Authors: Natalie Decker
Unfolding the note, I read:
Seriously, Caleb, must I spell this out for you? What plays are getting you points on the board?
I crumple it up and toss it into the bottom of my locker. Gripping the sides of my head, I growl in frustration. Could her note be any more cryptic? I don’t have a fucking clue what’s been putting points on the board. And her “Seriously Caleb must I spell it out for you” shit? Yeah, freaking Bulldog, it would have been nice if you had.
Looking around at the rest of the team huddled around Coach and his clipboard, I realize only they can solve the riddle in my head. “What’s been getting us points on the board?”
Everyone turns and looks at me with shocked faces. No one ever interrupts the coach while he’s going over plays. No one. And yet, I’m the dumbass that just did.
“Morgan!” Coach Reed, the offensive coach, yells.
Coach Dillion holds up a hand and smiles. “No. Let him talk.”
“What’s been killing their defenders?” I ask.
“The runs on the outsides. And the short passes to the sides,” Derrick says.
“Yeah, but that won’t matter. I mean, aren’t they having the same talk we are over here?” Findlay says.
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter what the hell they’re talking about. I’m pretty sure that they won’t be able to fix it in time. We’re down by two touchdowns and I have a feeling if we do all the right things from here, we can stop them.”
“Caleb has a point.” Coach Dillion goes over our game plan for this next half and then we all pull into a huddle for a “one-two-three Bobcats!” As the team lines up to go back out onto the field Coach pulls me aside.
“I’m proud of you, Caleb. You’ve really matured as a quarterback this year. Your position isn’t just about knowing plays, reading defenses, and making sure your teammates look up to you. You’re supposed to figure out what’s working and keep doing that, because that will be the determining factor of every game.”
Shame fills me. I’m not anything he’s claiming me to be—it’s Skylar. She sees games a lot differently than I do, obviously. For once though, I feel grateful that she’s living with us. I’m also annoyed because for the first time I’m seeing the weakness in myself that everyone seems to overlook—everyone except Sky.
***
Out on the sidelines, I wait. I glance around the screaming fans, trying to see where her face is, only to end up finding my uncle and Erin instead. Where is Skylar? Is she on their side? Anger courses through me at the thought of her sitting with the Bulldogs.
I know I shouldn’t give a shit, but for some reason I want—no,
need
her to be cheering for me. “Morgan, your team’s up,” Coach Littleton says.
I glance back at the stands one more time and then turn myself to the field. Running to the thirty-yard line, I slow once I reach the rest of my teammates. “Do you guys trust me?”
They all look at me like I’m half nuts, and I don’t blame them. I sound freaking crazy. Lance slaps my shoulder. “I trust you, man.” Derrick follows suit and the rest of the offense nods.
“Good, because I need all of you to trust me as much as I trust all of you to make plays, have my back, and keep these dicks away from me. And from this half on, I’m letting you guys choose the plays.” Because I’m virtually clueless. My mind is stuck on a Bulldog who can see right through me and can tell me when I’m sucking without sugarcoating it. All the plays in my head just seem wrong, especially for her, and I want to show Sky that I listened.
Derrick whistles. “Well, if I weren’t sober and right here, I’d say there’s no way in hell that came out of Cabs’s mouth.” He smiles and looks over at Lance. “Do you have something in mind, Obi?”
“I’ve got something,” Lance answers. He explains his play quickly and we all break apart from the huddle. Lining up in formation, I settle into position.
“Red twenty-two, Red sixty-five, Yellow seventy-one, hut-hut,” I yell as the ball is snapped back into my hands. I draw back a bit and hand it off to Zachary King.
He moves up the gap and down the field with ease, running past the thirty, forty…and is taken down at the fifty marker. We hurry to the ball and form a huddle. Derrick slaps a fist to his chest and bellows out, “Now that’s what I’m talking about. All right guys, I’m calling this one. Handoff to Lance, cutting to the left side. You gotta edge the line, man, don’t put one toe out of bounds, unless someone shoves your ass.”
I laugh. “Everyone got the play? Defend, create the open, and make it hold guys.” We clap hands and then we set to the formation needed to make this play possible.
