Covering the Quarterback

by Amber Thielman

  “Coffee?” I asked, and poured him a cup before he could answer. I filled up my travel mug and reached for my backpack. “I have to go to the library,” I told him. “Research to help me with this law paper.”

  “Whatever, bro,” Tyler said. “Can I use your shower?” He took a large drink of black coffee and made a face.

  “If you don’t vomit all over my bathroom floor,” I said. I slipped my phone into my pocket and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Later, dude.”

  It was a short walk from my apartment to the library, where I had to find some sources for my paper that was due this week. Thankfully for us procrastinators, the campus library was open on Sundays so stragglers like me could cram in what they needed to get done before the start of the week. I had just walked through the front doors of the towering building when I spotted Grace sitting by herself at one of the study tables. She was chewing the end of her pen, hovering over a textbook splayed on the table. Her brow was furrowed, gaze intense as she squinted at the homework in front of her.

  “Well lookie here,” I said, making myself comfortable in the empty seat across from her. “Don’t you look nice and hangover free.” I dropped my pack on the ground next to my feet and flashed a grin at her. She looked up from the textbook she’d been reading and scoffed.

  “I feel fantastic,” she said. “How do you feel? Because you look like shit.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Because I feel like someone body slammed me multiple times last night.” Noticing a half-eaten chocolate chip muffin sitting on a napkin, I reached for it and took a bite. She glared at me.

  “Get your own breakfast, cheapskate.”

  “You’re not supposed to have food in the library,” I said, and continued to chew.

  “Malcolm is working today, and Malcolm lets me have food.” She looked over at the senior man who was sorting through a stack of books, oblivious to our conversation.

  “Hey, I’m sorry about last night,” I said, looking back at Grace. She was staring hard at me, tracing my features with her eyes. Those eyes, those damn eyes were such an odd array of colors; blue, gray, green, in such a brilliant pattern like a snowflake. Eyes so intense I almost had to look away and compose myself.

  “Sorry for what?” she asked.

  “Tyler is a good friend of mine, but he’s not the most respectful guy in the world. He can be a jerk sometimes.”

  “You’re one to talk, aren’t you?” Grace asked, catching me off guard. I stared at her, trying to decide if I should be offended or amused.

  “I may be an ass sometimes, but I’m nowhere near Tyler.”

  “I guess that depends on your perspective,” she said. “I can imagine the women you sleep with and never call again probably think you are as bad as Tyler.”

  “Do you think I’m as bad as Tyler?” Part of me dreaded to hear her answer, and my jaw tightened as I waited for her to brutally lay it out for me in the most Grace-like way possible.

  “I don’t know you or your friend well enough to say,” Grace said. Her voice was steady and self-assured. She seemed less intimidated now, more composed, and I felt like I’d lost the high ground in whatever weird friendship thing this was turning into.

  “It’s a good thing you can’t get away from me then,” I said. “You have all the time in the world to get to know me now.”

  “I can’t contain my excitement,” she deadpanned.

  “Way to hit below the belt.”

  Grace laughed. She had a nice laugh, a real laugh. It was a sweet, simple relief from all the fake in my world. Fake nails, fake hair, fake personalities. Fake people.

  “You know, you did play a good game yesterday,” she admitted. “I don’t much like football, but that was impressive.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” I said, and she put her hands up, shaking her head.

  “Whoa there, no one said I enjoyed it. I was just saying . . .”

  “You’re a brat.”

  “So I’ve been told,” she said. Grace grabbed the muffin from my hand and took a bite. “I assume you didn’t randomly come into the library just to chat with me, did you? Or better yet, are you stalking me?”

  “I was just about to ask you the same thing,” I said.

  “The library is my turf. If anyone is being stalked, it’s certainly not the preppy football player.”

  “Your turf?” I repeated. “Come on, that’s not a thing.”

