Hard As Steel

by McKinley May

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  Thanks For Reading!

  About the Author

  Coming Soon

  Hard As Steel

  Copyright © 2018 McKinley May

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the above copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Names, characters, places, brands, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  1

  I’m pretty sure I’m cursed.

  Or have really bad karma.

  There’s even a strong possibility I’m a victim of a voodoo doll spell.

  Whatever the case, there has to be some explanation why first days of school and I just don’t mix. Not one bit.

  Oil and water look like the best of friends in comparison.

  Let me explain.

  It all started on the first day of fourth grade when I fell off the monkey bars during recess and broke my wrists. Yep, you read that right—wrists with an ‘s’. Not one, but two fractured carpal bones. A month and a half in two matching blue casts and the inability to hold a pencil isn’t the most ideal way to start the year.

  Back to School: Seventh Grade Edition brings up a few unpleasant memories. Some asshole splashed me with their car while I was walking to school, rendering me soaked, cold, and miserable for most of the day. As if middle school isn’t shitty enough already, try introducing yourself to potential friends looking like you just crawled out of a lake. They called me ‘Swamp Girl’ for months.

  The absolute worst experience was my senior year of high school. Allow me to set the scene: Lunchtime, fluorescent-lit cafeteria packed with students, and me—the picture of innocence with a tray of government-approved mush in my arms. As I was walking towards a table, I tripped on something that sent me flying backwards, throwing the entirety of my lunch onto myself and my poor Economics teacher who happened to be directly behind me in the line of fire.

  As per usual in embarrassing situations, everyone and their brother saw.

  Do something neat like chuck your water bottle into the recycling bin from thirty feet away, and I bet no one will blink an eye.

  But do something humiliating like paint yourself and your teacher with meatloaf surprise?

  It’ll be a viral video within the hour. I guarantee it.

  Even worse was when I spotted what had caused me to fall. Something so damn cliché I had to rub my eyes to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

  A slippery, yellow banana peel.

  If there’d been only one or two small incidents over the years, then sure, I’d totally believe that my first day back disasters were mere coincidence.

  But slipping on a freaking banana peel as if my life is some sad parody of a Saturday morning cartoon?

  It just has to be the voodoo doll.

  Fast-forward to today—the first day of my junior year at Windhaven University—and the unfortunate tradition is continuing.

  As I’m walking down the cobblestone sidewalk, I stumble and spill half of my large, not-even-touched-yet coffee all over my lightwash blue jeans. I’d made it through all my classes without incident, so I should’ve known something was coming. Mayhem and mishaps were inevitable.

  And the fact that I’m just walking around with an open coffee so nonchalantly? Not exactly the smartest move for someone with my history.

  I start furiously rubbing the stain with a napkin, trying to soak up any liquid I can. Lucky for me, Café Cappuccino’s definition of “hot” coffee could be more accurately described as mildly warm, so the only burning I feel is in my cheeks as they flush red.

  Two girls pass me and look back, their sympathetic expressions conveying they’ve been in this situation before. I let out a defeated groan, giving up on my unsuccessful attempt to diminish the stain, and toss the napkin in a nearby trash can.

  As much as I’d like to sprint to my apartment and change clothes, the first campus newspaper meeting of the year starts in less than five minutes, and I can’t afford to give off any bad impressions.

  Yeah...I’m just gonna pretend this massive wet spot counts as a “neutral” impression.

  I speed walk towards the Journalism building, dodging students and overly friendly squirrels while I mentally prepare myself for the meeting.

  We’ll be getting our sections assigned tonight, and it’s not an exaggeration when I say I’ve been waiting for this day all summer. While most students dreaded watching the calendar inch closer and closer to the end of August, I welcomed the dwindling days with open arms, impatient and eager to get back to campus, this time as an upperclassman.

  Windhaven Weekly runs in a hierarchy system. Underclassmen get the crappy stuff like the weather report and proofreading duties while juniors and seniors get the cream of the crop: the front page articles and popular editorials. You put the effort in and prove your worth the first couple years and you just might get to write your dream column when the time comes.

  And the column I’ve been lusting after and working my ass off for ever since setting foot on this campus?

  The sports section.

  I arrive with a minute to spare, sliding into the familiar classroom. The bare, colorless walls and cracked linoleum flooring don’t make this place a prime location for creative inspiration for the paper, but it’s the only room available so we take what we can get.

  I spot one of my best friends, Jessica, waving eagerly at me. Her dark, coiled curls bounce as she motions for me to take the empty seat beside her.

  I collapse into the chair, releasing a loud exhale as I let my bag drop to the floor.

  I made it. Not totally unscathed, but I’m here nonetheless. And that's a win in my book.