Two more plays in, Derrick catches a touchdown pass and Garrett kicks a perfect field goal, making the score 28 to 35. We rush in and let the defense take over. Lance and I stand beside each other on the sidelines. I’m breathing in the cold fall air, while he snags a water bottle. In between drinks he shakes his head. “You’re doing it again, man.”
“Doing what?”
“You know what. For the last couple weeks you’ve been different. It’s almost like…I don’t know, but it’s definitely not you.”
I shake my head. “You’re nuts. I’m fine. Still the skillful self I always am.”
“Yeah? Why are you letting Danielle dick-whip you into this dance shit when you and I both know you want nothing to do with her? And why are you smiling at secret notes from Skylar one minute and beating the hell out of a locker the next? I’m telling you, something is up.”
I shrug. “Danielle is a whole other matter. Once I get through the rest of the season, I can cut ties from her and her clinginess. As for the other issue, fine, there’s something way different about her. One minute I want to choke the life out of her, the next I have, I don’t know…respect for her. And the way she sees through the bullshit is amazing. At the same time, it’s the most annoying goddamn thing I’ve ever encountered. It drives me crazy.”
He whacks my arm. “You like her, admit it.”
Yeah I like her. I like her a lot. But there’s no way in hell I can act on what I’m feeling. There’s too much at risk. Besides that, she’d never want the real me. She’ll want what everyone wants, the confident I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude and ready-for-anything Caleb. Usually I’m fine with giving people this, but not Skylar. If I were to do this, I’d want her to have the me no one knows. And that’s just not something I’m ready to give now.
“I can’t admit stuff I’m not sure of.”
Focusing my attention back on the game, I watch Kevin call for the snap. He steps back into the pocket and bam—launches a long pass to an open man halfway down the field. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Number twenty-eight catches it, and our only defender downfield tries to take him out but has to pick up the pace in order to do so. We’ve got to hold them. If we don’t, any touchdowns we score will be a waste because we won’t be able to tie the score back up. Especially if we’re constantly down by fourteen points.
Jacobs, the guy downfield, catches up to number twenty-eight and makes the tackle. Everyone on the sidelines is cheering except me. Why? Because twenty-eight is literally eleven yards away from the end zone.
I glance back up at the stands again. Why I bothering looking for Sky is beyond me, but my eyes roam the faces in the stands hoping to spot her.
Where the hell is she?
Derrick slides in beside me and slaps a hand down on my shoulder pads. “You know after this, there’s a huge party going on at Amber’s house. You going?”
I shake my head and return my gaze to the field. “I don’t think so.”
“Dude, you’ve been missing a lot of parties lately.”
“You don’t think I know this? I’ve been busy with stuff.”
He shakes his head. “Yeah, I know. How about I swing over in the morning and we play some
Demon’s Souls
?”
I shrug. “Maybe, man. I’ve got a lot of crap to do tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Offense, you’re up!” Coach Dillion hollers.
Chapter 33
Skylar
The clock is winding down and Caleb has the ball at the forty-five-yard mark. The score is forty-two to forty-five, my old school up by three, and with each passing second, I feel as though my body and mind are going to break away from each other. Somewhere inside of me, a small part wants Kevin to have his victorious year, the one we would have shared had he been faithful and I never moved. The other part wants Caleb to crush Kevin’s dreams of success because I’m still pissed he cheated on me.
As the conflict inside me churns, I can’t help but feel responsible for this outcome. If I hadn’t written that note to Caleb and told Kayla to pass it along to him, would this score be different? Did I, in fact, become the person my friends all feared I’d become?
On the field Caleb drops back into the pocket. The two tackles are struggling to hold back the defensive ends. I bite my lower lip and stifle back a gasp as the left tackle hits the ground, letting Roger loose to charge Caleb. “Caleb Morgan looks like he’s in a jam,” Kayla’s dad announces.
He is too. He scrambles to get away from Roger, but Roger is gaining on him. My fingers cross and I close my eyes as a small prayer slips from my lips. “Come on, Caleb, you can get out of this.” Kayla squeals next to me, causing me to open my eyes just in time to see Lance jumping and wrapping his hands around the ball. I watch him sprint from the twenty-yard line all the way to the one-yard line where he is tackled.
