion as some of the girls drift past. When it’s silent again, she says, “Like the same team Jake is on?”
I bite my lip. “Yes.”
There is a beat of silence, then her voice goes up an octave—zero-to-sixty WTF, Liv. “Does he know about this? And what the hell are you even going to do, anyway? Get them water?”
“Screw you,” I say, voice light. “I was recruited as a quarterback. And Jake probably knew the second I said yes, but if they spared him he’ll find out tomorrow at practice.”
I give her the same abridged version that I’m planning to use on my parents in the near, yet still as far away as I can make it, future. “The starting quarterback recruited me. He needs a backup, saw me throwing a football around with Ryan, and figured I might be interested.”
Addie hesitates. “I dunno, sounds like a setup, Liv.”
“It’s not; the quarterbacks coach was there, too. But get this—the injured starter, his mom is Coach Kitt. So he might be willing to put in a good word for me. A favor for a favor.”
“Liv, please tell me he’s hot, because that sounded kinda dirty.”
“Um, yeah, he’s hot in that Peter Kavinsky way. Like a surfer with a side career as a newscaster. Serious face, great hair.” God, I sound all weird. “But I’m not joining the football team because Grey is hot, it’s because—”
“Wait, his name is Grey?”
“Grey Worthington. He’s a senior.”
“You definitely need to check out the validity of this guy. That name alone makes him sound like he’s a secret duke, or a type of tea or something. You’ve googled him, right?”
I probably should have, just to make sure he was who he said he was. But Coach Shanks backed him up. And he’d have no reason to lie to me, or to be twisted into helping Jake pull one over on me. So, I fib to Addie. But it’s only a small lie, because I’m going to google Grey the second we hang up. “Yes. He’s legit.”
Addie can probably see right through me, just like she can read a pick-and-roll. I hear the whoosh of nighttime air as she exits Windsor Prep and enters the parking lot. “So, I’m guessing you have practice tomorrow?”
“Two-a-days. First one’s at 7:00 AM. Guess it’s a trial by fire to see what it’s all about.”