“Ready for food?” Riley asked.
“Yep.”
I followed her across the gravel and slid into a tiny red car a few spaces down. Within minutes, we pulled into an unmarked space at a small diner. A white Mustang sat beside us. On the back window, a football emblem read MACK.
“Tate beat us here,” she said.
She pulled the key from the ignition and led the way through a set of glass doors. A small metal bell rang with our entrance, and the smell of french fries bid us hello.
“Welcome to Big Sal’s!” a voice called.
On our right, positioned behind an off-white counter, a middle-aged man stood opposite Tate. He shifted his attention back to the notepad and continued to jot Tate’s order while Riley closed the door behind us.
“Couldn’t wait?” she teased.
“Nope,” Tate replied. He pulled her in for a hug and motioned at me with his free hand. “New addition,” he said, addressing the man. “That should score me a discount.”
“If I gave you a discount, you’d eat this place out of business,” the guy answered. He winked at Riley and looked at me again. “Name’s Sal. Happy to have you here.”
“Thanks.”
“Best burgers this side of Charlotte,” he said. “You’ll be here once a week like these two. Where’s Meade? He want a burger, too?”
“Probably,” Riley replied, “but Claire can’t eat meat. Got anything else?”
I cringed. I could tell Riley the truth and be the newest liar on campus, or I could suck it up and deal with the consequences. Which was worse, embarrassment or faking vegetarianism?
Before I could decide, Sal answered, “Got some tofu in the fridge.” He scribbled down tofu burger. Once he had all the orders, he handed each of us a Styrofoam cup. “Machine’s in the back,” he instructed. “We do free refills, and if the guys win tomorrow, there’ll be a fifty-percent discount on ice cream.”
“We’ll win,” Tate assured. “Just make sure you’ve got plenty of the Butterfinger kind.”
“Always do,” Sal replied.
Riley pulled away from the pair and ushered me across the linoleum floor. We stopped in front of a large soda dispenser. The machine sat beneath framed sports memorabilia that extended the length of the wall. Football team photos ranged from present day to the early fifties. They were mixed with various cheerleading photos and three retired jerseys.
“This is my favorite place in town,” she said. “I love all the pictures. My mom’s in a few.”
“I like it, too,” I replied. “It’s old-school, and these pictures are awesome.”
After we filled our drinks, Riley moved to a booth in the far corner and slid across the red leather upholstery. “Finally got the pep rally stuff done,” she said, setting her cup on the table. “You would’ve gotten recruited to help if I wasn’t done when you got there.”
I took a seat across from her and shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time I prepped for a pep rally,” I answered. “Last year it took hours to get everything set up. The cheer coach and the team captain could never agree where to put the signs.”
“You were a cheerleader?” I nodded, and she shook her head. “Bummer you didn’t move here sooner. We could’ve been on the team together.”
“Been on what team?” Tate asked, taking a seat beside Riley.
“Claire was a cheerleader,” she said. “If she would’ve gotten here in May, we could’ve been on the same team.” Riley leaned against the table. “I feel like such a terrible friend for not knowing this. What else did you do before you moved here? Where did you move from? Were you in band? Did you play sports? Any boyfriends?”
“Boyfriends?” Adam slid into the booth beside me and wedged me against the wall. I scowled at his profile as he sipped from his cup. “Who has a boyfriend?” he continued, looking at Riley. “Besides you.”
“Why do you care, Mr. I Don’t Do Relationships?” she said.
“Inquiring minds.”
She rolled her eyes, and Tate chuckled. “Riley’s still upset about you standing up Brooke. She’ll deal.”
“It was the week before school started, and she’s still angry,” Riley said. “You deal with mood swings and passive-aggressive comments and see how happy it makes you.” She scowled at Adam. “The next time you can’t make a date, call the girl and let her know. Brooke sat here for over an hour waiting on you.”
“I was busy,” he answered, “and my phone was dead. Besides, I told you I wasn’t interested in Brooke, and you set us up anyway. Next time, check before you volunteer me to go out with one of your friends.”
