Off Center (Varsity Girlfriends Book 2)

by M. F. Lorson

  If Jillie were around, she would have no qualms about harassing Mr. Hunt until he told us what was really going on with him and Mom. Me on the other hand, I just speculated. I should really just ask her. We didn’t keep secrets like that. But what if he had done something crummy like ghost her? Then bringing it up would only make her sadder.

  I wiped the thoughts of Mom out of my head as I pulled into Dad’s large circular driveway. Thinking about Mom while in Dad’s house always put me in a rotten mood. Not that a visit to Dad’s house ever left me in any other kind of mood. It was like his whole life there was designed to be different than the one he had left. His home in Denver was nothing like ours. When we were a family, things were small and cozy. Here everything had been scaled up, from the four-car garage to the family inside.

  I took a deep breath, slung my duffle over my shoulder and pressed the doorbell. From outside I could hear the sound of Quinn’s eight-year-old feet flying across the stone floor. She flung the door open a great big toothless grin greeting me. Behind her my stepmother Judy moved gracefully and with far less enthusiasm to take my coat.

  I gave my best fake smile as Judy pulled me in for a hug. In reality, it was just a firm pat over my shoulder and an air kiss. I felt sorry for Quinn. She had no idea what it was like to have parents that weren’t robots. No one made her bad day milkshakes or good day pancakes.

  “Your father is in his office,” said Judy. “You can stop in if you like, but he should be wrapping up in a few minutes.” I mentally contained my eye roll. I could stop in if I liked? Gee, how swell considering I’d driven an hour to see him.

  “Come see my room,” said Quinn tugging on my arm. “It’s different than last time.”

  “Different than July?” I asked, sure to make sure Judy caught my raised eyebrow as Quinn pulled me through the entryway and up the left-hand side of their pretentious double stairwell. When I was younger, I had been impressed by the size of my father’s house. Now it just turned my stomach. Who needed two sets of stairs to the same second floor? Quinn flung open the door to her bedroom. Gone was the princess theme from last season, in its place was an equally predictable equestrian set up. The walls had been transformed from gold and pink hues to a rich brown with cream colored silhouettes of wild horses sprinting across the back wall. Her canopy bed remained, though the bedding had all been changed to fit the new theme.

  “Aren’t they pretty?” she asked, pointing at a glass display case filled with tiny horse figurines.

  “Oh they are lovely,” I said. And they were. Each horse was different than the one beside it. It had likely cost my father a small fortune for each one.”Do you play with them?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  Quinn frowned, “They aren’t for that.” I nodded my head as if that were a completely normal response to a toy in an eight-year-old’s bedroom. Of course, they weren’t. Dad’s house was for looking not living. I walked around the room, taking in all the carefully placed details — her bookshelf of little girl rider paperbacks, the dresser with miniature horse heads carved into the knobs. Judy was a master at interior decorating. She never missed a detail but then again what else did she do with her time? I didn’t think it was a coincidence that Quinn’s room was different each time I visited. I got the feeling Judy got a little stir crazy sitting around in this giant house all day while Quinn was off at school, sports, and whatever extracurriculars they put her in for the season.

  “And my bedroom,” I asked. “Is it different?”

  Quinn giggled, “No silly. Mom says big girls like their things the same.” Judy was right about that, this big girl anyway. I was likely to blow my top if I ever walked into my room and found it decked out in some terrible two-page spread from the Pottery Barn.

  “Would you walk me to my room?” I asked, knowing it was the only way to prevent her from describing each and every one of those untouchable horses in excruciating detail.

  My room, at the other end of the hall, had remained unchanged since my first stay here. In Judy’s defense, she had offered to let me pick out a theme as well, but I’d been too bitter at the time to take her up on it. Now I kind of wished I had chose something awful. Then they would be stuck with one imperfect room in their perfect house.

  Garfield.

