So Not Happening (30 page)
“No.” She holds up a hand. “Me first. Do you know what I've decided?”
I shield my eyes from the harsh sunlight. “You think a liar like Hunter is bound for a future in politics?”
“No.”
“You think I'm the worst thing that's ever happened to Truman?”
“That would be the Miss Truman pageant of 2007. We had our first transvestite in the competition—lots of back hair.” She shudders at the memory. “No, I think I'm going back to being me.” She reaches down and dusts a speck from her Nike running shoe. “If I have to be someone else to impress Matt Sparks, then I don't want him. I don't want to look in the mirror six months from now and see one of your New York friends staring back at me. I don't want to care whose name is on my shirt label.”
I'm guessing it's Adidas.
“I don't want to throw out a perfectly good pair of shoes just because they went out of style two months ago. Or judge someone because they'd rather shop at Payless instead of Prada.”
“You're exactly right.”
“What?”
“You're right. I tried to make you into one of
them.
And that's not you. Lindy, Matt likes you for who you are, inside and out. I think you should just tell him how you feel and come clean with it. And if he doesn't realize what amazing girlfriend material you are, then it's his loss and he doesn't deserve you. But . . . that doesn't explain why you're out here.”
Her eyes return to the field where the boys in the starting lineup look like they could collapse at any minute. “I thought I would catch Matt before practice—talk to him. Tell him how all of this”—she lifts a piece of her highlighted hair—“had been for him. But, Bella, I think I've decided to just leave it alone. More than anything in the last few weeks, I've missed my
friend
Matt. I'm not ready to risk losing him permanently if he doesn't feel the same way.”
“Are you sure? I have a few other boy-winning strategies in my repertoire.”
A corner of her mouth lifts. “Two days ago you witnessed your boyfriend pawing your best friend. No offense, but your advice isn't worth much right now.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.”
Though it still smarts. I can't wait until the image of Hunter and Mia disappears from my brain. I've been on a steady diet of Ben and Jerry's ever since. I tried to smuggle it in on the plane today, but security didn't care about my boyfriend cheating on me. They said my contraband pint of Chunky Monkey was a security risk. Like anyone would ever desecrate a holy carton of Ben and Jerry's by sticking a weapon in it. Please.
“Lindy, I'm sorry for trying to change you. I never thought of you as a charity case. Your makeover was fun for me, but I know I got carried away. I don't want you to be like my New York friends.” My ex-friends. “This weekend I realized how shallow they all are. I can't believe all they care about is shopping and . . . shopping.”
“You know that was you about a month ago, right?”
“I wasn't
that
bad.”
She bites her lip. “Um, okay.”
“Seriously, was I?”
She elbows me in the ribs. “Let's just say you've grown on me.”
I giggle in relief. “Still friends?”
“Yeah.” She smiles. “I think we are.”
Thirty minutes later my butt has fallen asleep. I don't know why I'm still sitting here watching practice. Not sure what I'm looking for.
“Is Coach Lambourn always that rough on Jared?” Seems all he's accomplished with his practice is demolishing his stepson's self-esteem.
“He's hard on all of them, but I think he expects more from Jared.”
“It must be hard to grow up in the shadow of his all-star stepbrother.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I guess. He seems okay with it. Jared loves the sport. It's everything to him. We haven't won state since Coach Dallas's day, so I think everybody's just focused on winning right now. It helps the players get scholarships, and it helps the coaches keep their jobs, especially the newer ones.”
Yeah, but at what cost? “So you mean if they didn't win this year, some of the coaches might be fired?”
“Yes. It's just how it is. Their jobs depend on winning seasons.”
And how far would Coach Dallas go to keep his job
and
restore the Truman Tigers to their former glory?
When practice is over, Jared Campbell finds me sitting on his hood. I hand him a water bottle. “You look like a thirsty boy.” Maybe in time I'll like him as more than a friend.
He takes the bottle and scoots next to me on the car. “Could you have picked a hotter seat?”
I consider telling him I prefer my buns toasted, but decide against it. “Rough practice.”
He grimaces. “It always is. What are you up to? Didn't see you in school today.”
“I was in New York. And I hear you took a bunch of notes today in English. I thought maybe we could hang out and I could catch up on what I missed in class.”
“Now?”
“You don't want to?” I need to get into his house and see if he has access to the Brotherhood's MySpace page.
“Well, yeah, but I'm a disgusting, sweaty mess.”
He really is.
“I know,” I purr. “We can go to your house, and while you clean up, I'll jot down the notes. Then you can fill me in on everything that happened at school today.” He looks doubtful. “Don't worry. I won't stay long. I have to babysit my little stepbrother tonight.” Surely his password to MySpace is saved. “You'd be doing me a
huge
favor.”
“Okay. For you.”
“Perfect! I'll follow you.”
And maybe your computer will lead me
to the proof I need to get Coach Dallas in some very big trouble and end
the Brotherhood forever.
“So I'm going to take a quick shower. Help yourself to the fridge. I'll be out before you can dunk your first Oreo.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it. I'd hate to work on an empty stomach.”
He saunters down a hall, and I watch him walk into his bedroom. Tapping my fingernails on the table, I try to take some deep breaths and calm my racing heart. I might not find anything on his computer, but I have to make sure.
When I hear the water start, I get up and tiptoe down the same hall. I stand outside his door and listen. After a minute, I decide he has to be safely in the shower. I peek in his bedroom and, seeing no signs of Jared, I push on the door and creep inside.
My eyes home in on an iMac sitting on a corner desk.
Here we
go. Steady now. You can do this.
I click on his Internet icon and wait for it to load.
Hurry!
Hurry!
