“The worst? College recruiters will lose interest.” My dream would be over. Heck, even thinking about the possibility made my stomach clench. “So pretty much the end of football for me.”
“And?” She blinked up at me like she wasn’t getting it.
“And? You don’t understand—I’m saying no more football. Football is my life. It’s who I am. I’m a football player.”
“Maybe I’m the only one who does understand. I don’t put you on a pedestal like a lot of kids at school. Heck, even some teachers and parents give you special treatment. I can see how easy it is to get wrapped up in the star quarterback role. But you’re more than a football player.” Now it was her turn to look away, her face serious, like she was deciding if she should say something or not. She turned back, a small smile on her lips. “You don’t have to prove yourself out on that field. Not to me. A loss doesn’t dent your armor. You aren’t just a jock. You’re smart and nice and funny. You’re a great guy who happens to play football.”
“I get what you’re saying, but I don’t know that guy.”
“I do. I know that guy. I think deep down you do too. Only you don’t trust that guy. You don’t trust who you are when you aren’t on the football field.”
Was Ali right? It was true I’d been admired for my football skills since middle school. Everywhere I went when people met me it was always connected to football. You’re the kid with the great arm. You could win the Heisman, son. Hey, aren’t you the quarterback who set that passing record. What was I without football?
“Here’s another thought,” Ali said. “Maybe that’s your problem on the field too. You don’t trust yourself.”
21
Bad Luck and Big Foot
Ali
Lunch, Monday Nov 11
“No, it’s true. I heard Josh Radnor tell Sofia González. According to Josh we almost lost the game all because Mr. and Ms. Jackalope weren’t there. They always bring the team good luck.” This was from Ashley, another cheerleader, sitting next to Gwen at the lunch table. “Remember last year when they missed two games because of an ear infection? We lost both of those games.”
I didn’t believe in lucky mascots myself but the fact that the rabbits were still missing had me squirming in my seat. I shouldn’t feel guilty because two football players had belly-button lint where their brains should be and mistakenly roped me into their scheme.
“Is it true Dax? TJ?” Paige leaned forward across from Dax, her forehead creased with worry. “Is the team cursed with bad luck until the mascots are back?”
I dumped my lunch from the brown bag, trying to tune out the bunny conversation.
“No the team isn’t cursed.” Dax looked at his tray of food without enthusiasm. “Man, I wish every day was Wednesday. I think Kev’s menu has spoiled me.”
“You aren’t kidding. Bhakti Patel’s mom’s curry last week was banging,” TJ said.
I swallowed down a bite of my peanut butter, jelly, and ranch potato chip sandwich which was not banging. Ugh. How did my dad think this was a good combination?
“Well, that’s not what Josh said,” Gwen added.
“When did Josh become an expert on curry?” Grady asked.
“Not curry, silly.” Gwen did some pouty lip thing in Grady’s direction. “I’m talking about what Josh said about the bad luck.”
“Josh also thinks Bigfoot is real,” Dax said.
TJ nodded. “Luck has nothing to do with whether we win or lose.”
I handed my Twinkie over to Dax. “Could you pass this down to Kev?”
He smiled and the Twinkie was passed down the table to a happy Kev. Although, he was already happy. The Twinkie just was icing on the happy cake.
“Awww, no banana note from daddy today?” Gwen asked, but I think everyone knew it wasn’t a question.
“Nope.” I held up my orange so she could see today’s message blazoned in black Sharpie before reading it out loud. “‘Orange you glad I didn’t write your note on a banana? xo Dad.’”
TJ laughed—with me, I thought, not at me.
“Ha!” Dax gave me his crooked smile. “I love your dad.”
That afternoon we lost another team competition. Coach gave us her barracuda/goldfish speech again. Pretty sure that was at least the fiftieth time we’d heard that speech. You’d think Coach would figure out it wasn’t working.
We headed out to the parking lot together—something we started doing ever since the goons had jumped me—feeling frustrated at coming up short again.
