by Lily Cahill
There’s a mad scramble somewhere behind me, and I realize distantly that the ball is still in play. But then the whistle shrills, and it’s over. I collapse back to the ground, hoping like hell to never have to get up again.
Then two giant hands are on me, hauling to my feet. The stadium swims, and I sway into Reggie’s shoulders.
“What the hell was that, man? You need to pull yourself together.”
“I’m,” I slur, my head still pounding from the hit. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Reggie practically growls. “Don’t be sorry. Be a part of this damn team for once.”
Coach Prescott runs over, calling for a timeout. His eyes, when they land on me, are hard with rage. He grabs me away from Reggie, but I have enough sense to shake him off and walk off the field on my own two feet. “You’re done today, Mayhew,” Coach gets out through gritted teeth.
“Coach, I almost caught—”
Coach Prescott shoves me down onto the bench. “I said, you’re fucking done,” he thunders. “You cost us a touchdown, because you’re too damn arrogant to think that anyone else could be better than you. Adams was there, he was going to get us that touchdown. Instead, we lost the ball because of you.”
Coach slams his clipboard down against the metal bench and stalks off down the sidelines, and I’m left staring at empty space where he’d been. My skin crawls with embarrassment, with shame. And with more than a little righteous anger. Maybe if they’d let me run the play in the first place, this would have never happened.
Then my eyes focus on someone a few yards down the sidelines, staring at me.
Nara’s gaze is one me, her brown eyes wide and her mouth twisted into a grimace. She’s just staring, like she sees a monster, like she can’t believe what an arrogant jerk I am.
Oh, Jesus. And I am. Coach is right. It’s my fault we sacrificed that touchdown. We have to beat the Ducks to stay in the running for the national title.
I yank off my helmet and scrub my hands over my face. God, I’m just making a hash out of everything. Even whatever I was starting with Nara.
I peer at her again, but Jess is now at her side, glaring at me. Then the skinny blond says something in Nara’s ear, and she turns away from me.
Out on the field, our defense are staring down the Ducks, and beside me, Nara and the other cheerleaders are leading the crowd in a deafening “DeFense!” chant, and I sit there. Useless.
Chapter Five
Nara
LOU PRESCOTT IS AT MY elbow as soon as the final whistle blows.
“Nara Robinson, I only have two things to say,” Lou says, hand on hip. She’s Coach Prescott’s daughter and has full reign over the stadium. She also never has only two things to say, but she’s the only other black girl in my sorority and my closest friend in the house, no matter how different we are.
I purse my lips together and wait for Lou’s two things.
“One,” she starts, holding up one perfectly-manicured finger. “Why was Jess McNair’s lily white ass in that basket toss?” Lou seems to loathe our fellow Kappa sister more than me, which is saying something.
I shrug. Jess is still loitering close by, most likely eavesdropping. “The bet was I’d go on a date with Ben, which hasn’t happened yet ….” My voice trails off, because after that little spectacle on the field, I’m not entirely sure I want to go on a date with the guy. Jess seems only too happy that he was benched for the rest of the game.
“Yeah, which leads me to …,” and Lou holds up a second finger. “What was that out there? I thought you said he was charming in person? Because there was nothing charming about that. My dad almost went ballistic. And for good reason. If I were coach, I’d have beaten his ass in the middle of the field.”
I don’t doubt that she’d do just that. I cock my head at Lou and sigh deeply. My shoulders ache from clenching tight the entire last quarter.
Lord, that’d been a tense game. The guys had pulled out the W, but that isn’t what people will be talking about. The hard-fought win isn’t what had my stomach twisting itself into knots.
Lou was completely right. Watching Ben lose it out on the field had been intense. He’d acted … well, like an entitled asshole. From my place on the sidelines, I had watched in horror as he bolted down the field, apparently blind to the fact that Jerome Adams was running the same line, just on the opposite side of the turf. They’d smacked into each other so hard, I’d flinched.
