The Do-Over (Extra Credit Book 2)

by Charlotte Penn Clark

  “Matt!” I yell, dropping onto the sofa and gluing my eyes to the screen. I hear footsteps rushing toward me before he careens into the room and skids to a halt.

  “Anni—what’s the matter? You freaked me out!”

  Then his gaze follows mine and he stops. “Hell yeah! This is live?” He drops onto the sofa beside me and we both lean forward, avid.

  “Uh huh! Lithuania versus Ecuador!” I squeal.

  “I thought the first broadcast game was tomorrow—”

  “I think this is a Spanish cable channel.”

  There’s a pause while we assess what we’re seeing.

  “Ecuador’s got this,” Matt says, as the team drives the ball down field, passing beautifully.

  “Shut up! There are Estonians on the Lithuanian team! Watch Kirov there—number 15. He’s amazing. And their goalie’s Latvian but he’s no slouch.”

  Matt bursts out laughing and wraps an arm around my shoulder, drawing me closer and settling back against the cushions. I toe off my shoes and stretch my legs out on the sofa, angling myself so I can see the screen and still cuddle against him.

  “I don’t know a single American girl who’s into soccer,” he says with what might be awe.

  “Football,” I correct, smirking. I rest my head against his shoulder, all my earlier discomfort and anxiety dissolving.

  He strokes my hair absently. “Something to be said for European girls,” he mutters, intent on the game. We both jolt upright as an Ecuadoran player kicks a line drive toward the goal, but the goalie blocks the shot.

  “Told ya,” I say, settling back into him.

  “Huh.” He kisses the top of my head, clearly distracted. That’s fine with me. Right now, everything’s fine with me.

  I blink in confusion. My legs are stiff, my shoulder is cramped, and…where am I? Then I register the warm hard body spooned against me and snap my head around to meet Matt’s eyes. His are warm and amused. Mine must be wide and confused. His hand moves up and down my side, soothing me like I’m a skittish animal. Which is about how I feel right now.

  I glance up and see the TV is dark and there’s light sneaking in around the curtains in the windows. I wrinkle my forehead.

  “What time is it?” My voice is cracked and sleepy. Matt smiles and I shiver because he’s really too close. I shift so I can face him better.

  “Nine a.m.,” he says softly.

  “Maybe we should have stopped after that second game.”

  I remember how excited we were to realize that this channel was broadcasting earlier taped games as soon as the live one finished.

  “Nah. The third one went to penalty kicks.”

  I scramble for my wits. “Wait. France and Ghana? Who won? Shit, I fell asleep before the tiebreaker? Who won?” I repeat because Matt is just smiling stupidly at me. I nudge him with my foot and his smile widens.

  “Maaattt!” I whine.

  “France.” He admits finally, and I ponder this.

  “So France will face Ecuador?”

  He nods, his warm gaze sliding over me. I realize I must look a mess and put a hand up to smooth my hair.

  “You’re adorable, all flushed and rumpled,” he says, as if he can read my mind.

  I scowl at him, edging away. “Weren’t you going to get an early start?”

  “Mmm hmm. But this is better.” He reaches for my hand and tangles his legs with mine, so I’m caught again.

  “We should get up,” I say brightly, scooting backwards as best I can. “And get dressed and eat and shower and do all those morning things people do when it’s a new day.”

  “Soon,” he says, interlocking our fingers. All my nerve endings are on high alert, and I feel hypnotized by the look in his eyes. “I’m stocking up for the next three months.” His thumb circles my palm.

  I know all too well what he means.

  “We don’t always have to be wild, you know. I wanted to show you we could be sweet too. Just falling asleep on the sofa.” He sounds rueful, awkward, un-Matt-like.

  I’m so moved I’m speechless so I just stare at him, my mouth parting. He brushes his thumb against my lower lip and I feel it all the way to my toes.

  “You did show me,” I blurt out. Now I’m the one who sounds awkward. “You are,” I whisper, “showing me.”