“I’m sorry, y’all. This time it was my fault,” Shani said. “I rolled that gutter ball when we needed a spare.”
“No. It was me.” Bhakti patted her chest, taking ownership of the team loss. “I didn’t have a single strike today. I might as well have bowled blindfolded.”
Gaby sighed loudly. “I lost it for us. I had my worst game ever today.”
“I choked,” Rowena said. “I always do. I can’t take the pressure. I let Kayla get in my head. Between her gold bowling shoes and her smack talk, I couldn’t focus.”
“Ugh. Kayla Tercera.” Mari snorted. “Who wears shiny gold bowling shoes anyway?”
“Snotty bowlers who think they’re all that,” Shani grumbled.
“It wasn’t any single person’s fault,” I said. “I had a bad game too.”
“But your bad game is still better than all of ours.” Bhakti stopped in front of her van which was parked next to mine, another thing we made sure to do now. “Looks like someone put trash on your hood, Ali. I bet it was Tercera. That girl was pissed you beat her in the individual competition.”
“I agree. She talked a lot of smack, but turned into a whiny baby when she lost.” Shani leaned forward to grab the trash, but pulled her hand back with a yelp. “Oh, gross! It’s a rabbit’s foot. A bloody rabbit’s foot!”
“How could they do that?” Mari’s voice wobbled on the edge of tears. “Those poor rabbits!”
“Jerks,” Gaby said.
Rowena leaned forward, adjusting her glasses. “There’s a note under it.”
“Gross.” This time Mari actually gagged. “I’m not touching it.”
I moved around to the driver’s side of the hood for a better look. “Wait. That’s not a real rabbit’s foot. It’s one of those dumb key chains.”
“And not blood.” Bhakti nodded to an empty ketchup packet tossed on the pavement next to my car.
Shani grabbed the note and read it out loud, “Next time real deal. Bring the Playbook! Coyote Tom’s Drive-in. Park in Spot P-7. Friday 11:30 night.”
“These guys are pissing me off.”
“I hate to say this, Ali, but I think we need to give them the real playbook to save the rabbits and put an end to this.”
I didn’t see any other way either. Nothing had changed since the last time we’d had to deal with these goons. We still had no way to identify them. My school still thought I might be a mental case. (I doubted it was an accident that Dr. Boyd managed to pop his head into one of my classes once a week.) I was absolutely not going to have my dad start worrying about me all over again.
“Before I do this, is everyone sure you don’t know a player on the team?” Because I really, really didn’t want to steal Dax’s playbook.
“I wish,” Shani said.
“Sorry, no.” Gaby shook her head along with the other girls.
“Okay then.” I sucked in a breath and nodded. I had to focus on getting the rabbits back. Then I could worry about Dax and my guilty conscience.
Steal the playbook. Save the rabbits.
22
PDA at a Bowling Meet
Dax
Ali’s Bowling Meet, Friday Nov 15, 4:30 p.m.
Friday after school I drove to Spare & Strike in the next town over to watch Ali bowl. I stood back, leaning against the half wall behind the lanes not wanting to distract her and risk getting her in trouble with Coach again. At one point our eyes met and she gave me a nod, but that was it. She was
in the zone. I knew a couple girls on the team. Shani and I had been in the same elementary school and often in the same class. Bhakti and I had been lab partners in seventh grade earth science.
Watching Ali compete was both what I expected and a complete surprise. The expected? How cool she was under pressure. Just like in class she had a way of locking out the world around her and hyper-focusing on each roll.
What was surprising was how vocal she was when it wasn’t her turn. She called out encouragement to the girls on her team. She grabbed their hands, looked them in the eyes, and settled their nerves. Her teammates went to her for advice on shots as much as they went to Coach Diamond. The girls fist bumped, high fived, and cheered each other on.
