Secret Girlfriend Part 9

"Alright, I'll give you this. The team was mostly a bunch of snotty girls who couldn't make the cheer squad but were too athletic to do nothing." She stood up, brus.h.i.+ng the gra.s.s off her b.u.t.t. "You do what you need to do. But don't let a boy push you around."

I stood to avoid that hovered-over feeling. "Alright," I answered back.

She started toward the school before she turned. "Listen. I get it. Honest. But, if you need to talk, email me. Anytime. And, I'll need someone to pace me when I'm home for Thanksgiving if you're up for it."

"Pace you? Didn't you hear? I'm the girl who beat the boys' soccer team." I grinned at her, picturing my lips. .h.i.tching up on the right side in my best Parker impersonation.

It must have been pretty good, because she was still laughing and shaking her head as she climbed the hill to the parking lot.

I hadn't realized how much I'd missed running with Jenn till I saw her again. I thought about being jealous of Rachel's time at camp-and my general lack of other friends due to the whole invisibility thing. But, my time with Jenn had always been easy. We ran. We talked. She saw me. I guess when I wasn't cloaking myself, I was better at this friends thing than I thought.

"Alright men, round up. First things first." Coach slammed the clipboard against his other hand as the guys grouped around him, some faces hopeful but most looking worried. He waved a hand to motion me forward. "Whalen, roll call."

I handed him the three sheets with the initial list of boys. As he worked his way through the pages, I crossed out those who hadn't shown up on my copy and handed him the new count.

"We're already down fourteen." Coach studied the group. "I'm going to start us off with what you all want to know. No reason to keep you distracted all morning."

Coach opened the box at his feet and pulled out two practice jerseys-one blue, one green-before continuing.

"I don't care if you like your captain or not. What I care about is that the captains treat the teams with respect and the teams follow their leaders. Bickering is for old women."

He held the blue s.h.i.+rt in his left hand and the green jersey in his right. Raising his left hand he shouted, "Blue captain is Adams."

Coach named a junior. Most likely the guy they were looking at for JV captain.

The guys all shouted good-natured guy speak that must have been encouragement but sounded shockingly like common put-downs.

Raising his right hand, Coach shouted, "Kent."

Relief rushed through me like an adrenaline kick in the last quarter mile of an uphill 5k. Around him, Chris's guys slapped his back and shouted more badly worded praise. I waited for him to glance my way. Waiting for my chance to add my congratulations to theirs. Hoping it mattered even a little.

Without warning, his friends tackled him and he disappeared under a pile of sweats and cleats.

Coach gave them a few moments of chaos before calling both teams to order.

"I'm going to read off the practice teams. Fall in behind your captain. Blue team." He pulled a sheet of paper from the back of his clipboard and read down a list, the team a commingling of veterans to newbie. Seniors down to the smallest freshman.

"Everyone else, fall in behind Kent. You're the green team."

The guys rushed to stand behind their captain, s.n.a.t.c.hing practice jerseys as they went. Over the box's lid, I met Luke's eye. He pulled a green jersey from the box marked "large" and ambled over to where his team collected behind Chris.

Was I the only one who thought that was going to be a horrible idea? I don't mean bad like a second piece of pie on Thanksgiving bad. I mean bad like holding an aluminum pipe over your head in a lightning storm bad.

The guys all whipped off their s.h.i.+rts and pulled on their new scrimmage team colors. The backs didn't even have numbers for me to use for statistics. With the way the budget was, they were lucky to have the plain Hanes.

Beside me, Coach kept an eye on the teams, noting who showed good spirits and where the mumbling came from. Tossing his clipboard on the table more negligently than normal, he motioned me over.

"Whalen, walk with me." Before I could ask why, Coach started toward the bleachers running the length of the Home Team side. "Do you see any problems arising from how I split the teams?"

Okay, so I wasn't the only one worried.

On the field Chris glared at Luke every so often from where he chatted with some other teammates. Luke, for his part, kept his back to his captain, but already had his own group around him.

"No, sir."

Coach lifted a foot to the first bleacher and leaned on that leg, careless but focused.

"Whalen, if I was looking for some little snot that would kowtow and tell me I'd put together perfect teams, I would have kept that miniature cheerleader wannabe that asked for the job before Kent showed up with you."

I glanced over again, only this time Chris had a smirk glued in place as he watched Coach try to pull information from me. I'd promised to be on his side. I'd sworn it. But wouldn't being honest with Coach be the best way to be on Chris's side?

