“A football playbook? How would I know?” I didn’t have enough space to kick backward with sufficient force to hurt the guy. The worst I could do was maybe a stomp on his foot. One glance down made that plan moot. My size six to his size gargantuan? Yeah, no. “You’ve got the wrong girl.”
“You the coach’s daughter?”
“What?”
“Just answer the question.” Another shake on my shoulders. “Is your dad a coach?”
“Yes, but—”
“Are you the quarterback’s girlfriend?”
“No. I mean, yes. Sort of. It’s complicated.”
Goon #2 pulled the lid off his shake and tipped it, slowly pouring it into my bowling bag.
“Don’t do that!” I stomped on Goon #1’s foot anyway. No reaction. “Come on, dude. Stop. That’s my lucky Ninja ball. It was my nana’s.”
“Stop playing dumb. You’re going to get us the playbook, or else…”
“Or else what?” The jerks. I doubted I’d get all the milkshake out of my ball. Not easily anyway. “You’ve already ruined my lucky bowling ball.”
The guy moved the cup over and poured the rest of the shake into my bowling shoes.
“They don’t make those shoes anymore. They matched our school colors perfectly.”
“You think this is a joke?” Goon #2 growled. I figured it was a rhetorical question and he didn’t want a response. “You’re going to find out real soon how serious we are.”
“Get the playbook,” Goon #1 threatened and then he stomped on my foot which hurt, darn it.
The goons took off on a run while I leaned my forehead against the T-shirts waiting for the intense pain to subside. Their footsteps signaled their exit to the parking lot behind Bowl-O-Rama and off toward the abandoned gas station.
I stood and took a tentative step on my aching foot. I probably had a bruise the size of Texas but nothing felt broken. Hobbling over to my shoes and ball bag, I dumped out as much of the milkshake as I could before cramming them into my trunk and slamming it closed.
Idiots. Jerks. Those two Neanderthals were why the “football players are dumb jocks” stereotype existed. By the time I pulled in my driveway, my foot had stopped throbbing. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The goons were too dumb to understand they had the wrong girl.
Pulling my bowling stuff from my trunk along with my backpack, I went inside, heading straight past the kitchen and down the hall to my room.
“Hey, kiddo! Dinner in ten minutes!” my dad called on my way by.
“Okay.” If I washed my ball and shoes quickly, I might be able to salvage them. I had two other pairs of bowling shoes and two other balls but that didn’t make me any less angry about what those goons had done.
Setting the ball and shoes in the tub, I got to work cleaning out what I could.
If I’d seen their faces or one of their vehicles, I’d report them. But it wouldn’t do any good with only my word on it. Not after the breakdown I’d had last year. I think my dad knew it was an emotional breakdown because his heart had taken a beating too. The school psychologist had a different opinion, though, and her report had suggested a mental breakdown. Not hardly.
I pulled a slow breath in through my nose, finding my inner calm and pushing the whole weird encounter out of my mind. A lot of things were finally going right in my life. I wasn’t going to let a couple of dumb jerks and a case of mistaken identity mess with that. They were someone else’s problem. Not mine. My shoes were probably unrecoverable, but I could get my bowling ball professionally cleaned.
I set everything upside-down on a towel to drain and joined my dad for dinner.
“Perfect timing,” he said, sliding two plates onto the table. We ate most meals at the kitchen island, but Dad insisted one meal each week had to be at the table. Maybe it was his need to make our lives feel more normal. “Grab the ketchup and mustard from the fridge, will you?”
“Sure.” I grabbed them both along with a jar of pickles. Cheeseburgers were one of the handful of dishes my dad did well. “Oh, yum. I love cheeseburger night.”
“How was school today?” he asked. They were the same questions he used to ask before mom left, yet different. Because he wasn’t asking about school but about me. He needed to see I was fine. That what mom had put us through hadn’t done permanent damage.
“Good. Great even.” I ate a few bites before adding, “I’m going to the football game Friday night.”
“You are? That’s great.” My dad’s mouth curled into a small, satisfied smile. “It’s good to see you get involved in your new school.”
