by Tina Ferraro
I took a step closer, everything inside me tightening.
A pacifier.
Like you'd give to a baby. If you happened to have one in your family. Or as your new boyfriend.
Jawbreaker: There's just
nothing better than a kiss that uses every
last facial muscle.
“We figured a pacifier was just what you needed, Parker,” Chrissandra asserted, her eyes still gleaming. “Seeing as how you're dating a baby.”
The world spun before me, like in those first few moments of a Google Earth search. From somewhere— the West Indies or New Zealand or hell—came a chorus of laughter.
And while I told myself that this was all an act— Chrissandra had warned me that they'd be coming off as bitches—I also knew the game had changed a lot since that phone conversation. I'd been caught with a freshman. And that was the ultimate deal breaker.
“No,” I said emphatically, “I don't like him like that.”
“Like what?” Chrissandra said. “Clothed?”
The girls laughed.
“Oooh, Parker!” Elaine cried “You need ice for that burn!”
I ignored them, keeping my gaze on our fair leader. “It's not what you think.”
“Oh?” she said, arching a brow, an expression I knew meant that her opponent was about to become toast. “So tell me, mind reader. What do I think?”
Crap! Chrissandra 3, Parker o. Experience told me this was going to be a total blowout. All I could do was keep my cool—and some moisture in my mouth. If I'd learned anything these past couple of weeks, it was that ultimately, I would survive. Maybe not in a fantabulous way, but I knew I could at least stay on my feet.
Chrissandra's face took on a triumphant look, one she shared with the group. “You don't know what I'm thinking, do you? How could you? You're like a froshie again yourself: playing on JV, dating one.”
“Yeah,” Mandy said, “it's like they're going to have to take you out of the yearbook.”
“Cut her out,” Chrissandra corrected. “Of the last two yearbooks. And put her picture in this year's freshman pages.”
“Uh, yeah,” Mandy said, clearly remembering the script now. “It's like you never existed.”
Again, titters and giggles.
“I'll spell out exactly what I am thinking,” Chrissandra said, hand on hip. “I saw you with that boy. I know what you were doing out at the lake with him because I was there to do the same thing with Kyle.”
This was bad. Superbad. Killer bad. So bad that bad needed a new name.
For lack of a response, I plucked the pacifier from my locker and balled it in my hand. Denial, at this point, was a waste of my breath. I could go with the driving-lessons thing, but it suddenly seemed so lame, I wasn't even sure I could say it with a straight face. My only out was the truth, the kissing- booth plan, but how could I admit to moving ahead on something that only worked if one of the varsity players—maybe one of them—got thrown off the team?
Of course, the way I was feeling, I hardly cared if they all got their butts kicked off.
I was lost in Loserville. If I couldn't deny it, and I couldn't fess up, what was left? Tears? Begging for forgiveness? Accepting banishment? Or … how about wowing Chrissandra with an imitation of her idol, Juliet Capulet; doing some dramatic oration in iambic pentameter, one that probably amounted to absolutely nothing but sounded so good you couldn't help listening? In other words, coming back at her with some really elaborate BS.
And then it struck me, as bald- faced as one of Tristan's kisses: Romeo and Juliet. That was it. The only way out of this was to be tragic. It was a big gamble but worth a shot.
I inhaled for strength, then glanced down, willing tears to fill my eyes. “Okay—you've got me. It's one of those things,” I managed, keeping my head averted. “I know it's wrong, but it just feels right. I know, I'm two grades ahead of him, and I'm smarter and I'm more popular. Plus, I have way cooler friends,” I threw in for good measure. “And can you believe our dads are in a total feud that's practically coming down to crossed swords in the street?”
I glanced up, right at Chrissandra. “But he is only a year younger, and he's totally buff, and he's got these awesome dark blue eyes.” (If you were into dark blue eyes.) “And, you know, you just can't control what the heart wants. So yeah, go ahead and make fun of me if you want. But it'll never change the fact that I'm head over heels in love with Tristan Murphy.”
