“Yeah,” he answered. “We need to talk about one more thing, and you may not like what I have to say.”
“Try me.”
“Okay.” He nodded and exhaled. “We’ve got a good thing going,” he started, motioning at Tate and Riley. “The three of us get along, have fun, and have each other’s backs. Last night, I almost screwed that up. This can’t happen. You and I can’t happen. I’ve got too much to do this year, and I don’t have time for a girlfriend. It’s too much drama.”
I closed my folder before the papers blew away. “So, I’m a threat to your busy year because I’m full of drama?” I asked, cocking my head to the side. “Or because you aren’t interested, but you think I am?”
He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “I don’t know if you’re interested or not, but it doesn’t matter. We graduate in nine months. I need to focus on football. College scouts, recruiting trips, a full ride to the school of my choice—those are the important things. I won’t waste my senior year on a relationship that has no future, and I won’t jeopardize football for a girl. I’m not that kind of guy. It’s that simple, and it has nothing to do with you. Don’t think you did anything wrong.”
“How honorable,” I grumbled.
It was the same type of bull Seth gave me when he ended our relationship, and it shouldn’t have pissed me off, but it did. Everything always came down to excuses. At least Adam was honest now instead of later. I guess I could respect him for that.
“Let’s keep this simple,” Adam said. “We can do the friend thing, but don’t overcomplicate it. It’s easier this way.”
“I can keep it simple,” I agreed, shifting my eyes to the folder.
“Good,” he answered. “We’ll keep it simple.”
9
Propositions
“Let me borrow the car.”
“No.”
Case leaned against my locker, a scowl on his face. “But you haven’t given me the keys in three weeks,” he protested. “I was cool about your date with Meade, and with you taking the car to the lake, but it’s my turn. Give me the keys, or I’m telling Mom.”
“The last time you borrowed the car, you left the gas on empty, and I had to trade Mom manual labor for money. Until the tank runs out, the car is mine.”
“This is messed up,” he argued.
“Feel free to nominate me for villain of the year.”
I closed my locker and moved toward government. Case held my stride.
“You’re staying with Riley after the game,” he said. “There’s no reason why you need the car when she can take you wherever you need to go.”
“Maybe I like having my own form of transportation.”
“Or maybe you like being a car hog who keeps her little brother from enjoying his social life,” Case groaned. He gripped my forearm and spun me in my tracks. “It’s Homecoming, Claire. If you’ll let me borrow the car, I’ll make sure there’s gas in the tank.”
“And you’ll do my chores for a week?” I asked.
“Three days.”
“Five.”
“Four.”
I nodded. “Four days and a full tank of gas. You have yourself a deal.” I pulled the keys from my backpack and handed them to him, then patted him on the shoulder as I continued. “FYI, Mom’s making enchilada casserole on Sunday. Good luck scraping the burned stuff off the pan.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold up—”
I ignored his horrified expression. Mom’s enchilada casserole was the most disgusting food on the planet, but if he would’ve checked the menu on the fridge, he would’ve known better than to take me up on the offer. Now it was too late to back out.
Government was full when I got there. When I found my seat, Adam was already seated behind me, chatting with a girl a few rows from mine. I tuned him out. We hadn’t spoken much since that day at the lake, and it was easier to ignore the awkwardness between us when I didn’t acknowledge him at all.
Overhead, the bell’s shrill cry flooded the room. Adam relaxed in his seat, and I finished unloading my stuff.
“You were almost late,” he said.
I looked back, trying to figure out who he was talking to. Me.
“Maybe I should get you a watch for Christmas,” he continued, grinning. “It’ll help with time management.”
I flashed him my expensive birthday gift. “I have a watch, but you can get me a black one to match your heart.”
“Funny.”
“I know.”
The room quieted as our professor appeared on the television screen. I unloaded my backpack and missed the page number in the process. When I turned to look at Adam’s book, he pulled it away.
“Really?” I said. “Give me the page number.”
“You were mean. Ask somebody else.” I gawked at him, and he mirrored my expression. “Learn to be nice to people, and maybe they’ll be nice to you.”
“I am nice to you,” I said.
“Yeah, as nice as an ant is before it crawls into my jockstrap and bites me on the balls.” I grabbed the pencil off my desk and tossed it at him. He caught it easily. “Truth hurts.”
“I’ll make you hurt.” I motioned at his book, and he turned it. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
We were almost finished with class when he asked to use my eraser. I shook my head, needing it myself.
“Claire, let me borrow it,” he whisper-yelled.
I shook my head again.
“I need to erase something,” he said, “and you owe me for telling you the page number. Fair is fair.”
“I’m using it or I would.”
He let out a long exhale, and his chair creaked. Within seconds, I felt an elbow in my side.
“Hi.”
I looked to my right and found myself nose to nose with Adam. He grabbed my eraser before I realized it. I yanked it out of his hands and shook it at him. “It’s not nice to take other people’s things. I’ve already told you that.”