There’s seven seconds left on the clock. The crowd is in an uproar, and Kayla and I squeeze each other’s hands. “Oh man, do you think we can win?” she asks.
“I don’t know.”
Caleb calls for the snap, and starts to draw back and hand the ball. The guy starts to run up the middle but is stopped. Kayla growls, “Crap!”
“They still have five seconds.”
The next play, Caleb hands the ball off again, but instead of the running back hopping over the line, he darts left and just barely crosses the line before being taken out in the end zone. The clock expires and the crowd below the press box goes crazy. Confetti is tossed, the band belts out a number, and people dressed in brown and yellow attire swarm the field. Kayla pulls me from my chair and twirls me around squealing, “Wahoo! We won!”
I laugh and then the guilt hits me. I stop spinning around and shake my head. “I’ve got to go.”
“What? Why? Oh…” She seems to realize exactly what’s wrong with me and frowns. “I’m sorry, Skylar, I guess I forgot that’s your old school.”
“It’s not a big deal. I should really get home, though. I have to work in the morning. Thanks for letting me hang out up here with you and your family.”
“You’re welcome back anytime, Skylar,” her dad says.
I smile and shortly after leave the press box. Zipping down the steps with my hoodie up, hoping to avoid everyone else, I make my way to the exit. I don’t make it very far before someone clamps a hand down on my shoulder and spins me around. “I knew it was her,” Mikia says.
Sam loops her arm through mine and pulls me through the exit with both of them. “What are you two doing? I thought you guys couldn’t talk to me anymore?”
“We shouldn’t,” Sam whispers. “But we’re blood sisters. Besides, we’re about to go do some damage and we figured you’d want to help.”
We’re outside the gates and heading to my car. I swallow. “What kind of damage?”
“You know, trashing up their homecoming court floats,” Mikia answers.
“Or the place they’re holding the dance,” Sam adds.
“I can’t do that.”
They both look at me like I’m crazy. “Are you serious? Why not? Sky this could be your chance to come back to our school. Do this, the school will blame you, and you’re home-free,” Mikia says.
I shake my head. “I can’t. If we get caught, I’m toast. Sorry.” I unlock my door and get in. Sam glares at me. Mikia pulls her away.
“Come on, Sam. We can do this without her.”
I close my door and sigh. What’s happening to me?
***
In my room, I stare at the picture of Sam, Mikia, and I all in our softball uniforms, huddled together and smiling. It’s my last picture in a Bulldog uniform. It’s also the last picture we took together. I set the frame down on the nightstand and sigh. They probably hate me now.
My door opens and I expect to see my mom entering, but it’s not her. “Hey,” Caleb smiles.
“Hi.”
He shuts my door and walks over to my bed. I scoot over and he lies down beside me. My breathing hitches at the nearness of him. His minty breath and spicy cologne collide right into me. He smells so good. Smelling this good should be illegal. “Sky,” he breathes, while propping himself up and turning his body toward me. “I wanted to thank you. For everything.”
“Don’t.” I close my eyes and sigh.
Fingertips brush against my cheek. I open my eyes right as Caleb tucks some hair behind my ear. I blink a few times and he smiles. God, he’s beautiful. He leans in so close our lips are mere inches from each other and my tongue can practically taste his minty breath. And I want to. Oh boy, do I want to.
I’m staring at his mouth with desire, and even dart my tongue out to taste more of the afterthought of mint coating my lips. Caleb blinks and then brushes his lips against my cheekbone, causing a butterfly effect throughout my body so intense I feel as if ten bombs went off inside me. Blood rushes to my face, causing my skin to warm while I desire more of him. I gasp as excitement of wanting more of him fills me.
Caleb pulls away. He has an awkward smile on his face, and the next thing I know he hops off the bed and heads to the door. I don’t know whether or not I should feel grateful or upset. The feelings of desire, want, and need are so intense it scares the crap out of me. And yet, he’s leaving me. Rejection and disappointment wash over me.
He leaves my room without a goodbye. I sit up in my bed and rub my cheek, which oddly enough is still warm and tingly where he kissed me. All the mixed emotions bombard me, and suddenly I’m upset with myself. I’m upset that I allowed myself to fall for him. I’m even more ticked with myself for getting involved in his stupid game. Well it’s not happening again.