After school, I walk across the street with Lindy to the football field. The boys are already in their practice uniforms and in motion. I have no idea how this game of football works, but apparently it involves lots of sweating, grunting, and drinking water like thirsty dogs.
It's kind of hot.
“Lindy, you have to show interest in what Matt does—like his sports.” We take a seat midway up on the metal bleachers. “When's the last time you watched him practice?”
“Never. In a few weeks I'll be at practice myself, so that's not really an option.”
“Do you go to the games?”
“I'm the water girl.”
“Oh.” I guess she couldn't get any closer to him on the field if she were a cheerleader. The hot Oklahoma sun beats down on my head, and I swat my limp bangs away. “Hey, I was thinking . . . I'm getting away this weekend to Manhattan... Would you want to go?” Nerves spike my stomach. “You don't have to. I totally understand if you'd rather not. You don't know me that well and all, and I haven't really—”
“Are you serious?”
I see nothing but excitement in her face. “Yeah, totally. We could get our hair done. Shop. I could show you the sights.”
Lindy is speechless for a few seconds. “I would love to. It might take some work talking my dad into it.”
“Perfect.” I smile. Maybe I'm really making a friend here. “So . .. I was wondering what you could tell me about Truman High. You know, any gossip? Any stories? Any scandals I should know about?” Like something to do with the football team last year?
Lindy swats a bug off her Nike t-shirt. “Can't think of anything.”
This is getting me nowhere.
“How did the football team do last year?” I watch Matt throw the football to Jared Campbell.
“We went to the state play-offs. That hadn't happened in a long time. Truman used to be known throughout Oklahoma for our football team. So last year we finally made it to state. We played our archrival, River Bend. The game went into double overtime, but we lost in the last minute.”
“What happened?”
“Reggie Lee, our kicker, missed.”
As in the Reggie? The one the guys at the Dumpster were talking about?
“Between that and some other stuff that happened last year, he's never quite been the same.” She points across the field to one of the padded players. “He's a senior this year. He's got recruiters watching him.”
Apparently everyone does.
“What do you mean he never got over it? It's just a game.”
The head coach blows his whistle and calls for a water break. “That's Coach Lambourn. His son, Coach Dallas, is an assistant.” Lindy then does her best to explain the basics of football. The girl is a walking Wikipedia of the sport. About ten seconds into it, my eyes are glazing over and my attention goes elsewhere.
I spy a lone football player heading toward the field house. Reggie Lee.
I interrupt Lindy. “Where's he going?”
“I don't know. Probably to use the bathroom in the locker room.” A couple other football players head in his direction.
“I need to grab something out of my car. I'll be right back.”
And I make my way down the bleachers, my flats proving to be a good choice today.
I walk toward my Bug, then keep going, following Reggie and the other players at a distance. I have no idea why. I'm kind of new to this investigative reporting stuff, so it's not like I know what I'm doing.
They pass by the field house entry and keep going, walking around to the back of the building.
I stop at the corner and dare a quick peek around.
The tree-sized guy on the left punches Reggie in the shoulder. “Your allegiance is with the team. Are you in or not?”
Reggie bows up. “Back off, man.”
“Don't make this hard for us,” the other player says.
“Hard for—“ Reggie spits on the ground. “You have no idea what it's like to be me—to live with this.”
“Can I help you?”
I jerk my head back and flatten myself to the wall. “Um ...” It's one of the coaches. I read his shirt. Dallas Lambourn. Guy looks young enough to be in high school himself.
Coach Dallas lifts a brow and waits.
“I was just trying to find a bathroom.” That's somewhat true. A girl can always use a bathroom.
“Really? Because it looks like you were following my boys here.” He gestures behind me, and slowly I turn around.
There stands Reggie Lee and his two teammates. They don't look happy. In fact, I think they have their tackle faces on.
“I'm new here.” I smile prettily. “I'm a friend of Lindy Miller's. We're just watching practice. I come from an all-girls school, see, and Lindy was teaching me all about football.” Am I still talking?Why can't I shut up? Stop talking!
“I don't like anything to distract the team from their practice. Do you understand, Miss—?”
“Yes, I understand completely,” I blather, not bothering to fill in the blank with my last name for the good coach. “I'm sorry, I just got a little lost. But hey, Coach, your team looks great.” My eyes widen. “Er, not necessarily these three. I didn't mean they're hot and I'm stalking them or anything.” One behind me growls. “Not that you're not hot. No, totally fine and all that. Well, the pants might be a little too tight, but I meant the whole team”—I make a swooping gesture toward the field—“looks very professional . . . and, um . . . “ I back up slowly. “I'm just going to take my seat with Lindy now. We should actually be going, now that I think about it.” I continue retreating. “Good-bye.” I wiggle my fingers at Reggie Lee. “Good work.” I toss a wave to boy number two. “Go team!” to guy three.
And I speed-walk back to the bleachers. I barely contain a sigh as I resume my seat beside Lindy, who keeps an eye on Matt below.