"I don't know most of the guys yet, Coach."

"But?"

I thought about my own team, the one that probably wouldn't notice I was missing until their points suffered. Taking a deep breath, I s.h.i.+fted to face the bleachers so only Coach could see me.

"Luke and Chris might be a problem. They're fighting for the same spot."

"Is that the only thing they're fighting for, Whalen?"

"Sir?"

He looked down at me, his former athlete's stature making him insanely intimidating-even for Coach. I suddenly didn't wonder why the guys trembled when he scowled in their direction.

"Nothing, Whalen. As long as you can tell me that's the only thing those two are fighting over."

For a flash, as he c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at me, I thought he might know what had happened this morning. Perhaps he'd seen something in the hall or overheard the argument I had with both or either of the guys. But, just like I'd told Luke, it wasn't what it appeared to be. I doubted Coach would believe me anymore than Luke did.

"I can't see them fighting over anything else."

He shook his head, and I had a sudden fear I'd let him down.

"If you say so, Whalen." He handed me a stopwatch and studied the guys milling about in their new colors. "Don't forget, you're part of this team now, too."

Tryouts dragged. Spurts of brilliant play interwoven with a lot of sub-par confusion. Chris and Luke kept their numbers close. Coach kept them off the field at the same time.

Throughout the morning, Coach would call me over to note a rating system in the binder only he seemed to understand. By the end of the session, the sun heated the field like an iron skillet over an open flame. The guys were looking like dish rags that had been used, wrung out, and then set on fire.

When Coach blew the final whistle, I guessed several of the guys had no plans on returning that evening. Most were willing to only try so hard or endure so much humiliation in pursuit of one of those coveted slots. They all knew that a varsity letter wasn't a sure thing and an evening at a friend's pool was probably starting to look pretty darn good.

"Men, I'll see you at seven. Good practice." Coach made his way to the table, opening the binders and jotting notes for the first time. I hid my shock at his ability to use a pencil.

"Whalen, stick around a minute while the guys clean up."

He ran through the stats from the last few days, while I held the day's numbers and made notes about each team member.

"Coach, you didn't rank Chris or Luke."

He pushed his hand through his hair, making the thin ends stand straight up.

"I'm thinking you don't need any more information than you already have. It's been a long enough day for you already."

I knew I should have argued, should have told him again there wasn't anything going on. But instead, I thanked him and headed toward my locker, glad to be able to catch a ride with Chris so I could have lunch at home and just veg out.

Nearing the walkway to the back door, I paused as Chris came out, his hand resting on Cheryl's lower back as he steered her toward the parking lot. He glanced my way and gave a little half-shrug as if to say, "what was I supposed to do?"

Part of me wished he'd just say that out loud so I could answer, "Drive me home."

She must have realized how close we were getting to a scene, because she didn't even make eye contact as they went by. Just stuck her nose a little higher in the air and led Chris past me.

I was nearing A Point. I had no idea what would happen when I reached said Point, but I doubted it would be good. I understood Chris had goals I didn't fit into, but leaving me stranded at school this morning was too much. I considered mentioning that to him next time I saw him.

"Hey. Looks like you need a ride." Luke stood a couple feet away, holding the door open and looking as though he wasn't sure how much more he could get away with saying.

Plus, you know, that whole wordless-searching-look thing.

"Do you just stand around waiting to make humiliating comments?"

He let go of the door and strolled toward me, his expression softening as he neared. Each step brought him closer, each word echoing around in my head as they lined up with the ones Rachel had said.

"Amy, I'm sorry I said some of those things this morning. But that doesn't mean I don't think he treats you second rate." He s.h.i.+fted back, taking a step away as if he realized he'd come too close. Even then he towered over me, making me feel small and less sure with his height alone.

"Can we not talk about this?" I knew I should be angrier with Luke for b.u.t.ting in where he wasn't wanted, but all of my ire was focused in Chris's driving-away direction.

"Grab your bag. I can wait here." Behind him, the door opened and a bunch of the senior guys strutted out, kicking a ball between them. Didn't they ever get tired of synthetic leather covered air? Luke leaned against the fence, comfortable to be on the outside looking in.

"Hi, Amy," Ben called as they neared. "Sorry you couldn't make it to the party yesterday. Chris said you had a lot going on, but it looks like you saved all your energy for that run." He slapped me on the back as he pa.s.sed. "Nice job."

