by Ella Goode
Mom’s mouth drops open. I tap her chin playfully. “Better close this or you’ll catch some flies.”
I grab an apple and toss it up in the air before strolling out of the kitchen and down the hall toward my bedroom. I swing into my room and leave the door open because I don’t want her to have a meltdown. I take a seat in front of my computer and wait for the inevitable explosion.
“You met who?” She screeches loud enough that even though I’m two rooms away, the sound rings in my ears. I shake my ear and then open my laptop. Time to do some investigating.
“You met who?” A breathless Mom sweeps into my room as I’m pecking out #FUHigh into the search bar.
“Girl I’m going to marry,” I repeat. The hashtag populates hundreds of photos. I scroll through them, searching for a glimpse of my girl.
“You’re eighteen, Owen. You can’t get married. How—why are you even thinking like this? This isn’t like you. You’ve got a whole future in front of you. I thought I taught you better!” Mom throws herself on my mattress in real distress.
Absently, I reach over and squeeze her knee. “I know, Mom. I’m still on the same path. I’m going to get that football scholarship. I’m going to go pro. I’ll just have someone beside me the entire time. Someone besides you,” I add. It’s been Mom and me since before I was born. My biological father gave my mom a grand and told her to use it any way she saw fit which, to her, was putting it toward prenatal care and not the abortion that the dude probably wanted. “Damn,” I mutter under my breath. There’s not a hint of the girl in this hashtag. I type in the other high school but again draw a big fat zero.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks, suddenly sitting up.
I glance over affectionately. She went from upset to concerned in a nanosecond. She really is the best and I know she’s going to love my girl—as soon as I can find her.
“My detective skills are failing me.”
“You have no detective skills.”
I lace my fingers together and flex them outward. “Mom, you’re supposed to have more faith in me.”
“Are you looking for this girl you’re going to marry?”
“Yup.”
She sighs in relief. “So it’s a fictional girl. Like the time you had a crush on Thandie Newton.”
“Still do! She’s on my celebrity list.”
Mom whacks me across the shoulders. “You can’t have a celebrity list if you’re going to marry someone.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I mentally apologize to Thandie and then cross her name out.
Mom gets to her feet and brushes imaginary dust off her jeans. “Have fun with your girl.”
I let her leave without correcting her assumption. She’ll meet the real girl soon enough. I grab my phone and text Carter Franklin, the quarterback of Franklin U High. Yeah, he has the same last name because his great grandfather or some shit founded this town. For a rich kid, though, he’s pretty cool. At least, he has been to me.
ME: Can you get the incoming class list for FUHigh and Public?
Carter: Sure.
ME: Not going to ask what it’s for?
Carter: Do I need to know?
Me: Nope
Carter: Cool. Send it in five.
See? Pretty cool. I crack my knuckles again. So…my girl’s a little shy. No problem. What guy doesn’t like a little chase? I grin. And here I thought I was going to hate my new school.
Chapter Three
Alice
I fidget with the sleeve of my shirt, suddenly feeling nervous. I don’t know why. Since Mom and Dad asked me if I was okay with switching schools I was a hundred percent okay with it. It is my last year and all I want to do is get done with my classes. High school is boring. The classes are too easy and the boys are headache-inducing. It’s only a year and I’m sure I’ll have no problem blending in. I survived boarding school so this should be a piece of cake. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway to steady my nerves.
“Sorry I have to drive you, darling.” My mom reaches over and pulls on the end of my hair. I have it braided to the side and she knows giving it a tug is the only way to get my attention once I’m lost in my own head.
“I don’t mind.” I give her a puzzled look. Why would it bother me that she had to drive me? If it should bug anyone it would be her. “Besides”—I pick up the bacon, egg and cheese sandwich she made me for the ride—“I can eat while you drive.” I take a giant bite of it.
“I know, but I don’t want you to feel”—she gives a small shrug—“uncool because your mom is dropping you off or something. It being a new school and all.”
I roll my eyes. Not at her but at the idea of being uncool. “Like I care. Also no one says uncool anymore, Mom,” I say with my mouth still full of bacon. This time she gives me an eye roll. We both start laughing, which helps to calm me. I continue to eat my sandwich knowing that it’s probably the only thing I’ll have until dinner.
“You know what’s really uncool?” she asks as she arches an eyebrow at me. “When you talk with your mouth full.”
I swallow the food I’m chewing, knowing it’s one of Mom’s pet peeves.
“See, maybe I’ll embarrass you.” I take another bite of my sandwich, making her laugh.
“You going to tell me why you’re nervous all of a sudden?”
I finish chewing before I answer her. “Nope.”
Her mouth falls open in surprise. I tell my mom pretty much everything. We have always been close. I’m not sure if it was because it was only her and me for a while or something else. A lot of the girls I grew up with didn't have the same relationship with their moms. Our relationship is probably so strong because it had been only the two of us for so long. Plus, above all else, my mom is chill. Even if she isn't trying to be. She often plays the I’m not your friend card, I’m your mom, but she is only fooling herself. She is both.