When Jared bursts into “Friends in Low Places,” I stifle a scream, my heart lodged in my throat, until I realize he's still in the shower. And a really terrible singer.
His home page pulls up, and I see the ESPN logo and a list of game scores. My pulse skittering, I check his favorites. Scanning, scanning. Nothing.
I type in “MySpace.com.”
“What are you doing?”
I jump like a cat, my hands clutching the chair.
Coach Dallas stands in the doorway. His meanest coach's stare is trained on me, and I can't seem to form a coherent thought.
“I... I...” This is
had. This is very had.
“Your brother is loaning me some notes from class. I was hoping to”—Snap my fingers and disappear. Jump out the window. Ask God for a swarm of locusts—“save some time and use his computer to type them up.” I hold up my French-tipped nails. A girl can ruin a manicure with all that writing we do in AP English.”
“Where is my stepbrother?”
Oh,
do I detect some fraternal sensitivity?
I jerk my thumb toward the bathroom. “You can't hear his
American Idol
audition in there?”
“So you're in his bedroom while he's in the shower?” His lips quirk.
Yeah. Not only am I a snoop, hut I'm a perv too.
“I wasn't peeking or anything.”
Believe me, all I wanted to see of Jared's was his computer.
“I guess the rules have changed in this house since I lived here.”
Coach Dallas relaxes, and I begin to breathe again.
“What are you two doing?” Jared walks out of the bathroom, a towel knotted at his waist. My face floods with heat. Luke would have a coronary if he knew how badly I was bumbling this.
“I'm sorry, I'm in such a hurry with the babysitting thing.” I speak to the general space beside Jared. “So I came up here to see if you had a computer. I was hoping I could type your notes. I can do sixty words per minute.” I'm rambling! Boy in towel! Look away! “I think I'll wait in the kitchen.” Maybe try to drown myself in the sink. Gouge out my eyeballs with a can opener.
“Don't go anywhere.” Jared steps behind the door for a split second then reappears in a pair of shorts. “How did you think you were going to type my notes if I hadn't even given them to you yet?”
I giggle like a space cadet, “I heard singing, and I had to follow the sound. It lured me in here, Jared Like a siren from the
Odyssey
.” Or a scratched CD “And I thought, As long as I'm here. I'll check out his computer” My face is as sincere as a TV preacher-though what I'm saying makes absolutely no sense. “If you'll just get me the notes, I'll leave you two alone while I copy them the old-fashioned way in the kitchen.”
And get the heck out of here
.
“No, that's okay.” Jared's eyes flash for a moment, their usual gentleness replaced with something fierce. “Dallas here was just leaving.”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you for a minute, little
brother.”
I scoot around the desk chair and pass between the two guys. “I'll just get out of your way.”
“No, Bella, wait.”
I wave a hand and back out the door. “No problem. Finish your talk.” I stop halfway down the hall and listen.
“I have a lot riding on this season.”
“That makes two of us,” comes Jared's angry voice. “Back off, Dallas.”
“If the team goes down, we all go down. The school board will terminate all of the staff, and you won't even get to play as a college walk-on, let alone get a scholarship.”
“I know that! You think I don't feel the pressure?”
“Dad's been talking about cutting you from the starters. I've held him off, but I can't much longer.”
“Nice to know you care.”
“This team's important to me. And to Dad.”
Jared laughs, his bitterness obvious. “Winning's important to you two. Not me, not the team. I care about the team. I care about the players. They're not even people to you—just a means to an end. Quit trying to relive your high school days through me.”
I replay this in my head, wanting to store it word for word for Luke. Coach Dallas is so our man. Now I just have to get someone to admit it. To confess and hand over the video files. Maybe one more party with Jared, and he'll let me in. He has no reason to protect a stepbrother he doesn't even like. Especially at the cost of his friends.
Two minutes later Coach Dallas sails through the living room. I wave at him from the kitchen table as he slams the front door behind him. Nice guy, that one.
Jared reappears, this time wearing a shirt. “I'm really sorry about that. Dallas and I aren't exactly best friends.”
“So I see. It must be hard to live in a family of two coaches.”
“He just doesn't get it. He wants everything to be like it was when he was in school—same plays and everything. He thinks he knows what's best for the team, but he doesn't even know us.”
“You know, Jared . . . if you ever want to talk, I'm a great listener.”
And snooper.
“And I hear I give some pretty good advice.”
And this would all he over if we could go to the police together.
“Thanks.” He hands me a stack of papers. “Your notes
and
an invitation to the Thursday night party.”
“You're the best.” I smile and clutch the ticket like it's gold. “Is it okay if I just borrow the notes tonight? It's getting late, and I really do need to get home for babysitting duty.”
“You seem a little more adjusted with your new family.”
I think about this. “I guess I am. Except for one stepbrother. All he cares about is making my life miserable.”
Jared nods, a faraway look in his eyes. “Then I guess we have that in common.”
N
o friends over. No parties. No leaving for any reason. And keep your eye on Robbie at all times.”
“He will not so much as tinkle without my presence,” I tell my mom. She and Jake stand on the front porch ready to leave for his amateur wrestling match.
“I do not pee with an audience.” Robbie pulls his cape around him, his hero's pride totally insulted.
“Emergency numbers are on the fridge.”
“Go, Mom. We'll be fine. Superman here will not escape this time.”
“I'm Spiderman tonight.”
“What you are is dead meat if you so much as step a foot out of this house.” I shut the door behind our parents.
“I know, Dad's already told me. No CNN for a month if I don't obey your every command.”
“Oh, really?” I walk into the kitchen, Robbie following my every step. “So if I tell you to clean my toilet with your toothbrush, you're going to do it?”
“I'll clean it with
somebody's
toothbrush.”