“Sorry. I was trying to help you find something to focus on, other than football. Don’t worry. I won’t set you up with anyone else,” Riley replied.
She glanced at me, but I looked at Sal, who reached the table with a large red tray. Thankfully, food eased Riley’s and Adam’s moods.
“Two number fives,” Sal said, placing the baskets in front of Riley and Tate. “One number eight.”
He sat a basket with two mouth-watering double cheeseburgers in front of me, and my mouth dropped. If this was what tofu looked like, I’d happily eat it every day of the week.
“I’ll take that,” Adam said, sliding the basket over as I moved in for the kill.
“But that’s—”
Sal sat a basket in front of me and my throat knotted. The patty was a nice golden brown, but something didn’t smell right. The sandwich smelled like nuts with fishy undertones.
“Everything good?” Sal asked. The rest of the group nodded. “Great! Let me know if you need any ketchup.”
Sal backed away while I tilted my head toward Adam’s cheeseburgers. When he cut into them, revealing cheese-covered, salty strips of pork, I wanted to cry. My nasty-smelling burger couldn’t compare to cheesy bacon.
“I can’t believe Sal had tofu burgers,” Riley said. “I thought you’d be limited to fries. This is way better.”
“Yay,” I said, my voice flat.
I poked the burger with my fork, then looked at Riley’s and Tate’s food. This wasn’t fair. The world hated me.
“Who wants fries when you have such a health-conscious meal?” Adam teased. Grease dripped from the bottom of his burger as he raised it and took a bite. He hummed with satisfaction and nodded at my food. “Better eat up,” he said, swallowing. “Wouldn’t want it to get cold.”
“Yeah, Claire. Try it,” Riley agreed.
My instincts told me to run, but my conscience told me to be polite. I sniffed the burger again and placed the bun to my lips. One bite and my taste buds were sacrificed to a bitter, nuttytasting sponge. I gagged and willed the food down my throat, suffocated by the rancid smell of the burger and the accompanying flavor of mayo and … an itch spread down my neck.
No, no, no.
“Shit, Claire. What’s wrong with your face?”
I ignored Adam and threw off the wheat bun. Beneath it, staring at me in its green glory, sat a bed of mayo-covered spinach.
“Are those hives?” Riley asked, standing as I pushed Adam out of the booth ahead of me.
I followed her concerned gaze to the splotches on my arms. Red hives extended from my wrists to my elbows, and burned every inch they covered. I tried not to scratch them as they spread beneath my tee. I needed cortisone cream and Benadryl stat.
I booked it out of Big Sal’s and pulled my phone from my pocket.
“Are you dying?” Adam asked, matching my stride as I walked to Riley’s car.
“I’m allergic to spinach,” I said. My mom’s phone went to voice mail. I hung up and tried my dad instead.
“Are you deathly allergic?” he asked. “If so, could I have a time frame for how long it’ll take you to keel over?”
“Shut up, Adam.” My dad’s phone went to voice mail. “Grr!” I clenched the phone in my fist and stared at the sky. It was getting harder and harder not to scratch my boobs. “No one’s answering,” I groaned. “I need medicine, or it�
��ll get worse.”
Adam pulled his keys from his pocket as Riley and Tate pushed through the doors. They held three paper bags and came to a stop beside us.
“Here,” Riley said, handing one to Adam. “Sure you’ve got her?”
“Yes,” Adam answered. “I’ll get her home, no problem.”
I looked from him to Riley, then back. “Oh, no you don’t,” I said. “Point me in the direction of the nearest pharmacy, and I’ll be fine.”
“You’d rather walk than let me drive you?” Adam asked, his mouth tilting at the corner.
“Um, yes.” I gave into the burning sensation on my arm and scratched it with my nails. “Just tell me how to get to the pharmacy. This town is tiny. It can’t be far.”
“You’re not walking,” Riley said.
“Well, you can’t drive her,” Adam replied.