Coach Higgins had shouted for us to jump into a simple, loud cheer to distract from what was happening on the field between Coach Prescott and Ben, but even as I was thrown into the stunt—my stunt partner pressing me skyward into a single full extension—it was clear nothing was going to distract from Ben’s latest arrogant show.
It was all anyone talked about the rest of the game, even between us cheerleaders. It seems the guys on the squad hate Ben as much as the rest of the football team. My stunt partner, Chad, called him an asshole so loudly Coach Higgins’ eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
And now, as the field goes still and the stands empty, my stomach twists up painfully.
Overhead, the sky is deep purple, and the breeze rippling across the field is chill. I stick my hands through my heavy team jacket and curse internally that I left my uniform warm-up pants in my room. It’s a twenty-minute walk across campus to the Kappa house.
“Are you headed back to the house?”
Lou holds out her elbow for me to take in affirmation. “I don’t really want to wait for Dad after that last quarter,” she says as we head through the offices and locker rooms under the stadium and out into the gathering darkness. This is a quieter exit, and it leads to a meandering trail through a wooded parts of campus. I love this side of campus, with its beautiful sandstone buildings and stately old trees. The history building is over here, nestled at the back of a small, lush courtyard where I often like to study.
We walk along the path in silence, the river on one side and the twin wings of the history building on the other.
“You okay, girl?” Lou asks quietly.
Another weary sigh escapes me. Honestly, no. Where was the guy I’d hung out with all night in California? It certainly wasn’t that guy I’d seen on the field. And more than that, there’s the text message sitting unread on my phone from Mom. I know what it says: She wants me to call, to talk to my sister.
Every year, she and Dad make a giant deal about Yaya’s birthday, checking her out of the halfway house for a big dinner where they pretend like my sister isn’t a junkie who permanently damaged her brain when she overdosed four years ago. For three years now, I’ve begged off going home for it. Each year, a new excuse, a new reason not to face my sister and spend an entire evening searching for myself in her glassy, dimmed eyes.
My stomach twists painfully, and a shoot of acid sears up my throat. My sister always loomed large over my life—the valedictorian when I was only salutatorian; the ivy-leaguer when I stayed instate; the prestigious internships. And even when she’d flamed out in law school and descended into drugs and darkness, she remained the most important thing in my parents’ life. I just want …. I want two damn minutes with my parents without talking about Yaya, without them holding everything I do up to her example. Without living every day afraid that any negative emotion means I’m destined to fall into darkness like she did.
“Nara?”
I’ve nearly forgotten Lou is here.
“I’m … I’m fine,” I finally say. I’ve shared a lot with Lou, but never the story of Yaya. It just seems too morbid to talk about. I squeeze Lou’s arm and grin at her, but it’s all a front. That worries me more than anything else.
Lou narrows her eyes at me. But then she blinks quickly and grips me hard.
“Nara,” she hisses. Her eyes flick to something on my other side then back to me, her face suddenly tight.
I look over my shoulder and nearly shriek. Two guys—college-age, by the looks of them—step from between the thick pines at the e
dge of the garden and leer at us.
“Go Mustangs,” one of them slurs, his tongue thick in his mouth.
My chest constricts and my throat goes dry.
“You girls out here all alone?” the other one says, his dirty blond hair sticking out from under a black knit cap. His eyes are tiny and glazed over.
“No,” Lou says too-loudly. “Our boyfriends are just behind us.”
The guys share a look and amble closer. “Don’t see any guys. Want to party?”
“No, we’re fine,” I manage, though my throat is dry as sandpaper.
“What’s fine is that ass in that tiny little skirt,” the darker-haired, bigger guy says, ogling my uniform. “Come on, get a drink with us. Don’t be like that.” His face is overly large and his lips fleshy. My skin crawls just looking at him.
Lou holds me close, and we keep walking. “We’re not being like anything.”