She tears her focus away from him. “Did you get what you needed?”
I glance back to the field house where Coach Dallas still stands with his players, all eyes on me.
“I'm not sure.”
chapter seventeen
I peel Lindy's fingers from my arm as the plane starts its descent. It took Mom and I going over to Lindy's to meet her dad to convince him to allow her to go to New York with me. It's just Lindy and her dad, so he's pretty protective.
“This is only my second flight in my life. Can you believe it?”
I pat her shoulder. “You're doing fine.” Oh my gosh. Her fingernails are embedded in my arm. “Not much longer now.” My heart does a little somersault at the thought that I will be on home turf in less than thirty minutes. Unless Lindy leaks all the blood from my veins.
“I can't wait to meet your dad,” Lindy says, her eyes clutched tightly shut. She's had her eyes closed the entire flight. Even when she went to the bathroom—she just felt her way there. Ran into one drink cart and an old lady. “I think I've seen him on E!, right?”
“Yeah, he's a guest commentator on E! News. Whenever they think a star has had plastic surgery, they call him for his opinion.” Though Dad never really rats anyone out.
“Are you excited to see your boyfriend?”
I lean my head into the seat. “Yeah. It's hard to do this long distance thing.” So hard we haven't talked since Monday. “We're both so busy.” Hunter with school and sports. And me with . . . um, sitting in Dumpsters and spying on football players.
When the plane touches down, the weight on my shoulders lightens. I'm home. Hello, New York City!
We weave through LaGuardia Airport—as well as you can weave when you have to pull a transfixed Lindy behind you the whole way.
“This airport is so big they have two Chili's!”
“Come on.” I pull her around the corner.
And there among the crowd stands my dad. Like I'm seeing him with new eyes, I take a moment to compare him to Jake. Dad is a good six inches shorter—not quite six foot. He wears clothes tailored for his body, unlike my ste
pdad, who wears whatever flannel shirt he pulls out of the closet. Dad's jeans look worn and faded, yet I know they were hand-picked by a stylist. And Jake's are also worn and faded. From the barn. And hanging out with cows. And feminine products.
“Bella!” Dad throws his arms out wide, and I run into his waiting embrace. He twirls me around in the middle of the airport. “I've missed my girl.”
“Missed you too.” I inhale his scent, a mix of cologne and shampoo, and smile. Why do things ever have to change?
“Who've we got here?” He sets me down and I introduce Lindy.
“I'm honored to meet you. I've seen you on TV.” She stands in awe, like Dad is Brad Pitt or something.
“Why don't we get your bags and go get something to eat?” He throws an arm around both of us.
“At Chili's?” Lindy asks, her eyes wide.
“No. How about some pizza?” And he takes us to Tony's, my favorite pizza place in all of Manhattan.
We three scoot into a booth and give the waiter our drink orders. “So, Bella-” Dad interlocks his fingers. “I, uh, had plans for tonight that I couldn't exactly get out of.”
I lower my menu and stare at my dad. “I'm here for two nights, and you're going out?” I feel so wanted. “Who is she?”
“Bells, you know I'm glad you're here, honey.” He reaches for my hand. “This is not just a date though. It's more like a business appointment. It's important.”
Right. Important. Glad you have your priorities straight.
“I'll be out tonight, and then I'm all yours. I thought tomorrow you could take Lindy shopping.” He waggles his eyebrows, a sure sign that (a), he feels guilty; and (b), he'll be loaning me his credit card to make up for it. And then maybe you girls can go to your favorite salon—you've been complaining about a manicure lately. And after you get all beautiful, we'll go out to dinner and catch a show.” His eyes twinkle.
“Wicked?” I clap my hands in glee as he nods. “Oh, thank you, Daddy!” And I plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Wicked is just the best musical in the history of theater. I've only seen this retelling of The Wizard of Oz like ten times. But I love it. I have all the songs memorized.
After dinner, we take a cab to Dad's.
“So everyone in New York City lives like this?” Lindy points to the rows and rows of apartments as we climb out of the cab. “I mean, where are your yards?”
Dad and I laugh, then help our native Oklahoman inside.
“Bella!” Luisa barrels through the living room and wraps me in her strong hug. “Country life suits you.” She pinches my cheeks. “Your face has color.”
It's probably a rash from the gym Dumpster I was in a few days ago.
I introduce Lindy to my former nanny. Lindy sticks out her hand, but Luisa pulls her into a bear hug too. “I like this one.” Luisa clasps Lindy's chin. “This one is nice; I can tell already.”
Yeah, Luisa has never quite warmed up to my friends. I don't know why.
“Your friend Mia left a message.” Luisa follows Lindy and me upstairs. “She said to meet everyone at the club at nine thirty. That's awful late for my Isabella to go out, yes?”
“No, it's not. I'll be fine.” And I cannot wait to see everyone. And dance my butt off
“I changed the sheets on your bed, so it's all ready!” Luisa scurries ahead of us and flings open my bedroom door.
