If There's No Tomorrow

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  Standing behind Megan, I was hoping I could just blend into the wall and be forgotten. Then I could lie down and take a nap. Sebastian had stayed till three in the morning, and I was way too tired to do anything remotely physical.

  Coach Rogers, also known as Sergeant Rogers or Lieutenant First Class Jerk Face, crossed his arms. His face held a permanent scowl. I’d never seen him smile. Not even when we made it to the playoffs last year.

  He was also the ROTC drill instructor, so he treated us like we were in boot camp. Today was going to be no different.

  “Hit the bleachers,” he ordered. “Ten sets.”

  Sighing, I reached up and tugged on the tail of my hair, tightening the ponytail as Megan bounced around, facing me. “Whoever finishes last has to buy the other a smoothie after practice.”

  The corners of my lips turned down. “That’s not fair. You’re going to finish first.”

  “I know.” Giggling, she tore off toward the indoor bleachers.

  Reaching down, I tugged on my black practice shorts and then resigned myself to death by bleacher.

  The team hit the metal seats. Sneakers pounded as we worked our way up. At the top row, I smacked the wall as expected. If we didn’t do it, we’d be starting all over. Back down I went, gaze focused on the rows in front of me as my knees and arms pumped. By the fifth round, the muscles in my legs burned, along with my lungs.

  I almost died.

  More than once.

  Once it was over, my legs felt like jelly as I joined Megan on the court. “I’d like a strawberry banana smoothie,” she said, her face flushed pink. “Thank you.”

  “Shut up,” I muttered breathlessly as I glanced over to the bleachers. At least I wasn’t last. I twisted back to her. “I’m getting McDonald’s.”

  Megan snorted as she fixed her shorts. “Of course you are.”

  “At least I’m eating eggs,” I reasoned. I’d probably have a hell of a lot toner legs and stomach if I got that smoothie after practice instead of the Egg McMuffin and hash brown I was planning to do bad, bad things to.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think those kind of eggs count.”

  “That’s sacrilegious to even utter.”

  “I don’t think you know what that word means,” she replied.

  “I don’t think you know when to shut up.”

  Tipping her blond head back, Megan laughed. Sometimes I wondered how we’d become such close friends. We were polar opposites. She didn’t read unless it was flirting tips in Cosmo or the weekly horoscopes in the magazines her mom had around the house. I, of course, read every book I got my hands on. I was going to be applying for financial aid, and she had a major college fund. Megan ate McDonald’s only if she’d been drinking, which wasn’t often, and I ate McDonald’s so much I was on a first-name basis with the lady who worked the window in the morning.

  Her name was Linda.

  Megan was more outgoing than me, more willing to try new things, while I was the person always weighing the pros and cons before doing something, finding more cons than there were pros to almost every activity. Megan seemed years younger than seventeen, oftentimes acting like a hyper kitten climbing curtains. She was downright goofy half the time. But what seemed like cluelessness was only surface deep. She was an ace at math without even having to try. On the outside, she appeared to take nothing seriously, but she was as bright as she was bubbly.

  We both planned—or hoped—to get into UVA, prayed that we’d get housed together and strived to give Dary the hardest possible time, with love, every day of our lives.

  Deciding I was going to order two hash browns and eat them right in front of her face, I cut in front of her as we walked to where our captain was waiting.

  Practice was grueling.

  Since it was preseason and a Friday, it was all calisthenics. Lunges. Squats. Suicide sprints. Jumps. Nothing made me feel more out of shape than these kinds of practices. I was dragging ass by the time we wrapped up, sweating in places I didn’t even want to think about.

  “Seniors, I need you guys to stick around for a few minutes,” Coach Rogers called out. “Everyone else can head out.”

  Megan shot me a look as we lumbered to our feet. My stomach ached a little from the sit-ups, so I concentrated on not bending over and crying like a teething baby.

  “Our first game is a couple of weeks off, as is our first tournament, but I want you all to make sure you realize how important this season is.” Coach straightened his cap, pulling the bill down. “This isn’t just your final year. This is the time that scouts will be coming to the tournaments. Many of the colleges here in Virginia and surrounding states are looking for freshman players.”

  Pressing my lips together, I loosely crossed my arms. A volleyball scholarship would be sweet. I wanted one. Was going to gun for it, but there were better girls on the team, including Megan.

  The likelihood of both of us landing positions at UVA was slim.

  “I cannot stress how important your performance will be this season,” Coach droned on. His dark gaze lingered on me in a way that made me feel like he’d noticed just how crappy my sprints had been. “You’re not going to get a do-over. You’re not going to get second chances to impress these scouts. There isn’t a next year.”

  Megan’s gaze slid toward mine and her brows lifted about an inch. This was a wee bit dramatic.

  Coach went on and on about good life choices or something, and then he was done. Dismissed, our group made our way toward the remaining burgundy-and-white gym bags.