Did I really just say that?
I held Chrissandra's gaze. My blood thrummed in my ears. Time stood still.
“Omigod, Park,” she finally said, her voice cracking. “That is so Leonardo and Claire.” She took a couple of steps toward me and threw her arms around my neck.
I returned the hug, feeling both triumphant and superiorly manipulative.
“I am so happy for you,” she gushed, then pulled back and brushed some of my hair from my cheek. “I mean, Kyle and I are good, and Elaine had that hot thing going with what's- his- name last year, but you're the first of our group to find her soul mate, the guy she'd live and die for.”
Elaine, Mandy and the other two girls took the cue and moved in for a group hug, which was so cute and sweet that it made my teeth hurt. But hey, you didn't see me complaining. Sure, I had the trial now of a supposed boyfriend of the inferior class, who I did not want, but much more important, I was winning the war.
“It's like it was written in the stars,” Chrissandra went on. “I'll bet Tristan was the reason you didn't make varsity to begin with, so you could fit completely into his life.”
My jaw (and my hopes) dropped. “No! I didn't make varsity because of Rachael and that new girl. He—he came later. I was, uh, teaching him how to drive,” I said, nonsensical, desperate words tumbling out of my mouth, “and it just happened.”
Chrissandra narrowed her eyes. “You mean to tell me, after meeting your other half, you don't believe in destiny?”
I ran my gaze from face to face, although I knew it was no use soliciting the help of the crowd. No one would side against their queen bee.
“Of course I believe in destiny,” I managed. “But—”
“No buts,” she said, letting me know I'd effectively nailed my own coffin shut. “We're absolutely thrilled for you, Parker.” She threw a look at Elaine.
“Jealous, even.” Elaine added. “In a weird way.”
Chrissandra nodded. I could almost count the beats until Mandy said something in agreement.
“Yeah,” Mandy said.
The other two parrots nodded.
“But your romance with this froshie,” Chrissandra said, taking the reins again, “just tells us you're where you need to be. I'm sure you'll make lots of new friends. I'll bet the frosh and soph girls will totally look up to you. You'll probably even be named team captain. This time.”
Okay, that was below the belt. Meaner than mean and uncalled- for. Someone had mentioned me for JV captain last year, but, of course, Hartley had given the honor to Chrissandra. Why bring that up? And how could she even remember something like that at a time like this?
But, the thing was, I was fighting for my life here. “Look, I can't control what Hartley did. But I'll tell you, I'd much rather be with you guys than the JV girls—and if it means quitting soccer altogether, well, then I'll do that.”
The girls drew spontaneous gasps, while a slow smile crept over Chrissandra's face. She'd heard this threat from me in our “secret” conversation, although she couldn't admit it.
“Your call, Parker,” she said. “Whatever you want. But I don't even see why we're discussing this. You've got the love of your life now—what else do you need?”
She turned away, and her subordinates followed. Leaving me feeling stripped naked and vulnerable. And losing-a-game-by-one-goal furious.
Part of me wanted to chase after them and tell them all where to shove it. I hated them! How dared they reject me, or decide what was best for me?
But then something was
telling me that there was more going on than met the eye and that if—no, when we worked this whole thing out, we'd all be better friends for it.
I had to stand tall. Firm. Silent. This was not over. It was just another detour on the road back to Happily Ever After. Because the Plan was still in place. And it would work. It would! But right now, I needed to get over to the cafeteria and get some carbs and protein in me so I didn't pass out at practice later.
Oh, and last but not least? I had to chase down Tristan and let him know we were madly, passionately and tragically in love.
Kiss and Tell: Whether
you're kissing to show affection, say hello
or say goodbye, give your best and you
won't be sorry.
I couldn't find Tristan in the cafeteria or out in the courtyard, which made me wonder whether freshmen really were invisible. As the day wore on, I got more and more anxious about tracking him down. The guy needed to be clued in to his grand love for me.