I ate some steamed broccoli while enjoying the happy look on Dad’s face.
“How’s bowling going? You’ve got your first competition next week.”
“Yeah, Navarro. Coach is hyped up already. I volunteered to have the team pizza party at our house. Saturday afternoon.” That sat my dad back in his chair. “Is that okay?”
Dad laughed. “It’s absolutely okay. So, Saturday. Yeah, that works.”
“Yep. We won’t get crazy and make a huge mess. I mean, how crazy can six bowling nerds get?”
November 1, Friday 8:10 a.m.
Friday morning, I sat in computer lab, tired and cranky. Why was I tired and cranky? Because instead of a good night’s sleep I’d tossed and turned with dreams of Dax. Dax taking my hand and leaning into me. Dax making my heart flutter like a flag in the wind. A delicious dream until Paige popped up and chased after me. I woke up as a twenty-foot tall Paige knocked me away with a giant bowling ball.
That had to be why I was cranky. It couldn’t be because it was “B” day which meant I wouldn’t see Dax in bowling class. Nope. That kind of thinking was ridiculous. Dax didn’t mean anything to me.
Dax and I aren’t real. Dax and I aren’t real. Dax and I aren’t real. I forced myself to remember that while the morning announcements droned on over the PA system.
Juniors: the deadline to sign up for the SAT is next week.
Was my life better than it had been a year ago? Even six months ago? Yes. Better. Some things were beginning to settle into a comfortable rhythm.
The marching band is having a fundraiser by selling candy bars at lunch today. Let’s everyone help them get to the BOA competition.
Somehow, I’d moved from simply trying to survive another day to actually looking forward to the day ahead at school. Was that because of my growing friendship with my teammates? Or because of Dax DeLeon?
Don’t forget the pep rally at 3 o’clock this afternoon. Our own Jackson Jackalopes face off against the Navarro Night Owls at seven thirty tonight. Come on out and cheer them on.
Pep rally? Yeah, no. I told Dax I’d go to the football game, but I wasn’t doing the pep rally.
That’s all for the announcements today. Have a great day and —
This is Principal Barstow with an urgent announcement. Our beloved school mascots, Mr. and Ms. Jackalope, are missing. If this is a senior prank, return them by lunchtime and no one will get in trouble. That is all.
The mascots were missing? Whoa. Kids had done some crazy stuff for senior pranks, but even from the short time I’d been at Jackson High I knew the mascots were special. Almost sacred even. Something about their lineage going all the way back to the first day of Jackson High. Some kid was either very brave or very stupid.
“Oh my.” Ms. Baxter’s hand fluttered in the air. “Has anyone heard a rumor about this? Mr. and Ms. Jackalope are a delicate breed of rabbit. Anyone?”
I looked around waiting to see if anyone was going to respond. Nothing.
“All right. Let’s move on. Please open your books to page two-hundred and eleven…”
After forty-five minutes of talking about Excel spreadsheets and handling a pop quiz, Ms. Baxter let us go. The hallways had that extra-excited Friday buzz going on. Threading my way through the crowded hallway I caught snatches of conversations. OMG, do you know who stole the mascots? Catch a ride to tonight’s
football game? Head’s up, pop quiz in Baxter’s class. Huge party this Saturday! Gonna be epic, man.
Like a salmon trying to swim against the stream, I pushed out of the flow of traffic to my locker to exchange textbooks. Even with the haphazard mess of my locker, I saw it right away. The folded-up note that had been slipped through the slats.
Seeing a folded note resting on top of my books was all it took to throw me back into the past. Back to daily notes full of vicious taunts and crude, vile suggestions of things I should do or places I should go. My stomach tumbled and sloshed like an overflowing washing machine. My pulse stuttered. Oh, god. Please not again.
Except…that didn’t make sense. No one here cared about my old high school losing. Cox was one of Jackson High’s biggest rivals. The kids at Jackson were more likely to throw me a ticker tape parade for being the reason Cox had collapsed last year. No. It wasn’t the start of those malicious notes again.