Unless I step out of line, then she isn't so chill anymore. She seems to know how to walk that fine line between both. Luckily I don't have the habit of doing anything that would make her upset. The worst thing my mom can do to me is give me one of those disappointed faces. It gets me every time. I would rather her yell at me a million times than see that look on her face.
“I’m not sure, Mom. If I figure it out you’ll be the first to know.”
That has her smiling again. “Well, I’ll talk to the school today and make sure you get your parking pass. Maybe you’ll get to drive tomorrow.”
I shrug. It’s not so bad when my mom is dropping me off driving a Tesla but driving my own feels a bit awkward at times. I lost that battle of not getting one when my mom went on and on about how good they are for the environment.
“I’ll still make you breakfast,” she adds, thinking that’s my problem with driving myself. “Besides, you’ll end up eating donuts every morning if I don’t and I have to try and get some healthy stuff into you.” She waits beats before she mumbles, “Not that you can cook.”
“I can’t cook because you are always beating me to it,” I defend. Okay, I can’t cook. She’s tried to teach me. I have no idea why I can’t master cooking. It’s mixing a bunch of stuff together. It should be so easy. I am in advanced chemistry, for christ’s sakes.
“Hmm humm.” She purses her lips, fighting a laugh. I don’t fight my own. I laugh because it is ridiculous how terrible I am at it. “Can’t win them all, darling.” She pats my leg.
“This is your stop, kiddo,” Mom says as we pull up in front of my new school. I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and gather my things.
“Thanks for driving me. Love you,” I say, getting my things together.
“Love you. Have a great day. Just be yourself.”
That sounds easy enough. For some reason the boy from the other day flashes through my mind again. He’s made a habit of doing that since I saw him in the food court at the mall. I’m not sure you would even call him a boy. I keep wondering if he goes to my new school, but I’ve pushed that idea aside.
There is no way he’s in high school. He has to be in college. Still, that nervous rush hits me again when my mind drifts to him. The same feeling I’ve been having all morning about my new school. I don’t have time to try to understand why that feeling would be linked to him. I push the thoughts of him away and concentrate on what I’m doing.
Mom reaches over, grabbing my hand and giving it a small squeeze. I take a deep breath and push the passenger side door open. I can feel the stares coming from the small bunches of students that have gathered in front of the entrance. I shut the door, swing my bag over my shoulder and begin to walk into the uncertainty of my first day.
Chapter Four
Owen
“What’s the hurry?” Ben Hamilton asks as I quickly wipe my freshly showered body off with a towel.
I glance at Carter at the end of the bench but he’s either pretending he can’t hear or is too engrossed in the contents of his phone to spill my deets. Not that it’s a secret. As soon as I find Alice everyone in school will know what’s going on because I’m slapping my name on her butt. Or she can slap hers on mine. Either way works.
“Got to meet my girl.” I pull on my briefs and jeans and then root around for my stick of deodorant. I can never find anything in my damn locker. FU is filled with money and this locker room looks like something you’d find in those Division One football schools with its dark wood benches and the marble tiled floors, but the lockers are still too small to fit anything more than a pair of shoes and a backpack.
“What girl? You don’t have a girl. Or do you and I’ve been a shit friend and haven’t noticed? What the fuck?” Ben sounds legit distressed.
I slap him on the shoulder. “Nah. It’s new. I’ll introduce her at the next party. We’re doing something after Friday’s game, right?”
Ben breathes a sigh of relief and turns to our captain. “You’re hosting, aren’t you, Carter?”
Carter nods but still doesn’t look up. Whatever is on his phone must be riveting. None of my concern, though. If Carter wanted us to know, he’d tell us. I throw on the rest of my clothes and grab my backpack.
“I’m off. See you losers later.”
At the door, Billy Cunningham stops me. “Hey, I heard you were taking comparative English.” He pulls out a slip of paper. “My sister took it last year so I have notes and shit if you want to look it over.”
I take the paper even though I have no intention of cheating my way to a good grade, but Billy’s trying to be helpful in his own fucked-up way and I’m not going to call him out in front of the team. He’s already on Carter’s shit list because of something that happened before I came. “Appreciate that. I’ll let you know.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t have our new star wide receiver flunk out.” He gives a funny laugh and darts through the door.
Before I exit, Carter’s at my shoulder. “Be careful,” he says.
“Yeah, I know.” I stuff the note into my back pocket. “I’m not doing anything that jeopardizes the team. Besides, I signed up for the class because I actually like to read.”
“Don’t care if you do or you don’t,” Carter replies. He pushes the door open, holding it for me. “All I care about is winning the championship and that means you’re on the field and not in the stands. However you go about doing that is none of my concern. If you fuck up, then we’ll talk.”
He tilts his head and waits for me to go, but I’m not ready. Not until I have my own say. “You already gave me this lecture when you recruited me last spring, remember?”
Carter showed up at the gas station where I was working and asked me if I was going to fill tanks all my life or if I wanted something better. I told him to fuck off but the asshole kept showing up. He eventually wore me down with the promise that he could raise my stats high enough to get a look from a Division One football team. All I needed was a decent quarterback which was him, of course. What sucked was that he was right. I didn’t have a decent quarterback and unless someone threw me the damn ball, I couldn’t do shit. One night of viewing his videos on Youtube convinced me that I should transfer. I made up my mind fast.