  His expression fills with relief and he gives me a small smile, then nods. His gaze lingers on my mouth for a moment and I hold my breath, hoping he’ll kiss me. But he disentangles us and shoves to his feet, pulling me with him. We pause for a moment, standing close.

  “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m only about jumping your bones.” His mouth quirks up and he pulls away reluctantly, running a hand through his messy hair.

  I’m grateful for his restraint because I’m struggling. He’s going to leave now, my brain reminds me. He’s going. He’s going.

  Taking a deep breath, I force a smile. “Likewise. But I think we’re good.” We start to move apart hesitantly.

  “Good,” he repeats, scratching his jaw. “I’ll just…shower. And shave. Then go.”

  This is agony.

  I exhale loudly. “Sure. I’ll go…see if there’s any food here…or coffee.”

  I turn and dash out of the room before I burst into tears or launch myself at him or show any sign of the emotional turmoil inside me. I can do this!

  In the kitchen I find coffee and even a familiar espresso maker. By the time Matt comes downstairs, dumping his bag near the door, I’ve made toast and poured coffees. He looks smooth again—clean-shaven, freshly dressed, and well rested. I almost miss the wrinkled, rumpled guy I woke up with—and I wonder how deep his surface composure runs right now. We eat in awkward silence until he breaks it, clearing his throat.

  “Just to be clear. We’re not dating.” He pauses, waiting.

  I shake my head slowly, my eyes on his.

  “And we’re not hooking up.”

  I shake my head again, willing the emotions to recede.

  “And we’re not friends with benefits. Are we friends, Anni?” He sounds so sad I want to reach across the table and comfort him. I nod, wordless. He sighs, looks away, then looks back at me.

  “Why?” he asks bluntly. And I know he’s not asking why we’re friends.

  “You know why,” I say in a low voice. “It’s too late. The do-over is over. People would talk again.”

  He leans forward, holding my gaze. “We have the whole summer away from those ‘people’ you keep mentioning. I call bullshit, Annika. You’re afraid. And you’re braver than that.”

  My defenses kick in. “We’re too intense. It’s not supposed to be like that.”

  I can see his impatience rising. “Supposed to!” he scoffs. “How would you even know what it’s supposed to be like?”

  “I know what I want!”

  “No,” he says, standing. He puts his coffee cup in the dishwasher and turns to face me while leaning back against the counter. He’s so distracting to look at that it’s hard to listen. “You know what you want to want.”

  He levels me with his gaze. “And because you can’t accept what you really want we’re going to spend three long months apart, dating other people and pretending, which is what I thought you were so against in the first place.”

  He shakes his head at me, and I squirm. The idea of either of us dating other people makes me sick to my stomach.

  “That’s right,” I say defiantly. He presses his lips together and gives me a stern look.

  “I need something from you,” he says after a long pause. I raise an eyebrow and wait. ”You’re freaked out. I get it. I’m a little freaked out too. But when we’re back at school we reassess. We talk about us again. I’m letting you go—for now. I’m giving you space—for now.”

  The emphasis on those last words makes me shiver and I wrap my arms around myself, feeling vulnerable. “Talk?”

  “Talk.” His expression is serious.

  And what did I think would happen when we got bac
k to school? How did I imagine we would keep our hands off each other when we run into each other all the time? Would we just be friends or go back to this awkward stalemate?

  “Okay.”

  “You promise me?” He won’t let me look away.

  I nod.

  “Say it, Anni.”

  And his voice growling my name makes memories come rushing back in, flooding me with wanting.

  “I promise.” It’s only a whisper, but he hears me. I’m so attuned to him that I can see the slightest easing of tension in his bunched muscles.

  “I better get going,” he says briskly now, pausing in front of me. He puts both hands on my shoulders. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  I nod. He smells amazing.

  Then he nods and releases me to move toward the door. “Bye, Annika.”

  He sounds so calm! I blink and watch him leave, then move to the front window and watch him drive away, feeling numb. This is what I wanted, I remind myself.

