by Quinn Loftis
After the game, which they lost, the coach had given Tara a dressing down in front of Desiree and the rest of the team. When he took a breath to ask why the hell she had slapped Desiree, Tara turned to the other girl and said, “When you act like a whiny bitch, you get slapped like a whiny bitch. Next time either play smarter or fight like you mean it.”
Nope, not her finest moment at all. She’d been forced to run bleachers until she puked. To her credit, Tara didn’t act smug when she noticed Desiree did indeed play a little tougher the following game.
“I’ll try to refrain from hitting any of our own players,” Tara said.
“It’s noble of you to attempt to show some restraint,” Shelly said in a snooty voice. “But far be it from me to tell you not to hand out a beatdown if the beatdown is the best course of action. And to be fair, Desiree is one of she-who-must-not-be-named’s most faithful followers. It’s not like she hasn’t deserved to be slapped at some point in her cruel life. But if you must endeavor to take the high road, then I shall wave at you from down here on the low road.”
Tara shook her head and laughed. “You’re so weird.”
Shelly held up her hand and yelled, “Number one!” The rest of the team cheered, not realizing she was referencing their necklaces. Tara just went with it. It’s pretty much all you could do when dealing with Shelly Smith.
Chapter 4
Are you all right?” Shelly asked.
Tara saw several concerned faces looking down at her. She rose quickly and brushed herself off, causing the crowd of players, the referees, and her coach to step back.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” She cocked an eyebrow at Shelly, who was the other forward on the team.
“You just rammed heads with the other team’s sweeper. She’s bleeding all over the place.”
“Oh, at least it wasn’t one of our players. Still kept my promise.” Tara looked and saw another small crowd of people a few yards away, which consisted of the opposing team’s coaches, players, and athletic staff. They were crouching around a figure moaning and writhing on the ground.
Tara rubbed her head, despite the fact that there was no pain and knew there would be no cut, bruise, or scratch. “Guess she got the worst of it.” Tara shrugged and began jogging back to her place on the field at the forward’s position. Once again she was going to have to figure out a way to get Shelly off her back about it.
“Thompson,” yelled her coach. “Get back here.”
Tara gritted her teeth before jogging over to him. She raised her eyebrows and gave him her best irritated teen face. Because she was an irritated teen. “Yes, Coach?” she asked.
“Let me see that head.” He put both hands on each side of her head and peered down at it, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t even have a mark. Do you feel dizzy? Any double vision?”
“Nope. I’m good. Carol always says my head is as hard as a lead pipe. Guess she wasn’t wrong. Like I said, Coach Jones, that other girl must have gotten the worst of it.” Tara shrugged, hoping he would just drop it and let her get on with the game.
“Well, that’s obvious,” he said. They both glanced over to where the opposing player was being helped off the field on shaky legs. The spectators began to clap as they eased her past the sidelines and back toward the visitors’ locker room. A trainer was holding a towel on the girl’s brow, trying mostly unsuccessfully to stem the bleeding. “Still, I’d be shocked if you didn’t at least have a mild concussion. Hit the sidelines. Let the trainer check you out.”
“Coach…” She practically growled. “You can’t do this to me. It’s the last game. Who cares if I have a concussion if it’s the last game?” The teams were tied 1-1. If they won, the Buffalo Lady Bisons would make the playoffs … for the first time since … ever. And no offense to anyone else on the team, but Tara was the best forward they had. Not to mention it was her senior year. This was her final chance to play the sport she loved. She wasn’t good enough to go pro, and her grades weren’t good enough to get her into a school even with a soccer scholarship, so this was it for her. Not to mention her attitude left much to be desired.
Coach Jones stared down at her, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. Tara could see the need to keep her safe warring with his understanding of her desire to keep playing.
After a couple of seconds, he sighed and glanced around, as if he could see the school board, athletic director, and a bunch goody-two-shoes, do-gooder parents frowning at him in disapproval. “Fine, you can play. But if you feel even a smidgeon of dizziness, you get your butt off the field.”