  “Of course it is.” Grace crumpled the empty muffin wrapper and tossed it into the garbage bin a few feet away. She was a better shot than Tyler. “College is nothing but a glorified high school reunion. Less than two weeks ago I would have said and thought differently, but now that I’ve gotten to know you and your posse, it’s absolutely true.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, there are still cliques, obviously,” Grace said. “You know, the jocks and their preppy girlfriends in one group. Book nerds and teacher’s pets in the other. Burnouts. Party animals. It’s never ending.”

  “I see. And what group do you belong to?”

  “Losers,” Grace said. “Just like high school.”

  “What makes you think you were a loser in high school?” I asked, and Grace paused, frosty eyes narrowing in my direction.

  “You,” she said. “You made me think I was a loser in high school.” She folded her arms and leaned forward over the table, still staring at me. “You don’t remember, do you? All the shitty comments and teasing.”

  “No way.” I folded my arms and leaned back in my chair, searching her face for some sign she was kidding.

  “You don’t even remember, do you?” she asked. As I sat staring at her, noticing the way she chewed intensely on her bottom lip, I suddenly did remember. I remembered all of it, the taunts and rude comments ... the laughter. Not only did I remember it, but I’d been a part of it.

  “I remember,” I said. Grace leaned back, content with that answer. She was still looking at me, and despite the urge I had to look away in shame, I held her gaze steady.

  “So, no,” Grace said. She slammed her textbook shut and dropped it into her backpack. Then she stood up and hoisted it over her shoulder, gathering her cell phone and notebook. “College is no different from high school. Are you?”

  Chapter 19

  Grace

  Hangover free or not, I found that being by myself at home was still the best place to be. After leaving the library—or more appropriately, ditching Jackson out of pettiness and old drama—I’d come home and holed myself up in my bedroom for the rest of the afternoon to finish homework. Alex was asleep, but even after she woke that evening and started to get ready for work—impressive, since she’d spent much of the night hovering over the toilet and rambling about the pretty new girl she’d met—I couldn’t bring myself to leave my bedroom and socialize.

  I knew I was moping in my little pity party, but I was still reeling over the honest discussion Jackson and I’d had earlier. It aggravated me it had taken bringing it up for him to finally remember, but that was typical. I wanted so desperately to look at Jackson and see a guy who hadn’t once put bubblegum in my hair or whispered rude comments while his friends egged him on. I wanted to look at him and see a new person, someone I’d never known before now. I wanted to enjoy our silly banter and discuss things with him I couldn’t discuss with my other friends. I knew that deep down somewhere in there he had it in him to be so much more than an egotistical jock.

  Alas, every time I felt myself getting too comfortable in Jackson’s presence, I remembered the humiliation of his teasing. I remembered the tears, the shame. It amazed me how difficult it was to move past such an insignificant time in life. I wanted to be the bigger person and not hold the past against him, but even thinking about the comments he’d once made still made my stomach hurt, and my hands clam up with embarrassment.

  Once Alex had left for work, I grabbed a blanket from my bed and went to the living room to watch TV. I was about to curl up under the comfort
er when there was a knock on the door. I debated even answering but figured all the lights being on would tip the visitor off. There was no time to duck down and pretend to be non-existent. I trudged to the door and opened it.

  “Hi, baby!” Mom wrapped me in a hug that undoubtedly cracked a rib or two, then planted a kiss on my cheek, likely leaving a faded pink lipstick mark behind. I stood in the doorway, speechless, trying to figure out if this was real or if I was more tired than I thought I was.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” I asked, squeezing her back.

  “Don’t look so stunned,” Mom said. She reached out and brushed a stray hair behind my ear, and then stepped around me into the house, planting her hands on her hips. I closed the door behind us, trying to pull myself together.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie. My mother was my true best friend, the woman who loved me, encouraged me, protected me all my life. “I just wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Hence the surprise,” Mom said. She shrugged off her denim jacket, and I took it from her as she looked around, her expression filled with excitement and awe. “What a beautiful home, baby,” she said and hugged me again. My mom smelled so good and familiar, like vanilla and lavender. I allowed her to pull me close and I sunk into her, feeling warm and secure for the first time in months, even years. I was so overwhelmed that she had shown up for me that I found a tear slip silently down my cheek. Mom, sensing my sniffles, pulled away and looked me in the face.

