by Ginger Scott
“What do you think your dad will think, Cannon?” My uncle changes up his route.
I shrug, eyes focused on my now half-empty plate as I scoop up more food.
“You think he’ll be okay with moving your family across country so you can throw to some girl?”
I drop my fork at that comment, my chest tightening into a thick ball right where my ribs meet. I push the plate away, done, and unfurl the napkin my aunt always rolls up for us at the table. I run it over my mouth and chin.
“I guess we can ask him when he gets here,” I say, standing and taking my plate to the sink. I meet my aunt’s eyes as I do and get the sense that she’s had to suffer through this conversation all morning.
“Speaking of, he might get in tomorrow,” my uncle says. His chair drags along the floor as he stands.
My buzzing nerves instantly calm at that bit of news. My dad is sensible, even if he’s competitive. He and I have had long talks about what might happen if I get recruited by places where Zack doesn’t have a shot. My dad’s helped me realize that even though Zack and I formed this dream together, I can still forge out on my own if that’s what’s best for me. Uncle Joel seems to think carrying Zack is my responsibility. I finally see the difference between loyalty and being taken advantage of.
“Is he driving straight through?” I drop my rinsed plate into the washer rack and turn to keep my back to my uncle as he steps in close.
“Yep,” he confirms.
Finally looking up, my gaze runs smack into my cousin’s. He’s leaning back in his chair, rocking it on the back two legs while balancing a steaming cup of coffee on his propped up knee. The way he’s eying me pushes my guard up like an invisible wall. When we were kids and I got a better Christmas gift than he did, he made the same smug face he’s making right now—as though he has secret plans to sabotage whatever I have that he doesn’t. Back then, it was a bike chain breaking or a wood bat splintering after too few uses. The things he could ruin for me now are far more important.
“There’s a big meeting today. Isn’t there, Dad?” My cousin’s eyes remain on me despite his question.
“Hopefully,” my uncle responds, his answer cut short from a phone call. He walks between us and holds up a finger as if I’m supposed to stick around and see what this call is all about. My gaze follows his path down the hall and through the front door before I return my focus to Zack, who is still staring at me, his hint of a smile the kind a villain wears while he watches his victim drink down poison. I do my best to ignore his silent plea for attention, but when a quiet laugh slips from his mouth while I haul my backpack up on my shoulder, I break.
“What’s your deal, dude. Just spill it. I don’t have time to play the What’s Wrong with Zack game this morning. I have a test to get ready for.” I don’t have a test, but there’s no way I’m hanging out in the parking lot with him all morning just so he can glare at me and say cryptic shit.
“Board’s not really happy with Coach Taylor’s preseason, and it seems someone at the district found out.” Zack leans forward and sets his mug on the table, then folds his hands together near it, pleased with himself, as if he did anything other than act like an asshat at practice.
“What’s wrong with preseason?” I shake my head and pinch my lips tight.
“Uhm, maybe that he’s not pulling the team together and building a sense of unity? Or that he’s broken up the core group of players who have been incredibly successful the last three years in a row?” I can tell by how foreign these words sound coming out of his mouth that he’s probably parroting talking points that my uncle already said. I’m also guessing Uncle Joel is the someone who told these same talking points to the district.
Instead of gratifying Zack with a response, I just stare at him and quirk up one side of my mouth and corresponding brow, a gesture that says “Seriously?” without having to utter the word.
“Pfff.” Zack rolls his eyes and stands, sliding the mug to the other end of the table. His mom takes it, and I’m upset for her that she’s expected to clean up after him.
“You need a ride today or is your little girlfriend coming to get you?” His shoulder bumps into my chest with an extra thrust as he passes and asks that question. I tilt my head to the side and wait for him to turn back and look at me, but he doesn’t.
That knot in my chest pulls tighter, but I stay on my path and don’t give in to his passive aggressive quips. I’m not sure whether he says that because of something he suspects about me and Hollis or because of something he saw, but he’s being a douche.