  Megan bumped her shoulder into mine as she reached to grab her water from the top of her bag. “You kind of sucked today.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, mopping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “I feel so much better after hearing that.”

  She grinned around the rim of the bottle, but before she could respond, the coach yelled out my last name. “Oh crap,” Megan whispered, widening her eyes.

  Swallowing a groan, I pivoted around and jogged over to where he was standing near the net we often had to repeatedly jump in front of. When Coach used your last name, it was a lot like your mom using your full name.

  Coach Rogers’s neatly trimmed beard was more salt than pepper, but the man was fit and more than intimidating. He could run those bleachers in half the time Megan could, and right now he looked like he wanted to order me to do another set of ten. If he did, it would be RIP Lena.

  “I was watching you today,” he said.

  Oh no.

  “Didn’t look like your head was in practice.” He crossed his arms, and I knew I was in for it. “Are you still working at Joanna’s?”

  Tensing because we’d had this conversation before, I nodded. “I closed last night.”

  “Well, that explains a lot. You know how I feel about you working when you have practice,” he said.

  Yes, I did know. Coach Rogers didn’t think anyone who played sports should work, because work was a distraction. “It’s just during the summer.” That was kind of a lie, because I planned to work weekends during the school year. I needed to keep my McDonald’s fund fluffy, but he really didn’t need to know any of that. “I’m sorry about practice. I’m just a little tired—”

  “A lot tired by the looks of it,” he cut in with a sigh. “You were forcing yourself through every set.”

  I guess I wasn’t going to get credit for that effort.

  He lifted his chin and stared down his nose at me. Coach was a beast during practice and the games, but most days I liked him. He cared about his players. Really cared. Last year, he organized a fund-raiser for a student whose family lost everything in a house fire. I knew he was against animal cruelty, because I saw him wearing ASPCA shirts. But right now, in this moment, I did not like the man at all.

  “Look,” he continued, “I know things are tight at home, especially with your father... Well, with all of that.”

  Clenching my teeth until my jaw ached, I fixed a blank expression
on my face. Everyone knew about my dad. It sucked living in a small town.

  “And you and your mom could use the extra cash—I get that—but you really need to look at the big picture here. Take these practices more seriously, dedicate more time, and you can up your playing this year. Maybe catch the eye of a scout,” he said. “Then you get a scholarship. Less aid. That’s what you need to be focused on—your future.”

  Even though I knew he meant well, I wanted to tell him that my mom and I and my future were really none of his business. But I didn’t say that. I just shifted my weight from one foot to the next, picturing the greasy hash brown in my head.

  Oh my God, I was going to smother that baby with ketchup.

  “You have talent.”

  I blinked. “Really?”

  His expression softened a bit as he clapped a hand down on my shoulder. “I think you have a shot at landing a scholarship.” He squeezed gently. “Just keep your eye on tomorrow. Work for it, and there’ll be nothing standing in the way. You understand?”

  “I do.” I glanced over to where Megan waited. “A scholarship would be... It would help a lot.”

  A way lot.

  It would be nice not to spend a decade or more after college working myself out of student-loan hell I’d already been warned about.

  “Then make it happen, Lena.” Coach Rogers dropped his hand. “You’re the only person standing in your way.”

  * * *

  “I don’t care what you say, Chloe was the better dancer!” Megan shrieked from where she was perched on the edge of my bed. I expected her hair to rise and turn into snakes at any given moment, to snatch out the eyeballs of anyone who disagreed with her.

  Okay, maybe I was reading way too much fantasy lately.

  “We seriously can’t be friends if you disagree!” she added vehemently.

  “It’s not a question of who is a better dancer, but I personally think you’re going with the ‘blondes have to stick together’ route.” Abbi was sprawled on her belly on top of my bed. Her hair was a mess of tight, dark curls. “And honestly, I’m Team Nia.”

  Megan frowned as she threw up her hands. “Whatever.”

  My phone rang on my desk, and when I saw who it was, I sent the call to voice mail without even thinking twice.

  Not today, Satan.

  “Y’all really need to stop watching reruns of Dance Moms.” I turned back to my closet and restarted my search for a pair of shorts to wear on my shift. Smothering a yawn, I wished I had time for a nap, but Megan had come over after practice and I had only about an hour before I had to head to work.

  “You look tore up from the floor up,” Abbi commented, and it took me a moment to realize she was talking about me. “Did you not sleep last night?”

  “Wow. Thanks,” I responded, frowning. “Sebastian came home last night, so he stopped over and stayed for a while.”

  “Ooh, Sebastian,” cooed Megan, clapping her hands. “Did he keep you up all night? Because if so, I’m going to be upset that you didn’t mention this earlier. I’m also going to want details. All the dirty, juicy details.”

  Abbi snorted. “I seriously doubt there is any juicy or dirty details.”