  I open my mouth to say hello when I notice Jess frowning at my lower half.

  “Rayne, what’s going on? Please tell me you didn’t pee your pants.” She scrunches her nose in mock disgust.

  I point accusingly to my half-empty coffee cup. “It just wouldn’t be the first day of the school year without an incident.”

  Grinning at one another, we lift our hands and wiggle our fingers creepily, singing out “The curse!” in unison before busting out laughing.

  When we calm down, Jessica shakes her head. “How many times have I told you to carry around an extra outfit in your bag? It’s a life pro tip everyone can benefit from. Especially you.”

  I nod in
agreement as her eyes flit over me, taking in my appearance.

  “You know, I could help you pick out that extra outfit at the mall this weekend. You’re always rocking that sporty, I-just-worked-out type of look. Don’t get me wrong, you look hot, but I’m dying to get you into some sheath dresses and sky-high wedges. Please oh please, let me girly you up!” She clasps her hands together in a begging motion.

  I let out a sharp laugh as her big, brown eyes take on a familiar sparkle, the same one they get every time she fantasizes about giving me a makeover. She’s a fashion major through and through, that’s for sure.

  “Not this again, Jess. I know it kills you to hear, but I actually enjoy my comfy casual look. Plus, I did change it up today. I wore jeans instead of athletic shorts. If anything, you should be proud.”

  She smirks. “Oh, wow. Such a risk-taker.”

  I shrug and take a sip of what’s left of my coffee. “I’m gonna have to stick with my sneakers and workout tops for now, but you’ll be the first person I’ll call if I ever change my mind. I promise.”

  “I guess that’s as good as I’m going to get out of you,” she says with a defeated sigh. “But I’m not stopping with the fashion advice. It’s basically a part of the fashion design curriculum here. Opening my fellow students’ eyes to the world of fabric and color wheels and prints is a requirement for me to graduate.”

  We continue talking, catching one another up on our summer breaks and class schedules while more students pile into the classroom. We wave at our fellow veterans and give welcoming smiles to the newcomers who resemble deer in headlights. Everyone finds a seat, the low murmur of voices taking over the room as introductions and greetings are thrown around.

  But the friendly chatter doesn’t last for long. Just a few minutes later, our editor-in-chief barges through the door and the place goes eerily silent. She makes her way to the head of the room, mouth in a tight line as her beady eyes assess this year’s staff. Her serious expression and off-putting demeanor is unsettling, and I notice a few freshmen exchanging worried glances.

  Worried What the hell did I get myself into glances.

  I don’t blame them one bit. Dani Bell is a bitch. Yep, I said it. She’s constantly grouchy, notoriously cutthroat, and downright intimidating. I’m sure I’m not the only one whose hair stands on edge whenever she’s around.

  She’s the polar opposite of the sweet editor named Lucy who ran the paper my freshman year. She’d bring in homemade chocolate-chip cookies and let us blast music and mess around while we worked. Back then, newspaper meetings were enjoyable and laid-back, often times the highlight of my week. ‘Business in the Front, Party in the Back’ was our motto because we put out a kickass paper and managed to have fun while doing it.

  But now? Now it’s like a freaking military boot camp. No laughing, no joking, even smiling feels like some sort of criminal offense. Everything’s always so serious with Dani in charge. Our new motto? ‘Business in the Front, More Business in the Back, Even Some Business on the Side’.

  “Listen up.” Dani clears her throat as she stands behind the large desk at the front of the classroom. “This year, Windhaven Weekly is going to be better than ever. I’m talking hard hitting stories, campus gossip, insider reports on professors. You name it, we will cover it.”

  Her voice gets louder, echoing off the walls.

  “I want every single student, every single teacher, every single staff member on this entire campus to read our paper. There is no reason that can’t be an attainable goal of ours. We will make it happen. We MUST make it happen!”

  She bangs her fist down on the wood with her last word, causing a small freshman sitting near the front to flinch in fear.

  I share a concerned look with Jessica. It’s no secret Dani can be extremely intense, but this seems dramatic even for her.

  Noticing everyone's startled faces, Dani’s shoulders relax as she comes back down to reality.

  “Time to announce this year’s positions.” She roots around in her bag, pulling out her laptop.

  My heartbeat speeds up as I shift forward in my seat, legs already bouncing restlessly.

  This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for.

  I try to relax, calm myself with a few deep breaths, but it’s proving impossible. Too much is riding on this. I don’t just want this position; I need it.

  I’m applying for a StadiumScore internship for college juniors at the end of the semester, and published sports articles are a major requirement. I’ve published a few of my pieces on smaller, virtually-unknown news sites, but actually getting up close and personal with D1 College Athletics will take my application to a whole other level.