  “It’s nothing,” I promised her. I wiped my skin dry and forced a smile. Mom kissed my forehead.

  “I didn’t come to make you cry,” she teased. “I just wanted to see you. I missed you so much.”

  “I missed you, too,” I said. “Is everything okay back home? How are Doug and Aidyn? Are they doing well?”

  “Everyone is perfect,” Mom promised, and it was such a sweet relief to hear that she still sounded happy. It hadn’t always been like that, not even close. “Doug had to work. Otherwise, he would have come to see you, too, and Aidyn isn’t a good traveler. So, it’s just me.” She shrugged sheepishly, but I was ecstatic. It had been too long since I’d been able to spend quality time with my mother. “I can’t stay long,” she added. “I have to fly home in the morning.”

  “It’s better than nothing,” I said. “Do you want to go to dinner?”

  “That sounds lovely.” Mom pulled her blond hair back into a ponytail and looked around again. “Where’s Alex? You two are still roommates, right?”

  “Of course. She’s working late tonight at the bar.”

  Mom smiled and slipped her jacket back on as she checked her phone. As I was pulling my sneakers on, there was a knock at the door. Mom and I looked at each other, and she shrugged.

  “It’s probably not for me,” she said. I sighed and went again to answer the door, praying to all the Gods in heaven that it wasn’t Shawn. He’d be the one person who could successfully manage to ruin the brief time I had with my mom. But it wasn’t Shawn. Not even close.

  “What are you doing here?” I stood holding the front door open, mouth agape as Jackson peered around me and waved at my mom like they’d been BFF’s for years. My mom, the sweet, social person she was, grinned and waved back.

  “I stopped by to see if you wanted to have a drink at the bar with me,” Jackson said.

  “A drink?” I repeated. “Really? After that delightful conversation in the library?”

  “Because of that charming conversation in the library,” Jackson said.

  “I can’t,” I said, a bit too forcefully. I was still butt hurt about earlier, and no one was going to get in the way of what little time I had left with my mom. “My mother is in town; we were just about to go to dinner.”

  Why in God’s name Jackson felt the need to apologize to someone he had once mooed at in the high school hallway was beyond me, and I would probably never know for sure. Before I could shut the door in his face and make him go away, my mom approached me from behind, holding out her hand for Jackson to shake.

  “I’m Sidney,” she said, “Grace’s mom.”

  “Jackson Tate,” he said. “I’m a friend of Grace’s.”

  “A friend?” Mom echoed, and it took everything I had in me not to slap a strip of duct tape over each of their mouths.

  “A friend,” I said firmly. I had to fight the urge to add, “if even that.”

  “Grace is my wing woman,” Jackson said. I stood glaring at him, wishing a gaping black hole would come suck me in.

  “You didn’t tell me about your new friend, Grace,” Mom said.

  “He’s not really a friend,” I said. “I report on his football games.”

  “Oh,” Mom said. Her eyes lit up knowingly. “So, you’re the jock. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Is that right?” Jackson asked. He was looking at me, and I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze. It was physically painful to keep from rolling my eyes at Mom, and even harder not to kick Jackson in the knee-cap for deciding he needed to be there right at that moment like the pain in the ass he was.

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” Jackson said. He slipped his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t know Grace would have company tonight.”

  “Grace didn’t know Grace would have company this evening,” my mom said with a soft smile. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

  “Mom,” I said. “Jackson probably has to go now.”

  “I have nothing else going on tonight,” Jackson said. “It’s sweet of you to invite me.” He flashed a smile at me and shrugged. I wanted to hurt him. I mean, I legitimately wanted to stab him in the foot.