  I should have demanded an entirely Garfield themed room with ceramic lasagna boxes, in their own fancy glass display case just like Quinn’s. My bookshelf could have been all comics. Maybe they would have even swung for a cat shaped lamp. Instead, everything was sensible. Sensible blue paint. Sensible white bedspread, a cherry oak dresser and a closet full of Banana Republic and J-Crew. That part, I had to admit, I loved.

  I always packed a bag for Dad’s house, but it was never necessary. Judy pre-stocked my closet with whatever, overpriced, name brand clothing her friends at the country club told her was cool. My wardrobe here made Sammi Parsons look like a thrift store shopper.

  I threw open the closet doors and inspected this season’s finds. Jeans that cost over a hundred dollars and would only be worn once, check. Cardigan’s that looked like they belonged to the cast of Pretty Little Liars, check. Three dresses clearly intended for Thanksgiving Dinner, check. Judy must have been dying for Quinn to grow up. Purchasing clothing for me was her way of getting through the tough years when little girls want to wear purple and red together.

  I slipped into a pair of jeans. They were tighter than I would usually pick, but Judy wasn’t like Mom and me. She didn’t buy a size up for comfort. Technically these jeans were a perfect fit. I paired them with a mustard yellow cardigan twin set and a pair of purple suede Gucci flats. Andie would have gone bananas for the shoes. I shot her a quick text asking for her size. I wouldn’t wear these things back in Marlowe Junction but someone ought to benefit from them.

  Dressed to kill with nowhere to go I flung myself onto the bed, closing my eyes as I sunk deep into the soft down comforter. Just as I was about to drift off my cell phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached over to grab it expected a response from Andie. Instead, Mackey’s number lit up the screen.

  Mackey: It is tradition to spend the Wednesday night before the tournament out on the town.

  I smiled, anything sounded better than an evening in with Dad and the replacements. But that didn’t mean I could go. If the tournament hadn’t been basketball, I wouldn’t even have been allowed out for that.

  Lane: That’s a tradition I’ll have to pass on. There is no way Dad is going to let me go out my first night here.

  Mackey: Not even if you tell him it’s preparation for tomorrow? You can’t very well write an article about an annual tournament and leave out the yearly pre-tournament festivities?!?!

  I started to text back but stopped myself mid-refusal. Why not ask Dad? Mackey wasn’t totally off base. Being able to describe the trip as a whole would make the article stronger than just covering the games, especially given the rather strong likelihood that they lost tomorrow.

  I knocked on the door to Dad’s office. Those few minutes Judy referenced had morphed into well over an hour. I guess some things didn’t change just because you got a bigger house.

  “Come in,” answered Dad, not looking away from his computer to see who was entering the room. It had been a long time since I interrupted his work, but I could still remember the look he used to give me. I imagined it was the same look he gave Quinn now. His ‘don’t be such a kid’ look. I thought about the horses in Quinn’s room. She may have had all the best objects, but they were still only objects. The really good things couldn’t be bought. The really good things weren’t things at all. Dad looked up from his laptop, snapping the screen shut when he realized who was entering the room. He rose from behind his desk and ran a hand through his thinning salt and pepper hair.

  “Lane! I didn’t hear you arrive. How long have you been here?”

  An hour and a half, I thought. And I told you what time I was coming. But that kind of answer wouldn’t help me escape for the night.
>
  “Not long,” I replied. “I’ve just been getting settled in for the weekend.”

  Dad nodded, looking me up and down as he always did the first time we saw each other after a long break. I couldn’t help but do the same. He got older, more tired looking each time I saw him. I guess golf and yoga and all that cheesy meditation Judy insisted on didn’t erase the effects of his sixty-hour work weeks any more than Mom yelling at him had.

  “I see you found the clothes Judy picked out for you.”

  I pulled at the hem of my sweater. “They’re really nice. sort of unnecessary for three days,” I couldn’t help but add. “But nice.”