“He’s right,” Tate agreed. “It’s the first Junior Varsity game of the season, and you’re the cheer captain. You have to introduce the cheer team.”
I moved my fingernails to the space between my shoulder blades. I couldn’t reach the spot but needed to relieve the itch that flamed across my skin. Adam’s hand gently wrapped around my biceps and turned me around. I glared at him over my shoulder.
“You won’t reach it,” he insisted. “You don’t want me to touch you? Fine. Just trying to help.”
I tried again but couldn’t relieve the burn. I was torn between pride and need.
“Okay,” I answered. “Scratch it. Scratch it now.”
His fingernails scraped the fabric, and I let out an embarrassing sigh of relief. My attention returned to my arm, where hives continued to sprout.
“I’ll take her,” Adam repeated. “Call me with the score, and let me know how they do.”
“Sure thing.”
Riley and Tate got into their cars, but I didn’t tell either good-bye. I was too distracted by what set of hives to scratch next.
“Think you can make it to my truck without looking weird?” Adam asked, pulling his hand away.
“Think you can make it to your truck without looking weird?” I replied.
He rolled his eyes and crossed the parking lot to his black Chevy. After unlocking the doors, he tugged open the passenger one and motioned inside.
“Don’t say I never did anything for you,” he said as I slid onto the seat.
“There’s a first time for everything, Meade.”
6
Skeptical
My mortal enemy drove me home. I expected sarcastic criticisms and snarky comments, but all I got was awkwardness wrapped in the shell of a broody six-foot teenager. When Adam reached my house, I exited the vehicle and ended the impromptu bonding moment as abruptly as it came.
The next day, at lunch, Adam talked to Riley and Tate but left me out of the conversation. In government, he sat behind me, burning holes through my skull. He was a statue with a scowl etched into his stone, and his radio silence was deafening.
I decided to confront him after class. He left the minute the bell rang.
At Riley’s locker, my bare arms rested against cool metal as she loaded her backpack. Adam stood across from us, putting things in his locker while a girl tried to carry on a conversation with him. Adam kept his head ducked and his eyes on his locker. The only time he acknowledged her was when he asked her to hold his letter jacket.
“Did you make him drive me home?” I asked Riley, shifting my attention. “Or was it something he volunteered to do?”
“He volunteered,” she said. She pulled her own letter jacket from the top of her locker and slung it over her arm. “Why?”
“Because he’s been weird all day. I don’t know how to handle him.”
I tugged my lip between my teeth and took another glance. The girl was looking at the football patches sewn beneath MEADE. He took the jacket and shut the locker with a bang.
“I can ask him why he’s being weird to you,” Riley said, “but it comes with a price.”
“What’s the price?”
“Food at the game.”
I watched Adam and the girl as they talked, my plans to skip the football game quickly unraveling.
“Fine,” I agreed.
“Great!” Riley adjusted the red-and-black ribbon tossed around her blond hair and blew out a breath. “Also, before I forget to ask, do you have plans tomorrow? We’re taking Tate’s boat to Lake Wylie. I want you to come with us.”
I hesitated. In theory, it sounded awesome. In reality, there was a college admissions essay and a stack of scholarship applications screaming my name. Auburn wasn’t cheap; no four-year university was possible without financial aid. If I wanted to go there, fun was the sacrifice.
“I have scholarship things to work on,” I said.
“Bring them along and do them in the sun,” she replied. “The guys want to fish, so we’ll be on the water for a while. It’ll be perfect.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Tate approached and rested his arm around Riley’s shoulder. She looked him over, then straightened his tie. “Have I told you how hot you look today?” she asked, grinning. “Because this button-down is one of my faves. Totally appreciate Coach Collins’s game day dress code.”
“I’m hot either way,” Tate said, “but thanks. The next time you get mad at me, remember how hot I am.”
I backed away. “Right,” I said, mostly to myself. “Got to go to the field house. See you two later.”
“We’ve still got a few minutes before the bus leaves,” Riley replied. “If you’ll wait, I’ll walk you.”