Without a word, I follow him out the door and get into the passenger side, dropping my backpack between my legs and buckling up. He pauses to stare at me for a few hard seconds, finally letting out a dismissive chuckle and buckling up himself.
“Whatever, man,” he says. And thank God, we drive the rest of the way to school in total silence.
My plan to head straight to class and fake a bullshit test gets cut short the moment we pull into the lot. My gaze tracks Hollis’s movement as she picks up her steps and speeds over to the last row of parking spots. Zack sees her a few seconds after me and lets out a muffled grunt when he realizes she’s trying to catch up with us.
“What the fuck does she want?” he grumbles.
My stomach sinks. I’ve been riding a rollercoaster ever since I snuck out yesterday morning to meet Hollis at the gulch. Maybe I got on this ride at that New Year’s party. It’s hard to tell anymore, the line’s so blurred. I’ve gone from being pissed off that she dares to exist in my carefully made plans to wanting to fight like hell to make sure she stays in them. Hollis, she makes me a better person.
The car stops hard and I lurch forward, slapping my palms on the dash.
“Dick!” I bark.
My cousin’s arms are locked at the steering wheel, and he has yet to kill the engine. When I survey what’s happening just outside his window, I spot the reason why. Hollis is making a gesture, and my cousin is going to shit all over it.
“This your idea?” Zack rolls his head to the side and hits me with lazy, annoyed eyes. I lean forward enough to read the logo on the box Hollis is holding: CUPPIES.
Shit. She brought him cupcakes.
I shake my head and cross my finger over my chest in an X.
“Swear to God, man. This is all her.” Give her credit for being nice, I continue in my head, knowing he won’t.
Cuppies is in the mall on the outskirts of town, one of those places where you can get oversized cupcakes and personalized cookies for special occasions. They’re overpriced for cake, in my opinion, which makes this peace offering she’s holding in her palms that much more thoughtful.
As my cousin pushes open his door, I sit with my back firmly pressed into my seat. I can’t bear to watch, and maybe, if I’m lucky, he’ll close the door before I have to listen.
“Awe, shucks, Double D. It’s not my birthday,” he says, leaving the door wide open behind him. I breathe out through my nose and close my eyes. He has to stop calling her that. It’s harassment, and it doesn’t help his cause. More importantly, she doesn’t deserve it.
“I know, I just— I don’t know why things between us are so . . . you know,” she stammers. Fuck, I should get out and help her through this. I should be her wingman, make my cousin accept this gracefully. But I am still sitting here. All I’ve been able to muster is the strength to reopen my eyes so I can watch this disaster go down in flames.
“Well, how do you want things to be between us?” He leans into the side of the door, blocking my view. I lean forward to catch Hollis’s gaze. Her eyes flit nervously to me then back to him.
“I don’t know. Cordial, I guess?”
My lip ticks up with a stunted laugh. Ten bucks says Zack has no idea what the word cordial means.
“So you bought me cupcakes?” He steps forward, taking the box from her hands.
“Everyone says this place is good, and I wasn’t sure whether you liked vanilla or
chocolate, so I got both.”
Goddamn, she’s being so thoughtful. I’m not sure why she’s trying so hard with him, but I can’t help but feel this has something to do with that board meeting and the whispers at the district level about her dad and his coaching position. Not to say that Hollis isn’t capable of doing something nice for Zack for no reason, but from what I know of her and from what I’ve seen of my cousin’s behavior, I would say he sure as shit doesn’t deserve it.
“Let’s see,” Zack says, tucking the open box in the crook of his arm, pinching it between his side and elbow while he pulls the paper from the bottom of a gooey, chocolate cake. I can tell by the movement of his head and jaw that he’s taking a bite.
“Nope, don’t like chocolate,” he says, letting the cake fall from his hand to the ground. The thick frosting spatters. Hollis’s lips part in disbelief as she blinks slowly at the wasted cake.