Calm down. Breathe.
With a deep breath, I relaxed and let go of the tension, letting it slide away like a wave on the beach disappeared into the ocean. A simple note from a friend. It had been so long since I’d had friends, I’d all but forgotten that’s what friends did. Now that my teammates were friends, I could enjoy that again. I bet it was Shani or Gaby. I even knew how Shani’s note would begin… Giiirrrl. I grinned and opened the note.
Guess what? It wasn’t from one of my friends. Not even close. The note was a collection of letters cut from newspapers and magazines into words.
Bring the Playbook. Or Else. Old Devil’s Bridge. Saturday 12:00 Midnight. Come Alone.
Under that was a picture of Mr. and Ms. Jackalope.
What the freaking heck? This could not be serious. It had to be a joke. A stupid, cruel joke. Whoa, wait. The two goons from the bowling alley. Probably not a joke. Those two idiots still didn’t get that they had the wrong girl. I folded the note and shoved it into my backpack to throw away at home. I wasn’t taking a chance of someone seeing me toss it into the trash at school.
I felt bad for the rabbits, but this wasn’t my problem. Nope. The girl who’d made the rat-faced, weaselly deal to give the jerks the playbook would have to deal with it, but not me.
My relief was short-lived though because I couldn’t ignore the fear that clawed at me. If something happened to those rabbits, I might be blamed.
I’d already been the most hated girl at one school.
Was I about to become the most hated girl at Jackson High School too?
14
Get Out of Your Head!
Dax
Friday Night Football Game, Nov 1, 8:45 p.m.
Fourth quarter of the game and we were up twenty-one to seventeen. I’d played a solid first half. The second half wasn’t going as great. Some reporter from the local paper had called to me on our way to the locker room at half-time. He wanted to know how I handled the pressure of knowing a Texas Tech recruiter was watching.
How did I handle it? By not knowing. That was how.
Now that I knew, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I mean, no pressure. Just the recruiter from my dad’s alma mater. Just the chance to mess up the dream my dad had been talking about forever. The dream we’d both held on to for years. Knowing he was in the stands was all it took to have me second guessing every move I made.
Get out of your head. Focus.
We caught a lucky break when Navarro fumbled the ball and Vasquez recovered it for us on the forty-yard line. All I had to do was move it down field for a touchdown.
I stood behind Jake, our center, with my knees bent and hands out. I looked right and left, scoping out where their guys were lined up. “Blue, 32! Blue, 32! Hut!”
Jake snapped the ball to me and I took my two steps back while I checked on my receivers. TJ had a guy all over him, but Grady slipped past his guy and into an open lane. A flash of movement to my left surged toward me. Rushing to avoid being sacked, I unloaded the ball, throwing a sweet spiral to Grady.
Only Grady wasn’t the one who caught it. Nope. A Navarro player came out of nowhere, snagging my pass out of the air, surprising everyone.
Dammit. I pulled myself together enough to take after the guy as he ran past the forty…the thirty…the twenty…the ten. I finally brought him down on the seven-yard line.
As I jogged off the field, I ran the play through my head trying to figure out where I’d made my mistake. Was my timing off? Did I overthrow it? Did it get tipped?
Thanks to our strong defense, the other team failed to score from my mistake. We scored a rushing touchdown and won the game. I was happy for our team, but not happy at all with my own performance.
“We won! High five!” Kev grinned at me and raised his hand, as always, our number one cheerleader.
“We did.” I shoved my personal disappointment down and slapped my hand to his. “Thanks to our defense we came out on top.”
Thirty minutes later, I left the locker room intent on finding Ali. She said she’d be at the game and wait for me after. Just the thought of her had me grinning.
“Great game, Dax!”
“Hey, thanks,” I said, walking through the gauntlet of pats on my shoulder and “good jobs” all the while scanning my gaze through the crowd. I found Ali leaning against the wall next to the equipment room.
I changed my angle, purposefully cutting through the crowd of students, parents, and alumni. My eyes steady on hers. When I was within five feet, she pushed herself away from the wall to meet me halfway when Paige bounced between us, looking perkier than her cheerleading pompoms.