  Each semester, our paper does a huge-ass story on one of Windhaven’s sports teams, diving deep into the season and everything that goes on behind the scenes. Given that type of access and opportunity, I’m positive I could blow StadiumScore’s admissions committee away with my reporting. This platform is invaluable.

  And not only is the internship a once in a lifetime type of deal, it’s also well known that many interns wrap up the experience with a lucrative job offer.

  Working at the top sports news station in the country? Uh, yes please. Sign me up. That’s the dream right there.

  So basically my entire freaking future is riding on this.

  No pressure or anything.

  I reach for Jessica’s hand, squeezing it in anticipation.

  “Good luck,” I whisper, knowing she doesn’t need it. Girlfriend was born to write a fashion column.

  “You too.” She squeezes me back.

  Dani begins reading down the list. “Tanya: Current Events. Franklin: Weather. Jorge: Advice.”

  She goes on and on, my anxiety increasing by the second. How many damn positions on this newspaper are there?

  “Jessica: Campus Fashion.”

  Jess pumps her fists into the air, her dangly bracelets jingling. Dani glares at her before continuing.

  “Rayne: Sports.”

  YES!

  Relief and excitement hit me all at once, like two giant waves crashing over me, soaking me with uncontrollable giddiness. I want to leap onto my desk and shout my joy to the world, but I manage to contain myself. Barely.

  Dani continues naming off the remaining positions and begins going over some ideas for the first issue. I’m trying to pay attention, but my head is swimming with plans for the first weekly column. Our women’s basketball team had their best record in school history last year, so a feature on them would be cool. Men’s soccer ended their season as National runner-up, barely losing in the final game. Even both women’s and men’s swimming had a handful of members go to the Olympic Trials recently.

  Thank God Windhaven has top-tier athletics and a boatload of material to work with. I mean, I could easily write ten articles a week on everyth—

  “Uh, hello, Rayne. Did you hear me?”

  I blink hard and glance up at Dani’s scowling face. She taps her pen against the desk impatiently. My guilty blank stare answers her question, and she drops the ballpoint in frustration at having to repeat herself.

  “I said we’re trying something new this year. Instead of the major piece of the semester focusing on an entire team, we’re going to shift the spotlight to a chosen star athlete. You’ll be doing a few big interviews together, getting to know them and really giving our readers an in-depth view of the person behind the athlete.”

  I nod along as she describes the article. It does sound like an interesting idea and something we haven’t done before.

  I’m about to start throwing out some suggestions when Dani speaks.

  “The first feature will be on Vaughn Steel.”

  My stomach immediately plummets. And not in a fun, exhilarating way, like speeding down the largest hill of a roller coaster. More like someone just cut my bungee cord and I’m plunging down to imminent death.

  Because seriously?

  What.

  The.

&nb
sp; Hell.

  Out of all the amazing athletes on campus, this is who we choose to feature?

  When I don’t say anything for a moment, Dani frowns. “You do know who that is, correct? I would certainly hope so considering you’re going to be our sports girl.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “I know who he is.”

  Uh, how could I not?

  Anyone who knows anything about Windhaven soccer knows who he is.

  Let’s be real; anyone who knows anything about soccer in general knows who he is.

  Vaughn Steel is the campus hot shot.

  He’s the star forward of the soccer team, playboy extraordinaire, and the source of countless shrieking fangirls.

  Along with his undeniable talent, his popularity also stems from the fact that he’s got a face and body straight out of a magazine. I haven’t seen a picture of him since high school and try to avoid anything that has to do with the guy, so I can’t vouch for that.

  A hot, womanizing, cocky athlete isn’t anything to write home about, though. And it’s definitely not the reason I don’t want to deal with him. If that was all it took to turn me off from interviewing an athlete, sports reporting probably wouldn’t be my calling.

  Here’s the thing. Dude is trouble.

  Big trouble.

  I’ve been hearing about Vaughn long before he took this campus by storm. He went to my rival high school and news about him was abundant. My dad and I kept up with all the sports teams in our district, and everytime I’d see his name etched across another headline I’d scoff in disgust. My dad would tell me not to judge him, that we didn’t know the whole story or anything about his life, but I didn’t see it that way. All I saw was a talented athlete throwing away his potential and practically destroying his future.

  He was notorious for partying, missing practices, and even had the nerve to show up late to games. He got away with it for a while, most likely because he single-handedly led his team to state each season and was one of the youngest names thrown around when it came to selecting the next World Cup team. His coaches looked the other way as long as they could, but the summer before senior year it all caught up to him.

  Shit hit the fan.

  Nobody’s sure what went down exactly—rumors about substance abuse and drug addiction peppered the papers—but they managed to hush it up fairly well. Whatever it was, it must’ve been pretty damn bad.