“You did, but this is called borrowing.” He attempted to recapture the eraser, but I held it firmly in my grasp. “Really?” he complained. “Are we going to play tug-of-war? I’ll win.” He snatched the eraser from my hand and erased the sentence scrawled on his paper.
“Give me back my private property, or I’ll tell on you.”
“Fine. Tell on me.”
My fists clenched. I had two options: I could either throat-punch him, or I could pay attention to the information on the screen. I’d missed a slide’s worth of notes already. The notes won out.
“Why do you get pleasure from provoking me when there’s fifteen other people to bother?” I asked, putting my pencil to my paper. “Isn’t there someone else you can bug?”
“Nope.”
He squatted beside my desk and copied my notes. I finished the slide, then watched his profile as he concentrated on the words.
“You could bug Wendy Mallox,” I whispered. “You two seemed to hit it off.”
Adam glanced at the girl he had been talking to before class. She stole her eyes away when he caught her staring at him.
His mouth tilted up. “Been there. Done that,” he answered. “It was good, but it’s never happening again.”
“Adam!”
“Too much info?”
The bell rang, and the class monitor turned on the lights. Adam stood and handed me the eraser. I took it from him, crammed it in my backpack with the rest of my stuff, and followed the other students out the door.
He caught me in the hall. “You going to the game tonight?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Thought I would stay home and watch reality television. It’s not like I have a dad who’s a coach.”
“Ha. Are you ever serious?”
“Sometimes.”
I stopped beside my locker and spun the lock. Adam stopped beside me.
“Shame you won’t be there,” he said. “I was going to ask if you’d wear my jersey, but I guess not.”
“You heard right,” he replied.
My chest tightened as old memories flooded in. Me. The field. Seth. All of it flashing before my eyes, too familiar to ignore.
“You want me to wear your jersey?” I repeated.
“I want you to wear my jersey,” he replied. His weight shifted to the balls of his feet, and he shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. More a favor than anything.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“It’s tradition,” he said. “For Homecoming, all football players are given knockoff versions of their jersey. We’re supposed to pass them out to the biggest football supporters in school.”
“And you think I’m supportive?”
“No, but giving a jersey to any other girl would be a nightmare.” He nodded at Wendy Mallox as she passed, then looked at me. “She got my jersey last year and has already asked me about it. When I told her I wasn’t sure who would get it, she started bugging me. I don’t want a shadow the rest of the year. Since you know where we stand, you’re a safe bet.”
“I’m your cop-out,” I clarified.
“Kind of.”
“Way to make a girl feel special, Meade.”
I pushed away disappointment and stepped around him. Adam followed.
“If it helps, you also get a tacky Homecoming pin,” he said. “They’re these awful ribbons that are standard for the game. My grandma thought I had a date, so she ordered one. It’s big and gaudy and horrible, and you’ll be the envy of every girl in school.”
“Not on my priorities list,” I said. “Ask someone else.”
“Can’t. You’re the only one who won’t get attached.” He moved around me and blocked my path. When I tried to slide past, he blocked me again. “If you won’t do it for me, think about the poor old woman who already went out of her way to get your name inscribed.”
My blood pressure rose. This wasn’t happening. “Oh!” I said, my hands finding my hips. “So you already planned on me being the cop-out? I’m sorry, but what gave you that moronic idea?”
“We have the same friends and occasionally hang out. Didn’t think it was out of the question.”
“Except you’ve avoided me since the lake. It’s been almost three weeks, Adam. I’m surprised you remember my name.”
“I’m not avoiding you now,” he said, flashing a smile.
“Because you need something.” I pinched the bridge of my nose to keep from getting angrier.
“So is that a yes?” Adam asked.
“Not sure,” I answered. “Part of me wants to turn you down on principle.”
“Don’t turn me down.” Adam put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. His fingers moved to the back of my neck and rubbed the space between my shoulders. “Think of it as our first official friend event.”
“I haven’t agreed to go.”
“Then agree and keep both of us from being late to class,” he said. He lowered his hand to his pocket and withdrew a set of keys. “The stuff is in my truck. I won’t be able to see you before the game, but I’ll catch you after. Okay?”
He put the keys in my hand and curled my fist around them.
“I still haven’t said yes,” I said, watching him as he side-stepped me and move down the hall.
“I know that look, Collins. You’ll say yes.”
* * *
“I like him. He has good taste.”
I lifted the long end of a ribbon and let it fall against my knee. “I still don’t understand why people wear these,” I replied. “What’s the point?”
My mom adjusted the pin and took a step back. “No idea, but they bring in good revenue. I’m not complaining.”
I straightened Adam’s jersey and looked at myself in the mirror. It was two sizes too big and more a dress than anything, but there was nothing I could do to change that.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Her keys clinked in her hands, followed by the thud of the front door as we stepped onto the porch. The glow of stadium lights could be seen from our yard. The dull yellow contrasted against the obsidian sky and made my nerves stand on end.
When we reached the stadium, parking wrapped around each block. This was tonight’s main event, and Pader residents flocked to the stadium like ants at a picnic, eager for success and yearning for satisfaction.