“Baby, you were awesome out there!” She threw herself against me, wrapping her arms around my neck like an octopus around prey.
“Thanks.” Without breaking eye contact with Ali, I unwound Paige’s arms, set her to the side, and closed the gap between us. She wasn’t dressed up with blown dried hair and tight jeans like a lot of the girls. Her hair was up in a messy bun although a few wild, red curls had slid free. She was swallowed up in an oversized Army jacket big enough to fit her father. It struck me that what I liked about Ali was how completely genuine she was. “You made it.”
“I did.”
Some teammates joined us. TJ, Grady, and a couple others along with some of the cheerleaders. Post-game dissections and directions to “the” Friday night party buzzed around, fading into background noise. I was focused on Ali.
“What did you think of the game?” I asked her.
“Oh, um, good.” She flashed me an over-bright smile. “You won, so yay.”
“Seriously, Frosty? That’s all you’ve got? Dax was amazing tonight, but I guess you bowling nerds don’t know enough about football to get that.”
Paige hovered around us like an annoying mosquito looking for a place to bite so she could suck the life force out of her next victim.
I took Ali’s hand in mine and winked at her. Our private joke that did exactly what I’d hoped—made her relax and smile.
“Everyone’s heading to the party at Josh’s.” Paige glanced at my hand—the one holding Ali’s—and her face hardened before lifting her gaze up to me. “Want us to wait for you?”
“No. My bowling nerd and I have other plans.” I wrapped my arm around Ali’s shoulders, tucked her up next to me, and guided us away with a wave to the guys.
Our other plans were milkshakes and burgers sitting on my open tailgate at the edge of an apple orchard a few miles outside of town. It was cool out, but not cold. We weren’t “parked” as in making-out parked. It was simply that it was one of my favorite spots.
“Are these apple trees?” Ali asked, peering down a line of trees. “I didn’t know apples grew around here.”
“Best apples in Texas. Wait ‘til you taste one.” I opened our take-out bag, took out our three burgers—one for Ali, two for me—and dumped the fries into the bag, setting it between us. “Of course, you’ll have to wait until next season.”
Her gaze moved around taking in the row upon row of trees. “
How did you ever find this place?”
“This is my Tía Angelina’s orchard.” I glanced around, listening to the quiet rustle of leaves. “When I was in elementary school I used to climb in this orchard like a monkey.”
“It’s nice.” She looked around, swinging her feet, only to freeze and turn toward me. “Unless this is where you bring all your girlfriends. Then it’s a bit creepy.”
“Nope. You’re the first girl I’ve brought here.” Which was weird now that I thought about it. “I come here to escape. To think.”
“Gotcha. I go to the bowling alley to escape or figure things out.”
We started on our food, enjoying the cool, quiet night. The moon was bright, hiding some stars but lighting up Ali’s face.
“What is it tonight?” Ali sipped her milkshake. “Escaping? Or thinking?”
“A bit of both, I guess.” I’d been having issues for almost a year now on the football field and hadn’t told a soul. Something about Ali made it easy to open up. “It’s just—sure we won tonight, but I almost blew the game for us.”
“You made a mistake. You’re human. I bet everyone on the field tonight made a mistake.”
“Maybe, but a quarterback’s mistakes can lose the game. Like tonight’s interception. Or last week’s fumble.” I shook my head, biting into my second burger while I gathered my thoughts. “I’m pissed at myself. That interception was avoidable. I know it. My team knows it. Sure as heck the recruiter in the stands knows it.”
“A recruiter in the stands? What school?”
“Only my dream school, Texas Tech. My dad’s alma mater.”
“Okay. That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Pressure. Yeah. I let it get into my head and it throws me off my game.” I crumpled the empty wrapper in my hand, wadding it up in a tight fist. “I’ve dreamed of following in my dad’s footsteps since I played Pop Warner.”
Ali & the Too Hot, Up-to-No Good, Very Beastly Boy: A Standalone Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 1) Page 8