  Dad smiled, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She gets carried away, but it’s all with good intention.”

  “I know,” I said, running my fingers along the leather-bound spines of his bookshelf.

  “It means a lot to her when you wear them.” He continued as if I needed coaching on how to please Judy.

  “I’ll remember to thank her,” I said, pulling out a nearly mint copy of Robinson Crusoe. I flipped through the pages absentmindedly, gathering up my courage to ask about the evening ahead.

  “I’m looking forward to the tournament,” said Dad. “It’s been a long time since I saw a good game.”

  I snickered, “It could continue to be a long time.”

  A crease formed between Dad’s eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I sighed, flipping the book shut and grabbing a seat on the arm of his overstuffed brown leather armchair. It was the only piece of furniture he had taken from our house in Marlowe Junction and subsequently my favorite spot to sit when I visited. “It’s just that the Mountaineers have a bit of a history when it comes to this tournament.”

  “I take it, it’s a bad history?”

  “Last year they got creamed.”

  Dad frowned. I could almost read his mind. If the team is so bad why were we wasting our holiday watching them play?

  “This year could be better though,” I rushed. The last thing I wanted was for Dad to take back his promise that I could skip the afternoon of cooking with Judy and Quinn for the tournament.

  “I guess we will see tomorrow,” said Dad, a hint of optimism in his voice.

  “About my article,” I started, sensing the time was as good as any. “It would really be better if I could encompass the whole trip. You know, really paint a portrait of what the tournament means to the guys, how they prepare, mentally and physically..”

  Dad nodded. Not quite sure what I was getting at.

  “So I was wondering if I could go out with the team tonight?” I asked cautiously. “It’s sort of a tradition to go out the night before the tournament.”

  Dad sucked in a deep breath. Here it comes, I thought, another instance in which Dad decides my one-weekend visitation is an opportunity to do years worth of parenting. He was always accusing Mom of being too loose with me.

  “You would be back by eleven?” asked Dad.

  I opened my mouth to argue then snapped it shut again. Wasn’t he going to lecture me? Where was my list of reasons I should be spending the evening at home with the family and not out with a group of boys he had never met? I hadn’t prepared nearly as well for him to say yes as I had for no.

  “I...I can do that.” I answered, excitement bubbling up inside of me.

  “Alright then,” he said, taking a seat back behind his desk. He picked up his reading glasses and returned them to their well-worn perch on the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make me regret this decision,” he warned.

  “I promise you won’t!” I cried, whipping around his desk and wrapping my arms around his neck just like I used to as a child.

  Dad reached up, giving my forearm a little squeeze. I wondered if he was thinking what I was. How long had it been since the two of us last hugged? I took a deep breath. He smelled like old coffee grinds and dryer sheets. Had he always smelled that way? Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten. After awkwardly disentangling myself I bid my father goodbye and raced upstairs to shoot a text to Mackey.

  Lane: Pick me up at five?

  Mackey immediately shot back a stream of celebratory emojis. I had no idea where we were going or what we were doing, but for the first time since my parents split up, Thanksgiving felt like a holiday.

  Chapter Fifteen

  True to his word Mackey arrived at 5:00 p.m. sharp. Maybe it was for my father’s benefit, but I couldn’t help but notice he was dressed exceptionally nice for a night out with the starting five. I was used to seeing him in a polo and slacks. He always seemed to be dressed like it was game day. But this was different. His trademark khakis were topped with a thick blue crewneck sweater with a matching blue and white checkered button hanging untucked at his waistline. The collar was neatly pressed. Maybe his Mom had done it, but maybe he had taken the time to iron it himself back at the boy's hotel. If I had known he was going to go through so much effort, I would have thrown on one of the Thanksgiving dinner dresses Judy left in my closet. As it was, I felt a little silly standing awkwardly in jeans as Mackey assured Dad that he was a safe driver and would have me home by curfew. This must be what it felt like to have a Dad around when a boy took you on a date I thought. It felt awful datey when Mackey pulled open the passenger side door to his car and waited for me to climb inside.