After last bell, figuring Heartless owed me at least one favor, I poked my head into her office and announced I'd be a few minutes late for practice. I ducked out before she had a chance to answer. What was she going to do—throw me off the team?
Traveling through the corridors and then outside. I scanned the various groups for a tall freshman. And after several frustrating and fruitless minutes, I all but gave up. Then, as I was turning back toward the building, he was suddenly right across from me, sitting on a low wall with some buddies. His slightly averted eyes told me he'd seen me, too, but was playing by our rules—okay, my rules.
My mind raced. Should I call him away? Go act all friendly, as if I talked to people like him every day? Or … hmmm. Since thinking before acting hadn't been winning me any awards, why not do something spontaneous?
“There you are.” I waited until I had his attention, stepped closer, then slid in close to him.
Tristan smiled brightly as his eyes widened in surprise, accenting his dark, long lashes. After a long moment, his gaze moved from mine to his circle of friends, then back to my gaze again.
“Parker …,” he said in an urgent half whisper, like there might still be time for me to untangle myself and preserve my rep.
I looped my arms around his neck, which was wider and firmer than I remembered, and a little sweaty, too. “It's okay, babe,” I said with a big play- along- with- me smile. “We've been outed. Everyone knows we're together, and it's cool.”
“Cool?”
“Yes—cool.” To drive my point home, I leaned in and kissed him. Smack on the lips. Not with the skill he'd shown me recently, but still not half bad, if I said so myself. Pulling back, I saw the question marks in his eyes.
I totally had explaining to do, but for now, job done. “Listen, I'm late for practice. Talk to you tonight?”
Tristan stood and took a step toward me, as if to f ol-low. “Without a doubt.”
I turned and, as naturally as possible, walked away, chuckling, but not walking so fast or chuckling so loud that I missed the whoops and cheers from the guys in his crowd. Suffice it to say, I'd paid my debt. In spades.
•
Coach Hartley, on the other hand, was not so agreeable. After calling me into her office, she did a head- shaking, sighing thing certainly intended to make me feel guilty.
“I understand you're not happy with me right now, Parker,” she said, clearly not happy herself. “But we have team rules, and they start with being prompt and ready to play, remember?”
I pressed my lips together so that I didn't let out what I really wanted to say: how I'd always shown up on time, always been ready to play, and a fat lot of good that had done me.
“Remember?” she repeated.
It was my turn to sigh. “Yes, I remember.”
Heartless moved to the door and called Lyric Wolensky in. I'd known Lyric since our first year here, and, while she was a decent goalie, her personality off the field was as dull as her mousy brown hair. She often got lost or forgotten in the chaotic chatter of the locker room, and when she did speak up, her top lip barely moved.
Coach settled back behind her desk after Lyric took the hard plastic chair beside me. “Girls, I know you both expected to make varsity. I had every intention of moving the whole team up. But it became a numbers game.” She shrugged. “Please know it was tough for me to make those decisions and post that list.”
I hugged myself so my heart didn't bleed all over her carpet.
“And know I've got big things planned for you this season. Leadership roles and inclusion in pivotal decisions. Next year, when you're seniors on varsity, if things have gone well, I'll see if I can extend those same privileges. So try not to look at this year as being held back as much as preparing you for great things next year.”
I followed Lyric's lead of a weak smile, when all I could think was Nice try, Heartless.
“And of course, you are the first choices if a position should open this fall on varsity. So stay at the top of your game, set the right example for the younger players and be ready to lead the team to a championship.”
Lyric thanked her, while I just nodded.
“At the end of practice today,” Hartley went on, “I'll be naming you JV captain, Parker, and you,” she said, looking at Lyric, “cocaptain. Start preparing a few words now, because after the applause, I know you'll want to speak.” She grinned, like this public recognition and acknowledgment of our JV- ness was an honor.