  “I don’t know if I should be offended by that statement or not,” I said.

  “I just can’t see that happening,” Abbi replied with a lopsided shrug.

  “I don’t know how you spend so much time with him and not want to jump on him like a rabid mountain lion in heat,” Megan mused. “I wouldn’t be able to control myself.”

  I leaned my head back. “Wow.” My friends were kind of weird. Specifically Megan. “Aren’t you back with Phillip?”

  “Kind of? Not sure. We’re talking.” Megan giggled. “Even if I were back with him, it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate that fine specimen of a guy living next door to you.”

  “Have at it,” I muttered.

  “Have you noticed how hot people flock together? Like all of Sebastian’s friends—Keith, Cody, Phillip. All of them are hot. It’s the same with Skylar and her friends. Kind of like birds migrating south for the winter,” Megan continued.

  Abbi murmured under her breath, “What the hell?”

  “Anyway, I’m not ashamed of my not-so-friendly thoughts toward Sebastian. Everyone has a crush on him,” Megan said. “I have a crush on him. Abbi has a crush on him—”

  “What?” shouted Abbi. “I don’t have a crush on him.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. You have the hots for Keith. My bad.”

  I twisted halfway to see Abbi’s reaction to that and I was not let down.

  Abbi lifted up onto her elbows, turning her head toward Megan. If looks could kill, Megan’s entire family would’ve just died.

  “I might seriously hit you, and since you weigh, like, eighty pounds wet and I have about a hundred on you, I’m going to snap you like a KitKat bar.”

  I grinned as I turned back to my closet and dropped to my knees, rummaging through the books and jeans on the bottom of the narrow closet. “Keith’s cute, Abbi.”

  “Yeah, he’s hot, but he’s also the school bike and everyone has had a ride,” she commented.

  “I haven’t,” Megan said.

  “Me neither.” Finding the cutoffs, I snagged them off the floor and rose. “Keith has been trying to get with you since you developed breasts.”

  “Which was, like, the fifth grade.” Megan laughed as Abbi threw my poor pillow at her. “What? It’s the truth.”

  Abbi shook her head. “Y’all are crazy. I don’t think Keith is into girls darker than your lily-white asses.”

  I snorted as I dropped into the desk chair. The back bumped into the edge of the desk, rattling the stack of books. “I’m pretty sure Keith is into girls of all skin tones, shapes and sizes and then some,” I said, bending over and grabbing the pens and highlighters that had fallen from the desktop.

  Abbi huffed. “Whatever. We are not talking about my nonexistent attraction to Keith.”

  I turned to Abbi. “You know, Skylar stopped into Joanna’s last night and asked if Sebastian knew I was in love with him.” I forced out a casual-sounding laugh. “That’s crazy, right?”

  Megan’s blue eyes widened to the size of planets. Not Pluto...more like Jupiter. “What?”

  Abbi was also paying attention. “Details, Lena.”

  I filled them in on what Skylar had to say last night. “It was just really weird.”

  “Well, obviously she wants to get back with him.” Abbi looked thoughtful. “But why would she ask you that? Even if it was true, why would you admit that to her, his ex-girlfriend?”

  “Right? I was thinking about that earlier.” I toed myself around in a slow circle on the chair. “I’ve been around her a lot because of her dating Sebastian, but it’s not like we’re friends. I wouldn’t admit my deepest secrets to her.”

  Abbi tilted her head to the side and looked like she wanted to say something but kept quiet.

  “Oh! I almost forgot,” Megan exclaimed as she dropped her feet to the floor, clearly on to the next topic. Pink flooded her heart-shaped face. “I heard that Cody and Jessica are seeing each other again.”

  “Not surprised.” Cody Reece was the star quarterback. Sebastian was the star running back. Friendship made in football heaven right there. And Jessica was, well... She wasn’t particularly the nicest person I’d ever met.

  “Didn’t Cody try to get with you at Keith’s party back in July?” Abbi asked, rolling onto her back.

  I shot her a death glare more powerful than the Death Star’s laser. “I had forgotten all about that, so thanks for bringing that back up.”

  “You’re welcome,” she quipped.

  “I remember that party. Cody was super drunk.” Megan started twisting her hair in a rope, which she’d loved doing since we were kids. “He probably doesn’t even remember hitting on you, but you better hope Jessica doesn’t find out. That girl is territorial. She will make your senior year a living hell.”

&n
bsp; I wasn’t really worried about Jessica, because, logically, how could she be that upset over Cody hitting on me at a party when they weren’t even together? That didn’t even make sense.

  Megan cursed, jumping to her feet. “I was supposed to meet my mom ten minutes ago. She’s taking me back-to-school shopping, which really means she’s going to try to dress me like I’m still five.” She picked up her purse and then her gym bag. “By the way, it’s Friday, and don’t think I’ve forgotten my weekly reminder.”