  Mackey waited until I was safely buckled before making his way to driver’s seat. “You’ve been holding out on me, Cub,” he said as he pulled out of Dad’s driveway. “If would have known you and Anderson belonged to the same country club I might have made you pay your own way tonight.”

  “My Dad,” I said. “My Dad might belong to the same country club as Anderson. I certainly don’t.”

  “Sure, sure,” replied Mackey. “And those Gucci flats are your Dad’s too I suppose.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, “You weren’t exactly shopping at the Bargain Mart for tonight’s wardrobe either,” I replied, my eyes traveling from his fancy brown dress shoes to his boy band worthy profile.

  Mackey blushed, “You’re sorta supposed to dress nice for this thing.”

  “What?” I cried, my eyes growing wide. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

  Mackey shrugged, “I forgot. No worries though,” he said stealing a glance in my direction. “I was just teasing about your shoes. I think you look great. Better than great actually,” he said under his breath, as he returned his eyes to the road ahead.

  “Thanks,” I said, reaching up to smooth my hair. I hadn’t gone out of my way the way some girls would. My make up was light, and the thin black satin headband I wore wasn’t going to draw anyone's attention away from Preston’s girlfriend or whoever Anderson had talked into being his lady of the week but I had taken a little extra time getting ready, and it felt good knowing he’d noticed.

  “Where are we going?” I asked when the comfortable silence began to stretch into awkward territory.

  Mackey smiled, he didn’t quite have dimples, more like tiny divots at the corners of his mouth that only appeared when he was really excited about something. He was excited now. I didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were on fire. I studied eyes the way Anderson studied hemlines, Mackey’s were one of a kind with their perpetual squint and deep penetrating gaze.

  “I’m taking you to The Grotto,” said Mackey. “Well, you and everyone else that is. We always meet there for the first walkthrough of the season.”

  “Grotto,” I frowned, “Like the Catholic thing?”

  “That’s the one. Although none of us are all that religious.”

  “Why on earth would you go to a Grotto if no one is religious?”

  “You’ll see. Has your Dad ever taken you there before?”

  I laughed, “My Dad hasn’t taken me to the park in the last decade. He definitely hasn’t taken me to any Catholic places of worship.”

  Mackey smiled, ignoring the implication about my Dad. “Good. Then it will be your first time. It’s Sam
mi and Linzie’s first too, so you’ll be in good company.”

  “Great,” I said, trying to sound more positive than I felt. The proposed company was putting a damper on my enthusiasm for the evening. “Will Beth be there too?” I asked.

  I didn’t have anything against any of those girls, but they didn’t exactly go out of their way to help me fit in. At The Platform whenever the guys went off on a basketball tangent, the other girls at the table would talk amongst themselves but never about anything I could relate to. It wasn’t like they excluded me, so much as they just didn’t include me. They definitely didn’t involve me at school. I’d tried flagging Beth down between classes. Of the two she seemed the most approachable but the best she’d offered in return was a little wave as she ran to catch up with her real friends.

  “Yep,” said Mackey. “Everyone but Ryan is coming. His parents weren’t exactly comfortable with the unchaperoned outing.”

  Poor Ryan, he had enough trouble fitting in without his parents butting in on what was obviously a team bonding trip.

  “We won’t be seeing them all that much though,” continued Mackey. “Anderson has some uh…well let’s just call them intentions shall we?”

  “Gag me with a spoon,” I said wrinkling my nose at the idea of Anderson and Linzie getting busy in some darkened corner of our outing.

  “He’s not a saint,” said Mackey, “but she’s hardly singing in the church choir herself.” I couldn’t fault him there. Earlier this year Linzie had, had no problem breaking up Anderson and Charlie. She was probably looking forward to a little alone time without the whole student body whispering about it the next morning.