  “Fantastic,” Mom said. I could tell she truly meant it because, well, my mom was a saint and loved everybody, even guys like Jackson Tate who had managed to pry his way into my simple life and make it all weird and awkward and crazy.

  “What do we feel like eating?” Mom asked as we walked. I couldn’t help but notice that Jackson took it upon himself to step up next to her like they were good friends getting ready to catch up on everything they’d missed in all the years apart. I walked on the other side of her, scowling, wondering how in the hell this had even happened.

  “There’s an excellent Italian place not far from here,” Jackson said. “Do you like Italian?”

  “No,” I said, and Mom snapped her head around to look at me.

  “You love Italian,” she said.

  “I don’t love how much it costs,” I said. Even I could hear the pettiness in my tone, but I didn’t have time to feel ashamed before Jackson came to the rescue.

  “No worries,” he said. “Dinner is on me.”

  “Well aren’t you the gentleman?” Mom said. She sounded so impressed with him I was sure her heart would just fall right out of her chest and hit the ground. Same with his head as it started to inflate. Mom looked over at me, frowning. “You didn’t tell me he was such a good friend,” she said. On the other side of her, Jackson was smirking, enjoying the fact that I was being called out by my flesh and blood.

  “This is the last time I tell you anything at all,” I said, with a sigh, and I was abruptly pushed to the side as my mom and Jackson made small talk the entire distance to the restaurant.

  “So, Jackson,” my mom said as we settled into our seats and ordered dinner. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “There’s not much to say,” Jackson said. He sipped his water, looking between my mother and me. “I mean, I play football. That’s how I got to know Grace.”

  “Are you from here?” my mom asked. Jackson nodded.

  “Grace and I grew up together, technically,” he said. “From elementary school and on.”

  “Really?” Mom honestly sounded like he had just expressed his undying love for me. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you in Grace’s childhood.”

  “We weren’t friends then,” I said quickly. “Jackson has always been a little bit too good for me.”

  “Grace,” Mom warned,
and Jackson laughed.

  “She’s right, Mrs. Harrison. I’ve always been standoffish. I almost didn’t even remember her. It’s like we just met in college.”

  “What a coincidence,” Mom mused. “And, please, call me Sidney.” She sipped her strawberry margarita, and I sighed, playing with the wrapper from my straw as the waiter delivered our food. Thankfully, we were all so hungry that the chit-chat eased while we ate our dinner. Afterward, while Jackson paid the bill, Mom and I waited near the door for him. I was tempted to take off at a run, dragging Mom behind me and ditching Jackson, but I wasn’t sure that would work as flawlessly as I hoped.

  “Thank you so much for dinner, Jackson,” Mom said as we walked. When I didn’t say anything, Mom elbowed me in the ribs and shot me a warning look.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I muttered.

  “It’s my pleasure,” Jackson said. Before he could ramble on, I pointed to the bar across the street to my mom.

  “Alex is working, and she’d probably like to see you,” I said. “Mind if we stop in?”

  “Oh, I’d love to!” Mom said. She clapped her hands together like a child on Christmas day.

  The place was slow since it was a weekday, but we spotted Alex at once. She was behind the counter lining up beer glasses in their designated spots. She turned to look as we came through the door, and her eyes lit up when she spotted my mom.

  “Hi, Mrs. Harrison!” Alex squealed. She rushed around the bar to come and hug my mom.

  “Alex, please, it’s Sidney,” my mom said, and squeezed her back. “You look fantastic,” she said, scrutinizing my best friend. “Beautiful as always. I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself.”

  “Grace takes care of me, actually,” Alex said with a small smile. “She’s my rock. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

  “Ditto,” I said. At that moment, Alex spotted Jackson standing behind me, and I saw her expression change abruptly to something of puzzled interest. “He invited himself,” I told Alex, looking back at Jackson with a glare. Mom turned and gave me a disapproving look.