After watching for almost two hours I knew two things: Ali was phenomenal. Their team, not so much. They were missing that killer instinct that made good players great competitors. In my experience, from years playing football and lacrosse, that killer instinct was innate and almost impossible to teach.
When the scores were tallied at the end, Ali won the individual girl’s division (setting a high score even) but the Jackson Jackalopes lost the team competition. I listened to Coach’s post-game wrap-up. One of those standard coach critiques that covered the good, the bad, and what to fix for next time. Somehow that involved fish. They finished with a team cheer.
It was only then that Ali turned her attention my way.
“That was some impressive bowling,” I said.
“Thanks.” She placed her ball in her bag and sat to change shoes. “But you see me bowl in class.”
“Turns out it’s not the same. I thought you had amazing focus in class, but you have nerves of steel.” Her game face was fierce which I found seriously hot.
“I’ve had a lot of practice the last year.” She shoved her shoes in her bag too and stood. “Shutting everything out was the only way I survived most days.”
I hated that she’d gone through that, but her strength amazed me. I closed the distance between us and kissed her. A simple brush of my lips against hers. Not really a kiss but communication. A message. Of support. Of respect. Of—okay, yeah, it was a kiss too. No denying it; my heartbeat shot from a jog to a sprint at the touch of her lips.
When I pulled back not only did Ali look a bit flustered and breathless, but so did her teammates who were loosely gathered around us in a semicircle.
“PDA at a bowling meet?” Bhakti grinned and shook her head. “Never saw that coming.”
“Uh…great bowling out there, ladies,” I said.
“Thanks,” Shani said.
Coach startled me with a slap on the shoulder.
“Nice to see you come out and support your fellow Jackalopes, DeLeon,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am. It was fun to watch.”
“Fun?” Coach shook her head and swung her gaze around the team. “Hear that? No. I want you girls to dig deep and find that killer instinct. I want people to watch you bowl and swear they were witnesses to a crime because of the way you dispatched your opponents. I want other teams to shake in their bowling shoes when they see the Jackson Jackalopes on their schedule.”
Whoa.
Coach wandered off mumbling something about the snack bar.
“Are you ready to go?” I asked Ali. “I can follow you to your house so we can drop off your car before we go eat.”
“I didn’t drive. I caught a ride with Shani.”
“Smart thinking.” I nodded to all the girls.
Ali grabbed her bag before turning to her teammates. “G’night.”
“We’ll see you later,” Rowena said, then grunted when Shani elbowed her.
“She didn’t mean later tonight,” Bhakti said. “Because later you’ll be out with Dax. So, of course, not later tonight.”
“Later this weekend,” Gaby said.
“Or later at school,” Mari added. “On Monday.”
With one more wave from Ali to her friends, we headed out to the parking lot.
“What was that about?” I gave a jerk of my head back toward the building.
“That?” Ali blinked and shrugged. “Maybe you make them nervous. That whole star football player effect.”
Ah, yeah. It happened sometimes. I still found it strange, but this was Texas where football was like oxygen.
“Hold on a sec.” I unlocked my truck, pulled open the passenger door, and flipped the seat forward. Ali handed me her bowling bag and I shoved it in next to my athletic bag rather than have it slide around the bed of the truck. “All set.”
We settled in and buckled up. “Burger or pizza?”
“A burger and a banana milkshake sound perfect.”
I didn’t care what we ate. Spending time with Ali sounded like a perfect Friday night.
We met up with TJ at Burger Barn. The crazy thing was Ali had just set a new record for the highest 2-game score in the district and yet all the attention was on me when we walked in. Great game last week, Dax! Good luck in the playoffs! We need a win, DeLeon!
After going through the line to get our food, we joined TJ at the booth he’d grabbed.
“Ali, this is my friend Shay.”
“Hi,” Ali said, scooting into the booth to make room for me.
“How’s it going, Shay?” Shay and TJ had grown up next door to each other, although she’d been homeschooled ever since a bad accident in fourth grade—one that left scarring on one side of her face. Her parents insisted she attend Jackson this year to prepare her for college. Her long hair fell forward, covering one side of her face like a protective curtain, but a shy smile peeped out in greeting.