Since my parents did raise me to have manners, I mumbled something to her that sounded grateful. Then I wandered out of her office, my mind all over Chrissandra's reaction, which I wagered would fall somewhere between an “I told you so” and a nose- in-the- air snub. I knew better than to expect sympathy and an invitation back into the fold.
In other words, Heartless had just given me the one kiss I was betting Tristan could never teach me: the kiss of death.
Lyric caught up to me. “So, captain and cocaptain,” she said, her tone so flat, her face so frozen, that I didn't know if she was near tears or happier than she'd ever been in her life.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “ Whoop- de- do.”
“Hey, at least you're top dog.”
Sunlight smacked me when I pulled open the gym door. I waited until she'd joined me on the concrete, then turned back to her. “You want it, Lyric? It's yours.”
Her brown hair bobbed with her head shake. “No thanks. I figure, as cocaptain, if there is an opening on varsity, she'll pick me first. I mean, why promote the captain and shake up both teams?”
I opened my mouth to laugh, to tell her she was absolutely right, but for some reason, no sound came out.
All I could think of was how hard I'd worked that morning to get up my nerve to come to school, how I'd convinced myself that effort and a good attitude would pay off. And while most people had basically accepted or ignored me, the few who'd paid me real attention had tromped soccer cleats on what was left of my life.
•
I guess it only stood to reason that my father chose that night to freak out over my “friendship” with Tristan.
Apparently he had seen the two of us drive off on Friday night. My mother told me she'd calmed him down by telling him that I was helping Tristan adjust to high school (which she believed to be true). While my father was decent enough to think it neighborly of me, he had definite lines where his niceness ended and his psychotic behavior began. And as far as he was concerned, I was fraternizing with the enemy.
After dinner, with Mom chatting away on the phone to Clayton, I made a general announcement into the air that I was going for a walk—and apparently crossed my dad's invisible line.
“With the Murphy boy again?” he asked, moving into the doorway in what could have been perceived as a block.
I shrugged. “Yeah. Does it matter? We're just, you know, talking about teachers and stuff.” Stuff like Eskimo Kisses and lean- ins and how we're supposedly in love.
My dad's heavy brow (which
seemed to get heavier with the mention of anything Murphy) lowered. “That's it?”
“That's it,” I said, crossing my fingers at my side and wondering if eventually I'd have to—God forbid—spread the lie about our “romance” to my family, too.
“He doesn't ask you questions about … me, about the house?”
A laugh snaked its way up and out of me (probably not a good move, but you can't always control your reactions). “No. What, you think Tristan is working for his dad to get the goods on you so he can launch preemptive attacks?”
He glared at me.
“You think they're going to subpoena me in small-claims court,” I went on, “to testify against you?”
“That is not funny, Parker.”
Since my mother was still chatting away, I ignored the implied don't-stress-your-father-out rule and said exactly what I thought. “You're right, Dad. It's not funny. This whole thing between you and his father is so not funny it's embarrassing.”
Tension clenched his jaw, telling me he was not saying way more than he was saying. “Well, if he does ask you anything suspicious, don't answer right away. Give me a chance to decide what to tell him.”
Omigod, were we like that Spy Kids family now, all working together to bring down the enemy?
He glowered, then stepped away from the door. “And just don't you forget whose roof you live under.”
How could I? It was the one with the gutters so meticulously painted that Mr. Murphy couldn't report us if he wanted to.
•
Spotting Tristan shooting baskets in the street moments later made my legs pick up speed. Finally—someone with no agenda, no rules, no hidden knives to slip into my back. I practically skipped down the driveway and across the street.
“Hey, stranger.”
He bit back a smile, dribbling the ball. “Well, well, if it isn't the love of my life.”
“Yeah. About time you realized the effect I have on you.”
He rolled his midnight blue eyes, but a smile hung around his mouth. “I assume this all has to do with soccer and Chrissandra?”