My mind s.h.i.+fted away. My eyes focused on the strap of Luke's duffle bag where it crossed over his chest, his fingers fiddling with the strap adjuster.

"Amy?"

"He invited me?" I shook my head and looked up at Luke, his head c.o.c.ked to study my eyes. "Chris said..."

And then Luke did the best thing ever. He waited. He didn't talk or say anything to make it worse or point out that he'd told me so. He just waited.

But it did make it worse. Here was this guy who, in his own overbearing, all seeing way, had been nothing but nice to me. Every time something horrible happened he was there to see it. And he probably thought I deserved every bad thing I got since he considered me no better than a sad version of a high school home wrecker.

I seriously needed to escape, to get past him and the humiliation surrounding that spot I stood glued to.

"I have to go," I said.

"Okay."

I brushed past him, hefting the binders back into my grip, wrapping my arms around them and hugging them to my chest, a s.h.i.+eld of numbers and facts.

Without checking, I knew Luke followed just closely enough to keep up. When I reached the doorway, his hand shot past me. He opened and held it for me, letting me walk under his arm. It took three tries to get my locker open, the lock spinning past the right numbers in a blur. I shoved the binders in and stood there, staring at the dark pit I'd tossed the all-holy-stats in.

"Art room or home?" Luke was still there, still behind me. Still not saying "I told you so."

G.o.d, I hated him in that moment. Not only for seeing it happen. Not only for being right. But for, after less than a week, knowing that I was hovering there deciding which safe haven to flee to and being the one who would get me to either place no questions asked.

I closed the locker and leaned my forehead against the cool metal.

"Could you take me home, please?"

Luke swept my pack off the floor and threw it over his shoulder before pivoting to give me enough room to slink past him.

When we got to the truck, he walked me to my door. I hadn't realized till that morning how used to him holding it open for me I was getting. When he handed me my bag and gave me that half-smile thing he did, I felt lighter and less out of place. Less... lost.

As we neared the wooden bridge, Luke slowed the truck to a stop and sat looking at the old thing as the water rushed under it, splas.h.i.+ng the higher water marks.

Eyes still facing forward, he cleared his throat and said, "You know, I know a place better than your house."

He looked at me, probably figuring I'd say no. I'd trusted him this far, I thought maybe I should just keep trusting him. Maybe if he'd been around to trust two months ago I wouldn't be hurting like this, with my heart and stomach wrapped around each other in my throat.

I glanced out my window and studied the edge of the road where it drifted down to the water. I should have just given in to begin with, but after thinking about it more than I should have, I nodded.

Instead of rolling over the bridge, he aimed the truck left down a road that zigzagged along the river. I used to run there all the time before I started needing more hills, more challenges.

It was the type of neighborhood my family lived in before we moved to lovely Ridge View and I'd gotten sent off to the RV for school. The houses all looked different enough that you could tell it wasn't a new development and the road most likely went somewhere. Kids spilled into the street from front yards and sidewalks. Luke slowed to wave to several groups of little boys kicking size four soccer b.a.l.l.s around. They shouted and chased after his truck as if he was the older brother each of them wanted. The guy they all looked up to.

Or maybe that was just how I was feeling at the moment.

At the end of the street, he turned into an older farmhouse with two swing-sets side by side in the yard.

"What's this?" I asked "My house," he said. "Wait there."

He hopped out of the truck and made his way around the front, giving the Chevy's hood a tap-tap as he went by, to open my door.

I slid under his arm again and felt the air rush past as he pushed the door shut.

"Thanks." He grinned using both sides of his mouth this time. "You never know when my mom's watching."

We repeated the ritual at the front door and I began to wonder why the feminists complained about someone pus.h.i.+ng barriers out of the way and letting you escape the elements first.

"Luke?" A woman's voice echoed from the rear of the house. "We're out back."

He hung his pack over the end of the banister and headed through the house, glancing over his shoulder to make sure I followed. The oversized kitchen had an old butcher-block table and big windows making the room feel warm and outdoorsy at the same time. Laughter and smoke billowed through the screen door at the end of the room.

"Uh-oh." Luke grinned at me before grabbing two plates and cups from the cupboard. "I think you're going to get to see the boys in action."

On the back deck, a youngish looking mom and two boys watched the smallest attack the grill with a spatula. The laughter caught me, dragging me forward and making me want to hide behind Luke at the same time.

Hopefully the whole family didn't have the invisibility-seeing gene.