The creeps laugh at that. The laugh sinks into my skin and bones and makes my knees jelly with fear. The trees close in around us, just the dark-eyed buildings and the lonely path ahead. Overhead, a bird squawks, and I startle. That just makes the two men laugh again, low and threatening.
“Jumpy thing, aren’t you?”
I’m shaking badly, but I yank my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll call 911 if you don’t get the hell away from us,” I say, making my voice loud.
Quick as a snake, the smaller, blond man reaches out and smacks my phone to the ground. And that’s when I scream.
“Oy,” someone shouts behind us.
The blond is just inches away from me when his mean little eyes bug. Then there’s a strong hand on my shoulder from behind, and someone pushes Lou and me behind him.
Him. Ben.
My entire body trembles, and I clutch at Lou to keep standing.
“Shit,” the darker haired guy says, stumbling backward. I peer around Ben’s arm to see the guy grab his friend’s T-shirt and yank him away. “Shit, dude. It’s Ben Mayhew.”
It looks like every muscle in Ben’s lean, hard body tenses, rippling under his slim polo and bunching in his long arms. From behind him, I watch as he clenches his fists and drops his chin low. “Yeah,” he growls. “It is. And if you don’t want to discover what sixteen stones of muscle beating your ass into oblivion feels like, I’d fuck off.”
The two creeps nearly fall over each other trying to run away. But even after they’ve disappeared into the darkness, I can’t stop shaking. My chest is tight and my breath shallow. Lord, if Ben hadn’t ….
I shake my head against the thoughts.
“That was some bullshit,” Lou announces, though I can detect a tremor in her voice. She darts forward and swipes my phone off the ground.
I only manage a shaky laugh as I slip it back into my coat pocket, and Ben pulls me against his strong body, his arm tight around my shoulders.
Lou looks murderous. “We went through all that shit last year with the sex scandal, and it’s still not safe for women to walk through campus at night?”
I have a feeling Lou is going to start a very vocal campaign about campus safety. That girl is determined once she sets her mind to something. Me, I’m afraid I’m about to pass out. It embarrasses me, honestly, how terrified those two creeps made me. I gently pull away from Ben, determined to act as strong as he looks, but I instantly miss his warmth.
“Thanks for that,” I say, smiling up at him.
Ben cocks his head and peers at me. “Let me walk you two home.”
I’m only too happy to accept. It’s another ten minutes to the Kappa house at the edge of campus. It’s a stately, three-story mansion framed by giant oaks and sturdy white columns. Lou squeezes my arm once then dashes inside, and I’m left on the big front porch with Ben. It’s oddly quiet and dark inside the house. My sisters must already be out celebrating the Mustangs win. I press my lips together and stare at my feet.
I can feel Ben shift closer to me. “Listen, there’s a tea shop nearby. Can I get you a tea? You seem pretty shaken up.”
My eyes flit to the door then up to Ben. Where is the arrogant prick from the field? How can it be that this caring guy in front of me is the same person who’d nearly cost us the game just a couple hours ago? People like him—arrogant, selfish, unwilling to work with a team—I can’t stand them. Everything I’d seen and heard about Ben, I shouldn’t be able to stand him either.
But, Lord, I can’t stop my heart from beating wildly when he’s close or thinking about him when he’s gone. I want to get to know this Ben better, to see where this can go.
“Nara?”
The way he whispers my name, gentle on his tongue, makes my beating heart kick hard against my ribs.
“Yeah,” I finally say. “Yeah, okay.”
I’ve never been to the cozy shop he leads me to. It’s only a couple blocks away, but hiding in a little yellow house set back in a deep front garden. Lights are strung overhead, and the mismatched iron tables outside are half-hidden between trees and flowers.
Ben strides into the yellow house, and I watch him through the open, light-filled windows from my secluded spot in the garden. Even odder than Ben being familiar with such a cozy place is the reaction of the old woman at the counter when she sees him. I watch with my mouth hanging open and she lights up, chatting happily with him while she prepares the tea.