  Unless it’s only what I wanted to want.

  21

  Matt

  I try to stay busy. I am busy. I spend long hours at my mother’s campaign headquarters doing research and drafting position papers, sitting through long meetings with her advisors. It’s really engaging and I throw myself into it because my social life, in contrast, is so boring. I have friends here at home. Or at least people to play tennis with, suck back a beer with, drive to the beach with—but I’m not doing a lot of that. When I’m not working we have events to attend, like the state-wide political convention I’m dreading tonight.

  “You should bring someone, Matt! You’ll have a better time.” Lucy pours herself coffee and sinks into her chair at the kitchen table.

  I shake my head without looking up from my newspaper. I sense more than see my parents exchange a look. They are both in town for this Fourth of July event.

  “Take Polly! She’s so nice—and she won’t expect anything from you,” Lucy persists.

  “Yeah, Polly’s nice.” I agree, then pause. “What do you mean she won’t expect anything from me?” I ask suspiciously, looking up to find my family all studying me.

  “You know….” Lucy waves her hand in the air. My father wears his deep thoughts expression, like he’s solving all the world’s problems. My mother sips her coffee, unperturbed.

  “You just seem distracted, Matt. I think Lucy means that Polly might cheer you up without expecting anything serious,” my mother says, standing behind me. She’s probably reading the paper over my shoulder.

  I glance up at her. “Are you guys actually hinting that I need to get laid? And offering up Polly?”

  “Matthew,” my father sighs. Lucy chokes on her coffee and slams down her cup, starting to giggle.

  My unflappable mother just says mildly, “Now that would be inappropriate, wouldn’t it?”

  “You take Polly,” I say to Lucy in irritation.

  Polly is the daughter of a family friend and she’s pleasant company and pretty enough. Enough for what, I wonder? Not sex, that’s for sure. The idea of sex with Polly horrifies me. But I have to admit that I’m not that interested in sex at all these days. And that’s weird.

  Lucy laughs as if I told a hilarious joke. I know she’s seeing someone at school, but I haven’t teased her about it. Because that would just open the door to being teased back.

  As if on cue, she eyes me. “Annika says her NGO is hosting a big party for the Fourth.”

  My head jerks up and I can’t even pretend disinterest. “Why are you talking to Annika?”

  Lucy shrugs. “We’ve stayed in touch. And you know, she’s staying in my room now. We’ve bonded.”

  “You talk to her on the phone? You email? You text? When did you hear from her?” It’s only when I stop talking that I realize how pathetic I sound. The three of them are looking at me.

  “Don’t you hear from her?” my mother asks. She moves around the room, straightening objects on the counter, adjusting papers, as if she’s making idle conversation when I know everyone in the room is suddenly alert to my misery.

  I sigh and slump into my chair. “Yeah, I do. We text.” But not often, I don’t add.

  Because I can hardly bear it. It’s not nearly enough to satisfy me and it just ends up reminding me that she’s there, dating other guys, an intern in a city famous for hitting on interns. Last time I heard from her she mentioned hanging out with an Estonian guy who works at the State department. Sergei. That was a week ago. Fuck, maybe she’s going with him to this party. I wage an inner war over how much intel I want to drag out of Lucy.

  “Hmm,” my mother says, exchanging a capital-L look with my father. That Look almost invariably means they’re plotting something. “I could use someone to go down there and talk to Bridges about those base closings in Germany. In case we need to make a statement for our veterans here.”

  I shake my head. I promised Annika space. I promised her. Besides, I don’t think I could handle it. It’s pathetic, but true.

  “Won’t work, Mom. Not going. You should ask Annika though. She knows a ton about Eastern Europe—and about American military abroad. She’ll help you,” I finish glumly. “She has high standards of fairness and she’ll want to repay you for the favor of staying there.”

  “Hmm. Maybe I’ll reach out to her.” My mother sounds thoughtful. And now I’m worried.