Without even a smile—because, let’s face it, she was going back out on that field whether he wanted to let her or not—she sprinted back out onto the field. She hadn’t forgotten to agree with him. Because it didn’t matter if she did get dizzy, not that she would. They’d have to carry her limp body off the field before she’d stop playing in what might be her last competitive soccer game.
As she ran, Tara felt a strange sensation, as if she were being watched … which was ridiculous. Of course, she was being watched. There were a hundred or so people in the stands, mostly relatives of players, all watching what was happening on the field. There might’ve been more if the team was actually any good. But this felt different. As if somehow someone was watching her and only her … and watching her very closely. She turned and slowly scanned the crowd. Her eyes took in faces she recognized, even if she’d never spoken to any of them, and other faces she didn’t. But it was the man on the far-left side of the bleachers who held her attention. He didn’t fit in with the rest of the fans of the Buffalo High girls soccer team. He was out of place, like a piece of puzzle that somehow got put into the wrong box. He was sitting alone, as if he knew he didn’t fit. He was a larger man. No, large wasn’t an adequate description. He was a giant man sitting alone in the stands. And it looked like he was staring directly at Tara. She watched him for several moments. It was hard to tell for sure from this distance, but it seemed his face never glanced away from where she stood.
“Coach is going to let you play?” Shelly asked with a big grin.
Tara nodded and faced her friend, trying to forget about the man in the stands. “Yep,” she said with a smile. “I’m not about to sit this one out.”
“My girl’s got game.” Shelly chuckled and high fived her.
Tara took her place on the right side of the field on the fifty-yard line. She waited as the ref tossed the ball in the air, and the center forward, Christina, jumped up to head it. The game was back on and Tara took off after the ball, all thoughts of the out-of-place man gone from her mind.
“I can’t believe we lost,” Shelly said for the fifth time since entering the locker room. “I mean, we were up by one and then that kick. Who can kick like that?”
The kick in question had been done by the opposing team’s left forward who had managed to get a goal from the forty-yard line. It was a fluke shot. A once-in-a-decade kind of shot, and it happened when there were thirty seconds left in the game.
“I swear the soccer gods hate us.” Shelly continued to whine.
“Soccer gods?” Christina asked. “I’m pretty sure those aren’t a thing.”
“Well if they were a thing, they’d probably hate us.” Shelly huffed.
Tara couldn’t disagree. It seemed like their team couldn’t catch a break. Every time they were close to getting in the play-offs it was ripped from their grasp. It flat out sucked.
“On a completely different topic, because if I continue to think about the fact that I just played my last soccer game I might cry”—Shelly turned to her—“are you going out with Tucker?”
Tara’s stomach dropped, remembering the boy’s latest invitation, which had come the previous day. She’d been hoping Shelly had forgotten Tucker had asked her out. Again. Tara thought since she hadn’t mentioned it before the game then perhaps her flighty friend might have forgotten. Her BFF, who was heading for a demotion if she didn’t abandon the whole Tuc
ker thing, was like a dog with a bone when she got hung up on something. She would gnaw on it until she’d eaten clean through the marrow.
“I’m not really feeling the whole Tucker thing,” Tara said as she took off her jersey and stuffed it into her bag.
“Well, not yet you’re not.” Shelly chuckled. “But let him take you on a date and I bet you could be feeling all kinds of Tucker. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t say no, if you know what I mean. He’s hot, you’re hot, and your names fit perfectly together. Tara and Tucker sitting in a tree…” She began to sing. “…k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes love, then comes making out, then comes Tara with a great big shout.”
“Shelly, there’s something wrong with you,” Becca said.
“Probably,” Shelly agreed with a snicker, and Tara didn’t see a lick of shame on her face.
Tara choked down the bile that rose at the idea of feeling anything on Tucker. Not because he wasn’t attractive, because he so was. And he was also a genuinely nice guy. Why he was interested in her she couldn’t guess. Unless it was some sort of fascination with wanting to be with the orphaned, angry girl.