“Zack, knock it off,” I finally say. I hate that I let it play out as far as it did. The liar inside me wants to say it’s because I was giving Zack the benefit of the doubt, but really, I’m just a coward.
I get out of the car and pull my bag up on my arm as I step around to meet my cousin and the girl I’m maybe starting to like too much. Her jaw is flexed in a way that has the offended, open-mouthed smile locked in place.
“She’s just trying to be nice, dude. Say thank you and take the damn cupcakes.” I sigh, shaking my head and wondering how this is the conversation I’m having this morning. Hollis is still staring at the discarded cake on the ground.
“Was she, though? Being nice, I mean.” My cousin tilts his head to the side and glances at me then back to Hollis again, practically daring her to stare back at him.
Lifting her chin, she closes her mouth and lets it fall into a stubborn, hardened frown.
Not wanting to see this escalate further, especially given the many places my mind is taking it, I intervene completely, taking the box into my own hands, closing the lid, and shoving it into my cousin’s chest. I step into the space between him and Hollis, cutting them off from one another.
“Yes, she was. Now, say thank you and go to first hour.” I hold his stare for longer than I want. His eyes swirl with something truly hateful mixed with unwarranted betrayal. He didn’t give me a choice with this. I will stand by him when he’s right, but I’ve never been about signing up to be part of the school dick squad. I’ve got enough of a label floating around out there from being an introvert who doesn’t like parties and small talk. Just ask that girl, Abby.
Zack finally gives in and breaks our stare, but only so he can look down at the mess he made on the asphalt.
“Thanks for the shitty present, Double D,” he says, and I shove his chest, crinkling the box when I do it.
“Her name is Hollis,” I seethe.
His smirk is faint and cynical, and it’s the only thing I’m going to get in return. My body teems with aggression, and if he were to let loose and take a swing at me, I might knock him out. Maybe he senses that, or maybe he likes the attention he’s drawn from people standing nearby. Roland and a few other guys from the team have gathered on the walkway that leads to the school, and they’re entertained, trying to choke off their own laughter. All I keep thinking is how disgusted Coach Taylor would be if he saw them, even if it wasn’t his daughter they’re targeting. The fact it is Hollis only makes it worse.
Zack steps into me, his hot breath in my face. A few more inches closer and he’ll be crushing the box into my chest.
“Whatever,” he grunts out, crashing his shoulder into mine again, harder than he did earlier. My shoulders swivel but my feet remain firm where I stand. I reach forward and slam his car door shut, then trail his steps with my eyes as he joins the laughing group of trolls who have picked the wrong side in this war. Without looking back once, he tosses the crumpled box of sweets into the trash as soon as he reaches the flag pole, and all I can do is laugh out loud and apologize for him.
“Hollis, I’m sor—”
She shakes her head, and I get the point before she even has to ask. I’m always apologizing for him. That needs to stop, and it stops here.
14
Hollis
I’m not the kind of girl who has, well, girl kinda problems.
I’ve had seven major crushes in my life, and six boyfriends to complete them. Granted, the first four were all before fifth grade, but still, they count. I mean, it’s hard to resist the girl who always gets picked first in dodgeball; at least, it used to be. That’s all it took for me to make Ridge Howard, Miguel Velasquez, Shawn Sutter and Logan Sutter—that’s right, both Sutter brothers—declare their love for me in the good ole days of elementary school.
My freshman year was all about Angus Lowenstein. He was smart, and completely unlike my usual type. He was into theater, and even convinced me to try out for the high school musical with him. He got the lead. I got cut. (Newsflash: I can’t sing worth a damn.) It didn’t matter, though, because Angus was perfection in the boyfriend department and on the stage. He was also gay. When I told him I didn’t mind, he explained that the problem was dating me kinda got in the way of him being his true self. He’s studying in France now, and he’s got a French boyfriend who isn’t vague or grumpy or mixed up in messy family drama that involves my dad’s coaching and my passion for the game. Nope, Angus is in a normal, healthy relationship where everyone knows exactly where they stand and who they are. In essence, he’s still perfect.
