“He shouldn’t have made you run so much,” Ms. Nash said like it was a subject they’d gone over before, then added under her breath, “But exerciseishealthy for you.”
Claire scowled. “I didn’t get to wear cute shoes until Cooper went to high school. I had to wear my tennis shoes every day or risk falling behind and having my dresser drawers violated.”
“Tennis shoes are better for your feet,” Ms. Nash said. “High heels cripple women.”
“Is that the shoe story?” I asked, unsure why Claire was telling it to me now when she was the one who’d told her mom not to mention it.
“No,” Claire said. “But the story of my forced run pretty much tells you everything you need to know about Cooper.”
“He’s determined and a hard worker,” his mother said.
“And he doesn’t listen to anyone else,” Claire said, “even if you tell him you’re about to throw up in the neighbor’s bushes.”
“Madeline and I go running,” my dad said. “We’ll have to ask Cooper to join us sometime.”
“Yeah,” I said, already knowing that Cooper would be busy that day.
The conversation changed after that, mostly because Claire wanted to go to the refreshment shack with her friend to buy soda. Ms. Nash quickly vetoed the idea because soda had nonutritional value and drinking it was bad for every part of your body—I lost track of her list after the liver and kidneys. My dad nodded in agreement pretty quickly for a guy who’d moved several sleeves of Diet Coke to the closet.
What was he thinking by dating a fitness instructor?
My dad gave Claire some money for popcorn, and she and her friend left for a suspiciously long time. Ten to one, they got soda and just drank it where our parents couldn’t see them.
I never did get to find out what the shoe story was about.
12
Cooper
Seeing Madeline in the stands watching me play shouldn’t have bothered me. Everyone else in school had watched me play. Most of the time, I didn’t think about her, but once in a while, I looked at the stands and saw her and Mr. Seibold parked in the front row with my family. It always threw me for a second.
That picture was all wrong, and not only because my mother didn’t seem to be paying attention to the game. Madeline clapped for everything, even when our team got penalties.
Despite being more distracted than usual, I threw for over a hundred and fifty yards, nailed three touchdowns, and only missed two passes. It wasn’t enough. We made mistake after stupid mistake and lost by three.
Coach said he’d had some interest from scouts about me, but no one approached me. Either they hadn’t come, or they’d been so unimpressed they hadn’t bothered to stick around until the end of the game to talk to me.
The mood in the locker room was straight-up depressing. We all knew we should’ve won and the fact that we couldn’t pull it together for the first game of the season wasn’t a good omen. After the coach told us in disappointed tones that we’d be working harder in coming practices, I showered and dressed.
I took a long time, putting off the inevitable family get-together. I really just wanted to go home and soak my aches in ahot bath. Instead of celebrating, Mom would either console me or tell me, in what she thought was a helpful tone, the ways I needed to improve. Both were equally bad.
Jasper was one of the last ones out of the locker room. He saw me tying my shoes at a snail’s pace and walked up. His hair was combed and he’d put on cologne, a reminder he was going out with Amelia. “Are you sure you can’t ditch ice cream with the Seibolds and hang out with us? Your mom understands how you feel about Madeline, right? Why is she dragging the two of you along on her date?”
“Part of my punishment,” I said. “Grounding me wasn’t enough.”
“Rough,” Jasper said. “Can you imagine what it will be like if they keep dating?”
“I’m trying not to think about that.” And doing what I had to in order to prevent it. My dad had called yesterday, and it hadn’t escaped me that he’d asked about Mr. Seibold—what he was like, how often Mom had gone out with him, and whether Claire and I liked him. He wasn’t happy with the situation.
Jasper gave me a fist bump. “Hang tough, bro.” Then he was gone too.
I couldn’t hide out in the locker room forever. I trudged outside to find my family. They stood on the field close to the parking lot, waiting for me. Mr. Seibold and my mother were talking. Claire was on her phone. Madeline had a smile plastered on her face.
She’d curled her long blonde hair so it hung in waves around her shoulders and wore red lipstick in the same shade as her jacket. Usually at school, she looked young and deceptively innocent—like some storybook princess who was about to break into song with woodland creatures. I’d forgotten that she couldlook this way too, older and more sophisticated, an actress onstage playing whatever part she needed to. The girl could be eye-stopping when she wanted.
Mom hugged me. “You had some great throws.”
Tonight she was going with consolation. She thought I ought to feel horrible enough to need it.