Regardless, it wasn’t Tucker that was the problem. It was Tara. At eighteen years old, she’d never been interested in a guy. Shelly had once asked her if she had a thing for chicks—Shelly’s words—and Tara had had to seriously search her emotions. It wasn’t hard to see why her friend had asked the question because Tara kept all guys at arm’s length, along with the rest of the world. But Tara wasn’t attracted to females, and she did find males attractive. She had just never found one that she could actually imagine being with. Did that make her a weirdo because she didn’t spend all day fantasizing about a life with a hot guy? Probably. Did she care? Again, maybe somewhere down deep in her withered soul, but she wasn’t about to admit it to herself. Denial of difficult emotions seemed to be her M.O. Avoid, deny, and live in ignorant bliss. Well, not bliss exactly. Really it was just living in ignorance and constantly pushing away the emotions she didn’t want to deal with.
“I don’t want to lead him on,” Tara said. “Besides, he’s probably just interested because I haven’t dated anyone, and he sees me as a challenge.” She grabbed a clean T-shirt out of her bag and pulled it over her head.
“Naw,” Shelly said shaking her head. “I don’t get that vibe from him. He looks at you with goo-goo eyes.”
“Tucker’s too nice to just go after a girl because she’s a novelty,” Desiree added, because she loved to stick her nose in other people's business. “Even if it is you.”
“How are those cheeks feeling, Des?” Tara asked with a smirk. “Has the sting worn off and now you need a reminder?”
Desiree bared her teeth at Tara as if she were a snarling dog. Tara wondered if she should tell her it wasn’t a good look for her, but Shelly beat her to it.
“Either say something nice once in a while or put a muzzle on that snout of yours.”
Another voice broke in before Desiree could respond.
“Nice guys always finish last,” Christina, who’d apparently been listening from one row over, called out.
“She’s not wrong,” Shelly added. “It’s the bad boys every girl desires. Seriously, who wants to ride a moped when you can climb on a Harley instead?”
Tara rolled her eyes. “Let’s not talk about riding anything or anyone, please.” If Shelly got started with the sexual innuendos it could go on for hours. Like the freaking Energizer Bunny.
Shelly’s eyes glinted with wicked amusement. “I swear, Tara. One of these days some guy is going to knock you on your shapely gluteus maximus when you least expect it, and he’s going to … Rock. Your. World.”
Tara shook her head. She didn’t know if there was such a male out there that could rock her world, let alone knock her on her butt. She just couldn’t imagine feeling that way about anyone. And she couldn’t imagine anyone feeling that way about her. For so long, Tara had thought herself so different from her classmates. She had emotional baggage. Tara didn’t fit in. There were many reasons for that. She wasn’t one for small talk, and as a general rule, most people got on her nerves. If she needed to talk, she just turned to her trusty diary. She was able to pour her heart out, and it didn’t talk back to offer empty promises or, worse, pity. She preferred to curl up with a good book rather than hang out at a party. Oh, and there was her secret “I’m impervious to physical injury” thing she never talked about.
“By the way, when you do meet said bad boy,” Shelly added, “could you please tell me all about it so I can live vicariously through your love life?”
“Or you could just get your own love life,” Tara suggested.
Shelly looked down at her body and then back at Tara. “You find me a dude who wants to date an eighteen-year-old chick built like a ten-year-old and I’ll get right on that.”
“First of all, that would be a pedophile, so gross. Secondly, Shelly, you’re beautiful, and you don’t look anything like a ten-year-old,” Tara said, and it wasn’t lip service. Shelly was stunning. Did she have Beyonce’s curves? No. She didn’t have much in the way of breasts or hips, but she had beautiful blonde locks and bone structure women went under the knife to try and get. She was built like a model, all long limbs and graceful moves. Her eyes were huge and striking green, and she’d once heard one of the guys on the football team describe Shelly’s lips as any red-blooded American male’s wet dream. Tara didn’t examine that too deeply but took it at face value. Shelly was hot, but she didn’t see it, no matter how many times Tara tried to tell her.