“You’re headed to the field house?” Adam asked, coming to a stop beside me. “Great. I needed someone to annoy me on the way.” I frowned, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. “Tate, hurry up. If you’re late to the bus, it won’t be good.”
“Be there in a few,” Tate said.
Adam nodded and loosely rested his hand on my shoulder. It wasn’t until we entered the warm afternoon air that I mustered the nerve to say something.
“Why are you being so weird?” I asked, facing him. He arched an eyebrow, and I shrugged. “You haven’t said a word to me all day, and you keep staring at me instead of acting like your normal jerkish self. What’s up? What’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem,” he answered. “I’m in a good mood today. Be thankful and move on.” He stopped beside his truck and opened the back door. He tossed his letter jacket and backpack onto the leather seat. “Besides,” he added, closing the door, “it’s game day. I need to focus on things like plays and team dynamics. That’s hard to do if I spend my day talking to you. You’ve cornered the market on nagging.”
“The only time I nag is when you deserve it.”
“Plus anytime you’re bored,” he replied.
“That too.”
A breeze sifted through the humid air. It whipped brown waves against my cheeks and sent Adam’s messy hair into his eyes. He raked a hand through it and glanced at a set of students who told him good luck at tonight’s game.
“Thanks,” he answered.
At the field house, a banner from the pep rally puffed in the wind. Adam poked it with his finger before opening the large metal door.
“Thanks, Meade,” I said, stepping through. “That was very gentlemanly of you.”
“I try.”
Excitement charged the weight room, amplified by football players who hauled duffel bags and equipment in and out the door. In the hall, the entrance to the locker room was wedged open and decorated with pirate gear. Adam ducked below a low-hung pirate flag on his way inside.
I continued to the coach’s office, where my dad stood behind his desk, fiddling with a briefcase. He raised concerned eyes, but breathed a sigh of relief when I passed through the door.
“You made it on time!” he said.
“On time for what?” He shot me a smile as sweet as syrup, and I shook my head. “Nope,” I said. “Not doing anything football related.”
>
“But I need a favor from my favorite daughter.”
“I’m your only daughter. Quit pretending I’m your favorite.”
“Twenty bucks?”
“Pretend all you want.” I crossed the room and took the clipboard extended my way. A detailed spreadsheet was clipped to the top, broken into sections marked rushing, passing, and receiving. “You want me to keep stats?” I asked. “Who are you, and what did you do with my dad?”
“Don’t worry, we’re taping the game, too.” He closed his briefcase and slung the strap over his shoulder. “Love you, but we both know you’re easily distracted. I don’t want a repeat of last time.”
“There was a UFO, and I was documenting it for NASA,” I explained.
“How could I forget? You drew a picture of it when you were supposed to be watching the game.”
“That picture was a detailed diagram of the ship and should’ve been sent to the president,” I said. “There could’ve been an alien race named after me.”
“You’d also be the newest resident of the state’s insane asylum,” he said.
He handed me a football shirt, and I looked it over. “Trying to change the topic with free clothes? Smooth, Dad. Very smooth.”
“And highly effective,” he said. He stepped from behind his desk and moved toward the door. “If you do a good job, maybe I’ll bribe you to stay on as a full-time manager.”
“No thanks.”
He flipped the lights, and I followed him into the hall. When players continued to file in and out of the locker room, he poked his head through the door. “Bus. Five minutes!” he hollered. “If we’re late, you’ll owe me quads on Monday.”
The remaining stragglers clutched their duffels and sprinted through the door. My dad chuckled as we moved toward the exit. “Knew that would work.”
Outside, beneath the afternoon sun, a school bus was parked beside the building. Loud conversations carried through a few open windows, but the bus fell silent as my dad and I stepped inside.
My nose scrunched at the overwhelming smell of cologne, body wash, and sweaty cleats. The scent’s intensity was magnified by humidity and hung in the bus like a thick, suffocating cloud. If I was lucky, the odor wouldn’t seep into my clothes. If it did, I’d catch whiffs until I could shower.
Surviving Adam Meade Page 5