“Tell that to your quarterback stats,” Diego said. “Coach still won’t shut up about your arm.”
I rolled my eyes, but something warm flickered in my chest. Football was the one thing I had that felt easy. Natural. Right. Ball in my hand. Crowd screaming. Dalton trash-talking on my left. Diego blocking on my right. Mac first on the field with us, then in the stands after he graduated. Yeah. That part of my life, I could deal with.
What I couldn’t deal with was the image that flashed in the back of my mind every time someone mentioned a blonde girl. Too pretty for her own good. Hazel eyes. Sharp tongue. A crack in her armor I hadn’t seen until later. Broken recognizes broken. Even if you hate the person standing in front of you.
“Hey!” Hannah’s voice shrieked from inside the kitchen. “If those banners aren’t hung in the next five minutes, I’m tying you boys up with them myself!”
We scrambled because in the hierarchy of menacing forces in this world, it went: Hannah Mills, God, whatever was living under Dalton’s bed, and the IRS. In that order. I snatched a bundle of zip ties on my way out the door, dodging around Clintand a couple other guys. Mac climbed up a ladder and Diego handed him the banner we were supposed to be hanging.
Dalton yelled, “A little to the left!” Mac and Diego flipped him off.
For a while, it was easy to forget the electric bill notice on the counter at home. The soft patch in my floor. The way Mom’s hands sometimes shook when she thought I wasn’t looking. Here, I was just Jackson. One of the guys. A kid with a bike and a purpose. This was the stuff that made everything bearable. Quarterback. Living two separate lives and praying the one I loved most never got swallowed by the one I was born into.
? Holly ?
I tugged at the lacy edges of the tank top and eyed myself in the mirror. Behind me, my closet appeared to have exploded. I had no idea what to wear. It wasn’t my first “first day of school,” but I was a bundle of nerves. My hair? Carefully styled in gentle beach waves. Makeup? A touch of mascara, wickedly sharp eyeliner, and some color in my cheeks. I had on a cute pair of sandals and had donned my favorite cut-off jeans. But I couldn’t get the damn shirt right. I groaned, ripping it off and tossing it onto the bed. My gentle beach waves had somehow survived the chaos, but if I kept going, they were gonna turn into a fuzzy tsunami.
I turned when a knock on my door dragged me from my rampage. If I wanted to be on time, I had to leave soon. I had approximately a million shirts. And I didn’t like any of them. Sigh. My mom poked her head in, eyes widening at the carnage. When I didn’t say anything, she pushed her way into the room and shut the door behind me. In her hands, she had a small brown bag, and she held it out to me with a soft smile. “You look gorgeous, honey. But maybe this is what you’re lookingfor?” I looked between her and the bag with more than a little skepticism before accepting the gift.
I opened it up and pulled out a shirt so unlike anything my mother had ever gotten for me before. It was a dark green, with gold stitching and some swirly gold sequins. It was partially off shoulder, and, based on the hemline, it would show just a sliver of belly. I slid it on and froze.
The green pulled the gold from my eyes like it had been waiting there all along. I stepped closer to the mirror, tilting my head. For the first time in months, I didn’t look washed out. I looked…awake. The vivid greens and browns, the gold rings around my irises. I tugged at the hem where it hovered just above my belly button and eyed my mother questioningly. She shrugged and offered a small smile.
“It’s public school. I’m sure they’ve seen worse. What’s that thing you kids say? Go big or go home?”
I couldn’t knock that she was trying, really trying to connect with me. It was something she didn’t do very often, but when she did, it was in a quiet way that showed just how much she loved me. Part of me was still angry with her for missing the signs, and I was in no hurry to go on a mother-daughter date or something. But I could at least appreciate the cute shirt. “Thank you, mom. I love it.” Her face blossomed with a smile of relief that went from ear to ear. I tried to not be bitter. If she hadn’t wanted us to be close, maybe she should’ve paid attention.
Glancing at the clock, I realized I was officially running late. Mom followed me out of my bedroom door and downstairs as I grabbed the last of my things. Pressing a kiss to her cheek and shouting a goodbye to my father, I ran out the door. Public school. What a trip. At least I wasn’t taking a bus. No, my ’76 teal Mustang was my pride and joy. Custom black leather seating. Matte black rims. She was a thing of beauty. Dad had the original engine pulled and replaced with a rebuilt 302. The thing growledlike it had something to prove. She was the one good thing to come out of that year. My mother nearly had a heart attack the first time I spun tires.
As I rounded the corner of Opal Ave, Redwood High loomed in the distance. Looking at its massive, worn brick exterior, I briefly pondered the logic of taking such an expensive car to a building whose definition of expensive was probably upgrading to toilets that didn’t use a pull handle to flush. I was going to stick out like a sore thumb. But then I brushed the thought to the side. I was the new girl. In senior year. I was already going to stick out. Might as well look good while doing it. I pulled into the lot, and heads turned. Where the shit was student parking?
Did they have student parking? I rolled the window down and made eye contact with a skinny, red-haired guy.
Flashing him a megawatt smile, I said, “Hi, you might’ve picked up on this already, but I’m new. Is there student parking?”
He blinked at me, clutching a heavy-looking AP Chemistry book to his chest. The engine grumbled as it idled, turning even more heads, and I fought to keep the friendly smile on my face.Come on, numb skull. Simple question here.Finally, he visibly shook himself and pointed towards a small driveway area that wrapped around the back of the building. Nodding my thanks, I followed it to a small parking lot that was tucked into a back corner and labeled with a faded sign. “Student Parking Only. Pass required.”
I was so busy wondering what a pass was and how I was to go about getting one that I almost missed the line of bikes parked in front. A familiar black Harley with gold pinstripes seemed to mock me. It was flashy and obnoxious, just like its owner. Great, that freaking idiot must go here. Yay, me.
I found a spot for Sally, the name I had given my Mustang for obvious reasons, and took a minute to steel myself before going inside.
Was I late? Yup.
Did I care? Not particularly.
I eyed the throng of students around me, divided into obvious cliques. Public or private school, they had at least one thing in common. How did this many people fit in one building? . I grabbed my bag and checked my makeup in the mirror one last time. Ready. Set. Action. One year. I could do one more year. At least there were no fucking pageants. There appeared to be two entrances, and I opted for the main one, assuming it would be closest to the office. I had to get my schedule and find out about a parking pass. If someone tried towing Sally, they were losing fingers.
I ignored the whispers and stares as I made my way up the steps. Hi, yes. New girl. Not a unicorn. Fuck off. Not to sound shallow, but sometimes being pretty really sucked. A group of jocks wolf-whistled at me and I flipped them the bird without sparing them a glance. Their cackling laughter followed me inside.
Holy fluorescents. At the far end of the hallway was a set of stairs. Between here and there, art lined the wall opposite a massive display of trophies. The linoleum looked like it had been around since I started grade school. I almost missed the door to my left. A small, nondescript wooden thing that had an easily missed label, “Office.” I read the flyers stapled and taped haphazardly to the walls. Anything to buy myself a bit of time. Eventually, I realized I was in the way of everyone coming through the doors so I stepped forward and pushed the surprisingly heavy door open.
Faded blue carpets. A receptionist barely visible behind a mountain of a desk. Three other doors labeled nurse, counselor,and principal. She must not have heard me come in because she didn’t even look up. I waited for a minute, for her to notice. But, realizing she would’ve just kept typing away forever, I spoke up.
“Excuse me? Hello?”
She yelped and looked up at me. “Heck, young lady. Where did you come from?”
Her accent was so thick I could barely understand her.
