“You know the drill, people,” a deep male voice shouted ahead of us. “File out to the front lawn.”
I didn’t know the drill, and neither did my heart.
Students began to whisper. Others were texting and shuffling along with the group.
“Um, Montana.” Train’s syrupy Southern voice was medicine for my frayed nerves. “You don’t have to cut off my blood circulation. I kind of need my fingers to throw a football. Otherwise, Coach will have a coronary if I can’t play.”
“Aren’t you shitting your pants?” I asked.
“Not really. I’m a lifeguard. I can’t be scared when I’m saving lives.”
I let go of his hand. No one else seemed scared. So I shouldn’t be, either. “So a quarterback and a lifeguard?” I wouldn’t mind seeing him in swim trunks.
“Do you have a problem with that?” He sounded hurt.
“I bet you get all the girls.”
He leaned in. “Jealous?”
“You’re not my type.”Liar, liar, pants on fire.
He shook his head as we stepped out in the fresh humid air. I couldn’t tell what his reaction was. All I knew was my life wasn’t in danger… or maybe it was. Maybe Train would be the end of me.