“All right you two weirdos,” Christina called out. “I’m gone. Make sure y’all lock the door on your way out.”
That was when Tara looked around and realized the rest of the team had already left. She was silent for a few seconds then spoke. “Hey, Shelly, can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” said Shelly before holding up a hand to stop Tara from continuing. “If you’re going to ask me about the birds and the bees, well, we might be here a while.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “Why would I ask you about the birds and the bees? It’s not like you have any more experience than I do.”
“Scortillum. I have a vivid fantasy life. I’m sure I am way beyond your level of ignorance.”
“You do realize that cursing in Latin is still cursing, right?”
“But you have to be educated to know it’s Latin and what the word is. How did you, by the way?” Shelly asked and then waved her question off. “You’re trying to distract me. The point is, I have all the sex knowledge.”
“Fine, fine. You’re right. Your sexual knowledge is astounding and so far beyond me. Oh wise one, please forgive me,” Tara monotoned. Tara did not tell her that when Shelly had started with her fancy cursing and non-cursing, she’d looked up many of the words in Latin because she’d known it would be one of the languages Shelly turned to. Her friend could be predictable at times.
Shelly grinned. “You’re forgiven. Now what’s your question?”
“Did you happen to see that really big African-American dude in the stands when we were walking off the field?”
Shelly’s eyes went wide. “That gigantic guy who was sitting by himself glowering the entire game? Who looked more like a mountain than a man? With the bald head? And the muscles bulging out of his shirt that looked like he stole them from the Incredible Hulk?”
Okay, so Shelly’d not only noticed him but apparently devoured him with her fantasy-loving eyes. Girl was whack. “That’s the one.”
“Uh, yeah, he was kind of hard to miss.”
“Well … okay, this is going to sound crazy, or narcissistic, but I sort of felt like … like he was watching me?” Tara inwardly cringed at how vain that sounded. She could admit that she had a little bit of a sarcastic, witchy side, but she was not vain.
“Of course he was watching you. You’re our best player.”
“No, I mean like watching watching me.”
Shelly raised her eyebrows. �
�Like watching watching you? Oh, wow. Talk about climbing things. That would be a big mountain to climb. I mean, Tucker is hot and all, but that guy? Whoa. He seemed a bit old for me, but whatever floats your boat, girl. You do you.”
“No! Good grief, crawl out of the gutter for just a few minutes for me. Not watching me like that. Just that he was staring at me, even after the game was over.”
“Like some weird creeper or something?”
“I don’t know,” said Tara. “I didn’t get a weird-creeper vibe.”
“So, you didn’t get a ‘come and climb my mountain’ vibe, and you didn’t get a ‘weird-creeper’ vibe. What kind of vibe was it, exactly?” Shelly looked as confused as Tara felt.
“Argh. I don’t know,” Tara growled. “That’s why I said it was going to sound crazy. He was looking at me like he knew me or something. Like we were … I don’t know … old friends or something, and he wanted to say something to me and didn’t know what or how.”
Shelly tapped her chin as she cocked her head to the side. “Are you sure it wasn’t a creeper vibe? That sounds like a creeper vibe to me. I don’t think you know what a creeper vibe is.”
“I know what a creeper vibe is.” Tara gave Shelly a pointed look. “We go to school with Darius Mahoney, don’t we? And Robert Busch. And Paul Winthrop.”
Shelly raised her hands. “Point made. We go to school with a lot of creepers.”
“You don’t think it’s …” Tara looked down at the floor.
“What?” Shelly prodded.
“Nothing. It’s stupid.”
“No, c’mon. What is it?”
“You don’t think maybe he could be like a long-lost family member or something?”
Shelly burst out laughing but stifled it quickly when Tara met her eyes. “Sorry,” said Shelly. “It’s just you’re, uh, terribly white and he was … not. If that’s a long-lost relative, then he’s very long-lost. Like your fifteenth cousin’s uncle, twenty times removed or something like that.”