We ate and talked. Ali and Shay seemed to hit it off, finding some common ground to talk about. They even did that girl trip to the bathroom together. While they were gone our talk turned to next week’s game. And girls. Always girls, right?
“Maybe I’m wrong,” TJ said. “But your pretend thing with Ali sure looks pretty real.”
I dropped my gaze down to my soda before meeting his eyes again. “Look, I know I said no relationships this year. But—”
“Hey, I’m not knocking it. I like her. Much better than your last girlfriend,” TJ said. “As long as you stay focused and help us win games.”
“That’s the plan.” TJ was my best friend, but I hadn’t told him about the pressure I was feeling on the field. How it was messing with my head and throwing me off my game. The last thing our team needed was to lose faith in me. Sometimes confidence was the edge in a closely fought game. “Speaking of girlfriends… Are you and Shay together?”
“No.” It was his turn to avoid eye contact. He shook his head firmly and looked back at me with a frown. “We’re just friends is all.”
“Uh huh.” The more he frowned across at me the bigger my smile grew. This would explain why TJ never seemed interested in the girls who flirted with him. He was crushing on his neighbor. “For what it’s worth, I like her.”
“I told you it’s not like that,” he grumbled.
The girls arrived back at the table and he shot me a warning glance.
Instead of sliding back into the booth, Ali held out her hand and asked, “Can I have the truck keys? I want to go grab something from my bag.”
“I can grab it for you.”
“No! I mean, you stay. I’ll get it.” She placed her hand on my shoulder which I liked a lot. “It’ll only take me a second.”
Girl stuff. I pulled the keys from my pocket and handed them over. “Sure.”
Ali looked at the keys in her hand like I’d handed her a tarantula. Then she nodded, wrapped her hand around them, and gave me a stiff smile. “Be right back.”
She left, moving quickly to the door and out. Nervous again. I glanced around the place, looking for Paige or one of her friends. Or maybe she’d run into someone in the bathroom who’d said something to her. Maybe one of those people from Cox who blamed her for not making it to the state finals last year.
Man, I’d like two minutes alone with the j
erks from her old school. I had a sudden urge to wrap Ali up in my arms and protect her from all the small-minded and insensitive comments. Only, she didn’t need me to do that. She’d been strong enough to handle all that ugliness on her own. I respected the heck out of her. I was sinking fast and hard for Ali Frost. And I was okay with that.
23
Butt Ugly or Complete Cowards
Ali
Llama farts! I couldn’t believe I was doing this. My hands shook as I fished around in Dax’s athletic bag for his playbook. I didn’t want to do this but we hadn’t figured out another option to save the rabbits. Justin Bieber’s butt! I was pissed at those goons for dragging me into this mess. If I ever figured out who they were, I would make them sorry they messed with me and my friends.
Scooting further into the truck, I shoved my hand deeper into the bag, frantically feeling my way around. Shoulder pads…chest pad…T-shirt (I hoped)…cleats…um, not sure…smooth, plastic, triangle shape—ack! Letting go quickly, I moved on, my fingers running along what felt like a spiral of flexible plastic. Please yes! I slid my fingers over checking and—success!—pages. Got it! I wasted no time pulling it out and shoving it deep down into my bowling bag. I zipped both bags closed and slithered back out of the truck.
Scratching a big fat line through cat burglar on my list of possible career choices, I locked up Dax’s truck and leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window, waiting for my heart rate to slow down. Because oh my word, I was—
“Everything okay?” Dax. His deep voice sounded right behind me, shocking my heart, so no paddles necessary.
Holy cats, he’d scared me. I turned toward him, leaning against his truck since nerves had my knees too shaky and weak to do their job.
Ali & the Too Hot, Up-to-No Good, Very Beastly Boy: A Standalone Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 1) Page 12