He’s back in just a few minutes, carrying a wooden tray piled with a pot of hot water, two steaming mugs of tea, and a plate of pale yellow cookies. He slides the tray onto the table and folds his tall body into the seat next to mine. He leans back, and our knees brush together. The contact sends tiny jolts of lightning racing up and down my skin.
Ben nods at the tea he’s placed in front of me. “Chamomile. That’s what my grandmother always steeped when I was upset about the latest row with my father.”
That little bit of information needles at my mind, but I ignore it for now and sip the tea. It’s warm and soothing, like a soft blanket on my throat.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Of course,” Ben says quickly. “Tea is just about the only way us Brits know how to comfort people. It was the least—”
“No,” I interrupt. I look up at him and stare into his gorgeous blue eyes. “Not just for the tea. For … back there.”
“Ah,” Ben says, his voice dropping. He stares at his hands in his lap.
“If you hadn’t been there ….” A frown wriggles between my brows. “Why were you there?”
Ben’s mouth screw to one side. It makes him look younger and adorable. “I, uh.” He stares out over the garden and then hooks a hand behind his neck. His cheeks are a bit red when he finally meets my gaze. “The courtyard reminds me a lot of my college at Oxford. It was the first place I ever truly felt at home, accepted for who I am, not my name. Whenever I’m missing ….” He trails off and smiles a bit guiltily.
But even that hint of a smile. Lord. It’s wide and lopsided, and hints at dimples hiding under his scruff. The need to kiss Ben flares hot inside of me, and I dip my eyes to my tea to distract myself.
“I can understand that, finding those places that calm the soul,” I say after a moment, peeking up at Ben. “It was never home for me either. For me, it’s always been books. Books don’t care where you’re from or what you look like, they only care that you understand them.”
Ben’s eyes go wide and he laughs, a bit incredulously.
Heat crawls up my neck at the admission I’ve just made, and I tuck my chin, suddenly interested in my tea. I’ve never said that out loud. I’ve always been too afraid people will think I’m peculiar if I say books are my home.
But something about Ben opening up to me just pulled the truth out of my mouth. I love my parents and the home they built for me and my sister, I really do. But my entire life has either been trying to keep up with Yaya or then trying to be everything Yaya couldn’t be for Mom and Dad. Even in the Kappa house, a sorority I really do love, I’m still always putting on a certain face.
I can never forget that Lou and I are the “diversity” picks, and that we’re held to a different standard because of it.
Books, though. I’ve never felt like I have to become someone new in a library. I grew up surrounded by Mom’s history texts or Dad’s stacks of papers and magazines, and have often found myself escaping to the library or the history reading room whenever I feel stressed.
Ben’s gaze is on me, and I flick my eyes up to his. He’s looking at me, his eyes deep and observant and his brow quizzical.
“What?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you don’t seem like the typical cheerleader?”
I laugh at that. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re not the typical football player?”
Ben leans back and presses his leg more firmly against mine. I don’t pull away. “Look at us, two oddballs.”
“Hey! I’m not an oddball.”
Ben bites into a cookie and grins, and my heart melts. “You’re a cheerleader who can wax poetic about the places that calm your soul. Oddball.” He points a second cookie at me, then pops it into his mouth.
“Why’d you leave Oxford? I mean, I love MSU, but it’s no Oxford.”
Ben’s shoulders seem to collapse and the light behind his eyes shutter.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “You don’t need to—”
Ben waves his hand at me. “There was an … incident, and I had to get away. I can tell you my parents are less than pleased I’m here.”
An incident? Curiosity piques in my mind, but Ben obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. What happened that sent him halfway around the globe?
“Well, I’m happy you’re here. After the scandal from last year, it’s refreshing to have new faces on the team. Some of the guys last year were …,” I shudder, remembering how often some of them had leered at me, tried to get me drunk at parties.
Ben barks a laugh and scrubs a hand through his dark hair. “I think you’re the only one happy I’m on the team.”