My mom found a spot a few streets over, and we walked the rest of the way. After we were herded through the entrance, she headed to the bleachers, and I split off for the field. If I had to be here, I wanted a good view. Coach’s daughter had its perks. One of the managers let me in. I caught the smell of grass and freshly washed jerseys when I stopped behind the sideline. Adam acknowledged me from beside my dad, then returned his attention to the game.
Four quarters later, what was once a decent-smelling team had turned into a legion of sweaty teenagers who were trying not to lose. It would be crushing to lose on Homecoming.
“Get him!” I shuffled down the sideline, following the water girls in an attempt to blend in.
“We’re going to lose,” Riley said as I stopped beside the cheerleaders. “We’ve got less than two minutes to make this work. That’s not enough time.” She blew out a breath and put her pom-poms on her hips. “And when we lose, Tate’s going to cancel the after-party. I love him, but he’s a sore loser. Even winning Homecoming king couldn’t ease this loss.”
“We still have time,” I said.
“Make the tackle!” my dad yelled when the other team ran three more yards. He clutched his clipboard to his chest, concerned like everyone else on this side of the field.
The teams lined up again, and the opposing center snapped the ball. The quarterback handed it off to a running back, who tucked it against his pads and zigzagged into our defensive line.
Whack!
“There’s a fumble on the play!” the announcer relayed.
White and green mixed with red and black. When a Pader linebacker came away with the ball, our sideline erupted in cheers.
“Yes!” I said, fist-bumping Riley.
I bounced on my feet, anxious, as Adam and Tate jogged across the field with our offense. With the blow of a whistle, the clock resumed.
“Ready, hut!”
The ball was snapped into Adam’s gloved hands. Our players scattered. Tate and the other receivers ran down the sidelines, the opposition hot on their heels.
Adam stayed in the pocket, waiting for the right moment.
“Run!” I yelled, spotting a lineman break free.
Adam shifted backward, trying to put distance between him and the lineman. Tate reached the end zone, but before Adam could throw the ball, the lineman grabbed his face mask and pulled him to the ground.
A flag was thrown, but one of our players was already pulling the guy off Adam.
“Hey!” my dad yelled, hitting his clipboard hard enough that I worried he’d hurt his hand.
Adam got to his feet and pushed our guy backward, ushering him to the line of scrimmage. “Face mask. On the defense. Fifteen-yard penalty. First down, Pader” came over the speakers.
Adam adjusted his white wristband as he waited for his teammates to line up, then he got under center.
“Red twenty-five. Set. Hut,” he said, his voice echoing across the field.
Cleats dug into the ground, and pads clashed. Adam got the ball and stepped back, his eyes on the end zone as Tate and the other receivers sprinted downfield. They were all covered by the defense, but Tate came to an abrupt stop and curled back. Adam launched the ball. It streaked across the sky and came down in Tate’s hands. He clutched it to his chest, stiff-armed his defender, and crossed the goal line as the clock hit zero.
The crowd went wild.
“Touchdown, Pirates!”
Adam shook his fist above his head. Tat
e found him seconds later, and the pair met with a celebratory bump midair.
“Special teams!” my dad yelled, sprinting past.
He pulled guys from the sideline, and they hurried onto the field. When they successfully completed the extra point, the sideline turned into a mosh pit.
“Pader wins, twenty-one to twenty!” the announcer confirmed.
Guys collided with each other—jumping, banging each other on the helmets, slugging each other on the arms. I attempted a side bump with one of them, but accidentally rammed my side into the player’s hip pad. When I came down, my side was on fire, and my ribbon was tangled in the player’s helmet.
“Ah!” I yelled.
Riley found me surrounded by players and broke into a broad grin as she made her way through. “We won!” she yelled. “We won and—” She stopped, her brow furrowed as she looked at my ribbon, then the player I was attached to. “Oh,” she said.
I mouthed help and pointed at the ribbon. If I could keep it on the down-low, that would be great. My plan was spoiled when Adam stepped through the crowd. He paused, flickered his attention between me and the guy, then continued toward us.
“This takes clingy to a whole different level,” he said.
“Just help me,” I whispered.
Adam nudged the guy in the arm. “Yo. Let me see your helmet.” The player turned, making me turn with him. “Now,” Adam added.
The player did as he was told and tugged off his helmet. Adam handed it to Riley, who traded him her pom-poms.
“How did you manage this?” she asked.
“Talent,” I replied.
Adam darted a glance around the field and gave the pom-poms a shake. “That was a hell of a play,” he said. “I’ll be signing autographs near the locker room in five. Make sure you BYOS for a personalized one.” I arched an eyebrow, and he clarified. “Bring your own Sharpie. Duh.”
“Already getting a big head,” Riley answered. “Let me remind you: Tate made that play. Maybe you should BYOS.”
He whopped her on the head with a pom-pom, and she attempted to kick him in the leg.
“Missed,” he said, grinning. He whopped her again and retreated as she spun all the way around. “Sorry, it slipped.”
Surviving Adam Meade Page 8