Manipulative ass.
I chew my lower lip, mulling over his words. We may have different priorities, but he’s right about one thing. If I had a full-ride, I could quit working—and put more focus on my academics.
“You make the team, they’ll probably make one of those inspirational TV movies about you,” Coop quips, although I suspect he’s only half joking about the enormity of what they’re suggesting.
The thought is sobering. This is a big freaking deal. It’s also utterly ridiculous. “Last I checked, the team captain doesn’t have the authority to make player selections or award scholarships.”
Reid shrugs. “True. But if you come out to camp tomorrow, Coach Collins will give you a shot.” He tucks his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Under all that bluster, he’s a big old teddy bear.”
Somehow, I doubt it. The man is regularly in the news for his sideline antics and is as likely to be seen throwing a clipboard as yelling at the refs.
“What do you say?” Reid asks, a hopeful note in his voice.
What can I say? As ridiculous as it sounds, a full-ride is what I’ve always wanted, but they’re few and far between. I could’ve gotten one at a lesser school, but soccer isn’t my endgame. I need to be somewhere with a strong engineering program and that’s Waverly, even if it means Mom and I both have to work our asses off to make ends meet.
But a full-ride? Now? That would mean less work study. And it would ease Mom’s burden. She wouldn’t have to take so much overtime and God knows I’d do anything to lighten her load.
The real problem is that even if this batshit-crazy idea works, I’ll have to give up soccer. There’s no way I can do both, and I can’t screw the team by quitting.
“Not interested.” I adjust my bag and steel my resolve. I can’t afford to risk my soccer scholarship for a pipe dream. Besides, me hanging with a bunch of swaggering football players? Never going to happen.
Reid’s face falls for an instant, but the cocky quarterback smirk is back in place before I can blink. “Why don’t you sleep on it, Carter?” He nudges Coop and they turn to go. They make it a whole three steps—yes, I counted—before Reid looks back at me over his shoulder, a challenge burning in his eyes. “Camp starts at eight tomorrow. You can meet us on the practice fields when you change your mind.”
The arrogant bastard actually sayswhen. Not if,when.
“Spoiler alert, Reid. I won’t change my mind.” I plant my hands on my hips, determined to get the message through his thick skull. “I’d rather streak across campus naked than play ball with you.”
3
AUSTIN
The day’sshaping up to be another scorcher and I’m already sweating through my pads thirty minutes into practice. Coach is putting us through the wringer with speed drills, and I’m not the only one dripping sweat. Coop’s looking good, and I give silent thanks that at least my top receiver’s got his head in the game, because the O-line looks like shit.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were out partying last night.
“Come on, Jones! Get your balls wet!” I yell at the sophomore running back who’s going to see real action for the first time this year. He picks up the pace, and I clap my approval.
Coop approaches and I lift my helmet, letting it rest on the crown of my head so I can get a little fresh air. Sweat runs down the back of my neck, but I don’t bother wiping it away. Plenty more where that came from.
“What’s got your shorts in a twist?” Coop asks, offering me a water bottle.
“Coach’s been riding my ass all morning.” I squirt a cool stream of water into my mouth, knowing it’ll be piss warm in an hour, and return the nearly empty bottle.
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain Lady Wildcat shooting you down, would it?” The question sounds innocent enough, but the shit-eating grin on his face tells me he knows exactly what’s driving my foul mood.
“She’ll be here,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel. “She needs the scholarship.”
I don’t bother to point out that we need her just as much as she needs us. Because if I have to watch the freshman front-runner—Jones? James?I can never remember the kid’s name—shank another field goal, I’m going to slam my head into a locker. The kid’s got potential, and he’ll be good—maybe even great—with time.
Unfortunately, time’s a luxury we don’t have.
Our home opener is in three weeks. We need a pressure player now. And Carter’s a pressure player. I read up on her last night, and I’m more convinced than ever that she’s exactly what this team needs.
“You did everything you could,” Coop says, clapping me on the shoulder. “We’ll find a way.”
“We always do.” I give him a fist bump and return to the line of scrimmage, slipping my helmet on as Coach yells at us to run a few plays.
Time to work.