“Yeah, some people need a refresher is all,” he says, chin out.
“Not me or maybe you haven’t been paying attention in practice.” You only have to tell me once how to run a route or execute a play and he should know that by now.
Carter dips that obnoxious chin in acknowledgment. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“You two done having your love fest so that the rest of us can leave? I want to get a BJ from one of the cheer squad before class,” Mason LeFleur complains from behind me. Mason is our resident manwhore. The guy seriously cannot function without a mouth on his dick every other hour. I think he has a problem.
“You only have ten minutes before shop starts,” Carter reminds him.
How he keeps everyone’s schedules straight, I’ll never know. As Mason argues that shop isn’t a real class since you’re required to just produce one project by the end of the semester, I slip out.
“Careful of the girl, too,” Carter calls after me. “Team rules.”
I flip him off. I’ve heard that lecture too. Bros before ho’s, he said. That’s the pledge we all make. Not that the girls are ho’s, of course, but that the team comes first. Always, which is why he said “team rules,” which is code for don’t do anything that fucks with the team.
I’m good at multitasking, though, so I’m not worried about securing both the girl and the trophy. Winners win and I’m a winner. And today, winning starts with meeting Alice. Thanks to Carter, I have a name and a class schedule. She’s also taking honors English. In fact, her class schedule is eerily like mine except she’s taking two more science classes than I am. I hate science and would rather stab myself in the eye than sit through advanced classes about that shit. I like reading, arguing, and art, which makes us perfect complements to each other. When I reach the front steps, there’s a horde of guys sitting along the stone barricades.
“What’s going on?” I ask a pimply-faced underclassman. I know he’s younger than me by the way that he immediately steps to the side and gives me space.
“Ah, we’re waiting.”
“For what?”
“For the girls.”
“For the girls to do what?” I scan the grounds. There aren’t any girls. It’s like a sausage convention on the stairs.
“For the girls to arrive.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Every single one of these assholes is sitting here waiting for the girls of FU to roll up in their cars? What a mess. I don’t want Alice to go through that her first day. I stroll to the middle of the ding-a-ling convention and place my fingers in my mouth, executing a loud, ear-piercing whistle. Everyone snaps to attention. I spot a couple of junior varsity players and point my fingers at them. “Get every one of these dickheads inside.”
They don’t move. I clap my hands. “Now. Team rules.”
The JV boys scramble into gear and in the next minute, the stone steps are clear. I walk down the wide staircase to the sidewalk and wait. At any minute, she should be pulling up. I inspect the cars—the Rolls Royces, the Bentleys, the Beemers, the Mercedes. Toward the end of the line is one white Tesla. My favorite car. I’ve had my eye on those since it was released. Someday, after I sign my big NFL paycheck, I’m buying one—and whatever else Alice wants. The line moves slow as the students spill out of their cars and move on into the school. Some are surprised that there’s no one waiting. Some give me odd looks. I pay zero attention to any of them as I’m focused on finding one single girl.
The Tesla finally reaches me. The passenger door opens and, no lie, a ray of sun beams down as Alice climbs out of the vehicle.
I smile. See, it’s all a sign. I’m God’s favored son and this is the evidence. My girl has arrived in my dream car and the sun’s shining high in the sky.
“Hey,” I say.
Alice tips her head up in surprise. Wordlessly she points a finger at her che
st.
My grin broadens. “Yeah, you.” I lope over to the car door and stick my head inside. “I’m Owen McCoy. Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I say to Alice’s mother.
The mother smiles. “Oh, I didn’t realize you’d already made friends, darling.” She holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Owen.”
I give it a firm, but friendly shake. “Nice to meet you, too. Don’t worry about Ace. I’ll take care of her today.”
“That’s wonderful.” A car horn honks and Ace’s mom jolts into position behind the steering wheel. “I better get going.”
“Wait, Mom—” Ace says, but I’ve already shut the car door.
I sling an arm around Ace. “Let’s go.”
She glares at me. “Who the hell are you?”
Chapter Five
Alice
It’s the boy from the mall. The one who was staring every time I looked up. My nervousness evaporates as annoyance settles in.
“Why is your arm around my shoulder?” I shrug it off. “I’m not sure what you think you’re doing, but I’m not interested.”
At my last school, guys always tried to claim the new girl. They wanted to be the first to “lay pipe on virgin territory” as one asshole declared loudly during class. He got detention for that but it never wiped the smirk off his face.
I hate smirkers. I particularly hate smug hot guys because they always think that they can get away with anything because God put their features together a certain way.
“You’re right. You’re right.” He raises his palms. “No hands on you without permission. That’s smart and I know you’re smart.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I swing to face him and make the mistake of looking into his eyes. I remember them being brown from the first time I saw him at the mall, but what I hadn’t noticed at the time was the warm honey color that swam around the irises. Being this close to him allows me to see all the dangerous detail up close. I’ve never known that an eye color could be this rich and inviting.