And this brings me to my two most recent crushes. Jordan was mutual love in every single way, except for the part where his father tried to intimidate me into quitting by locking me in the basement of my school and Jordan refused to stand up to him about it. I recently stopped blaming Jordan, and I have the Cannon situation to thank for that. Going against your family isn’t easy, and in many ways, it feels impossible. That’s basically what I asked Jordan to do when the Dean of Students called everyone in for interviews after the basement incident. I asked Jordan to turn on his dad, and despite the broken relationship he had with his father, the thought of severing it completely was too much. His lack of testimony was enough to give the powers that be at Xavier an excuse to not do a damn thing except, of course, fire my dad.
And now I’m looking to Cannon to do something very similar, to step away from blindly supporting his cousin to stand with me instead. He seems so willing, and yet I know the damage this will do to his relationship with his cousin and probably his uncle too. Maybe even his dad. I’m not sure making out with me in a mom van is truly worth the sacrifice.
“So, let me make sure I got this straight. You brought Zack cupcakes even though he’s a dickhead and he threw them away—because he’s a dickhead.” June takes a bite of her carrot while her eyes stare at my lunch tray as though she’s reading notes to help her process the facts about my screwed up life.
“Yes, that pretty much sums it up,” I agree.
“And Cannon called him out on it, but you guys aren’t a thing, or maybe you are, you don’t know, but you’ve made out twice.” She snaps another bite, her eyes still focused on my tray.
“Three times, actually, if you count New Year’s.”
“Oh, you always count New Year’s,” June says through a devious laugh. She takes a deep breath and tosses what’s left of her carrot into the open cup of ranch, then pushes her tray to the middle of the table, folds her arms, and sets her gaze on me.
“That’s pretty much it,” I say, reaching to her tray and commandeering the leftover ranch. I flick the carrot out of the cup and dip the crust of my pizza in to see if that will make this poor excuse for a slice of pie any better. She wrinkles her nose and tells me I’m gross.
It’s actually better this way, but no matter what I dip this crap in, it’s still not New York pizza.
“I’m not seeing the problem. Lola?” June looks to her friend, who still owes me some beachy waves.
Lola sucks up the last few drops of her smoothie while she shakes her head,
her lips puckered around the straw.
“There’s no problem. And you totes know I think Cannon is an asshole. But it sounds like he’s actually being kind of chivalrous.”
I knit my brow at Lola’s odd word choice.
“She’s reading Canterbury Tales in English. Excuse her obsession with knights in shining armor,” June explains.
“Mmm, armor,” Lola adds, swiveling side-to-side in her seat, her lips curled coyly beneath her dreamy eyes. I half expect a white horse with a knight riding on top to bust through the cafeteria doors and whisk her away.
“I know he’s being a good guy, and doing the right things, but I still feel like—”
“Like the house of cards is going to collapse at any moment,” June finishes for me.
I look down and consider her visual, quickly deciding she’s right. And that I’m probably not being fair, but I’ve watched cards fall before.
“I do. His uncle is the kind of loud guy who refuses to back off quietly. And his son is an apple that did not fall far from the tree. Zack is not going to like me—ever. He’s never going to think I deserve anything I earn, and Cannon is trapped right between us, fruitlessly trying to convince him otherwise. And maybe—”
June cuts me off, drawing a line over her lips like a zipper.
“Don’t you dare say you aren’t worth it.” Her expression is serious, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her make a stern face to put someone in their place. Weird that she’s making it at me.
“It’s just a lot to ask,” I relent, discarding what’s left of my pizza crust on the tray and flopping back into my seat. I glance down at my pegged jeans, ripped holes in both knees, and torn-up skate shoes with stick figures drawn on every square inch. It’s hard not to feel inadequate sitting this close to a girl like Lola, who Cannon already snubbed, uninterested. My sweatshirt is two-sizes too big because I like it that way. Lola’s clothes are painted on, her curves made for race cars and the boys who drive them.