  “Don’t…report about me! You wouldn’t, right?” I tense up.

  She tilts her head. “Why not? I could report on how much help you’ve been to the campaign this summer, how much I’ve enjoyed working with you.”

  I’m taken aback. For my mom that’s effusive praise.

  “Uh, no. Please don’t.”

  She shrugs and heads for the door. “Okay. See you all later at the party. Don’t forget to wear the new red, white, and blue buttons!” She flutters a hand and disappears.

  “Don’t worry, Matt. I haven’t told Annika how miserable you are and Mom won’t either.” Lucy pats my shoulder and darts away before I can blister her hide.

  That leaves me with my father, who sits down and makes himself comfortable at the kitchen table. I hope he’ll pick up a piece of the newspaper. But no, he studies me.

  “What did you mean about Annika’s high standards of fairness?” he asks. He’s direct like Lucy. And Annika, damn it.

  I cringe inside but there’s no avoiding my father when he’s in the mood for a cross-examination. I may as well spill all.

  “Do you know what class she and I were in together this spring?”

  He shakes his head and I fidget nervously before bracing myself to meet his eyes. “It was called Extra Credit and it was a pilot program for students with academic or disciplinary problems.”

  My father opens his mouth, but I forestall him. “I was there because my frat had been caught cheating on an Organic Chemistry final.” I meet my father’s eyes and wait for this to sink in.

  “You didn’t take Organic Chemistry,” he says, frowning.

  “No, I didn’t. I didn’t cheat on the test myself, but I helped my frat brothers obtain and distribute last year’s test. The cheaters were suspended and failed the class. I essentially cut a deal. I agreed to attend the Extra Credit class and contemplate the error of my ways and they agreed not to penalize me in any other way—or notify my parents.” I pause again, waiting.

  “An honor code violation would damage your law school applications.” His face betrays no emotion. I imagine him sifting through possibilities in his head—weighing moral standards and practical outcomes.

  I laugh and shake my head, then state slowly, for the record. “I’m. Not. Going. To. Law. School.”

  “Okay,” my father says reluctantly. “I can accept that. But what does this have to do with Annika? And why are you volunteering this now?”

  I blow out a breath. Why indeed?

  “Annika was in the class for trumped up reasons. A girl who was jealous of her—a girl I know well—set her up for a f
all. Annika didn’t do anything wrong. Oh, she can be bitchy,” I admit and my father looks sort of taken aback.

  “But she has a strong moral code. We were partnered in that class together and she was pretty appalled by my behavior in the cheating scandal. By my behavior in general. She kind of kicked my ass about that.” Discussing this is just making me miss her more.

  “She was right to,” my father says simply.

  “Yeah, I’ve come to see that too. I’ve left the frat.” I pause for a reaction, but my father just lifts an eyebrow.

  “Where will you live?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll figure that out. I hope it won’t mean any extra expense for you guys, but if it does I’ll find a way to cover it.”

  My father leans back in his chair and folds his hands together. He looks relaxed but his gaze is sharp. “We can sort that out. But return to the high standards of fairness, if you please.”

  “Yeah, well. They seemed absurd at first, but they’ve grown on me. I realize what was wrong about distributing that test.”

  “What was wrong about it?”

  I think about how to put it. “I was participating in wrongdoing, enabling it, even endorsing it as the president of the fraternity. I facilitated the cheating even if I didn’t cheat myself. I have to respect the rules of the institutions I’m a part of, even if—or when—others don’t.”

  I hesitate, taking a deep breath.

  “And then I have to speak up, do the right thing.” I smile a little at how idealistic I sound, how much like Annika. “You know, Ethics 101.”

  He smiles a little back. And I realize I like this. I like having this difficult conversation with him. I’ve always felt closer to my mother. I understand her easy public manner. I’m like her. My father has always been more of an enigma to me, more private. But right now I feel tuned into his deep concern for the law, as deep as my mother’s for politics.