“Augh!” Lindy clasps her heart and freezes in her tracks. “What is that?” She points to the mural over the bed. The evil cherubs.
“Don't worry. They won't come down and get you.” I don't think.
And that?” She points to the matching red chairs in the corner.
“Um, they're supposed to be lips.” I shrug. “The theme of the room is love. At least that's what my dad's designer said.” I say the theme is Designer Smoked Too Much Crack.
“Do my girls need anything?” Luisa turns on the lamp beside the queen-size bed. The lamp in the shape of Shakespeare's head.
“We're just going to get ready and head out for Viva's.” I open my suitcase and start pulling out my party clothes. “Dad's got a date.” Luisa and I share an eye roll. She mumbles in Spanish all the way out the door. “Get changed, Lindy. It's time to see some New York nightlife.”
Her eyes glow with excitement. She wheels her small suitcase into the bathroom. Seriously, she has such restraint. All she came with was this carry-on. Me? I brought my whole Louis Vuitton luggage collection. A girl never knows when she's going to need something!
While Lindy's in the bathroom, I quickly slip into a funky chic dress and some heels and plug in my flatiron for a touch-up. When my phone pings with a text, I giggle at the name of the sender. Hunter.
Can't wait 2 C U. I've got a Sprite w/ur name on it.
He's so sweet. Why can't all guys be as gentlemanly as Hunter? Like Luke the spastic editor.
“Okay.” Lindy opens the door. “I guess I'm ready.” And steps out, wearing Abercrombie cargos and a plain red t-shirt.
“Um . . . are these your party clothes?” I can hear Mia and the girls already.
“Yeah.” Her spine straightens. “What about it?”
I plaster on a smile. “Because we want people like Matt to notice you're a girl.”
Are you saying I don't look like one?”
Tread carefully. “Lindy, you came to me because you said you wanted help looking more feminine. If that's going to happen, you can't get offended every time I try to make a suggestion. Tomorrow we'll go shopping”—on Daddy's money, thank You, Lord—“and I'll show you exactly what you need.”
“I don't know, Bella.”
“It will be fun.” I toss my lip gloss back in my purse. “Let's touch up your makeup”—as in put more on your face besides Chapstick—“and hit the club.”
I pay the cabdriver and all but drag Lindy to the door of Viva's. “Come on, you can do this.”
“My face looks like a clown.”
“You look amazing.” And she does. Turns out Lindy has some enviable hair wrapped up in that ponytail. And lips that would make Scarlett Johansson jealous.
“Have I mentioned I'm not much of a dancer?”
Clearing the bouncer, I pay our cover and walk in. “Is Matt?”
“Yeah, he's totally got skills.”
“Then tonight you'll learn how to dance.”
“Bella!” Mia and two friends rush me, squealing my name. We clutch each other in a group hug and jump up and down.
I cling to Mia like a fabric softener sheet on a sock. “Oh my gosh. I have missed you guys!” We pull apart, and I introduce them to Lindy.
“Hi.” Mia smiles prettily. “I like your lip gloss. Is it MAC?”
Lindy blinks. “No. It's pink.”
The girls dissolve into giggles.
“Come on, Lindy. Let's get something to drink.” And I lead her to the bar area. Aren't they great?” I ask, pointing to my friends.
“Oh yeah, they're . . . something.”
“Bella! What's up?”
“Colton!” I bump knuckles with Hunter's friend. “Just the guy I was hoping to see. This is my friend Lindy.” He holds out his fist for her. “And this guy right here is the best dancer in the city.”
“Oh, go on, girl. Get out of here.”
“No, seriously.” I pay for our drinks and hand Lindy her Coke. “My friend would like to learn some basic moves. Can you handle that, Colton?”
“Anything for you, Bella. Come on, Lindy. Let's get started.”
Her eyes widen like he's offering to push her in front of a moving train.
“If you want Matt, you gotta do the work.” I jerk my head toward Colton. “He's the best. Take advantage of the opportunity.”
“I'll go easy on you.” Colton pulls a hesitant Lindy onto the floor.
And I walk upstairs, sipping my Sprite, the bass of the song sending my head to bobbing. I stand on an open balcony and overlook the dance floor. Colton is laughing at something Lindy said. Her body is stiff and uncomfortab
le. And so far the girl has no rhythm.
Hands cover my eyes, and a deep laugh rumbles near my ear. “Don't tell my girlfriend, but I was wondering if you'd like to dance.”
I giggle and turn around. “Hunter!” I throw my arms around him and just hold on. His hands find my face and he leans down, his lips on mine.
Seconds later we pull apart, but I rest my forehead on his. “Tell me I never have to leave here.”
He runs a hand over my hair. “Sorry, Bel. Can't do that. But I wish I could.”
I take a step back, keeping his hands in mine. “Why haven't you called me this week?”
“I talked to you Monday.” He plays with the hoop in my ear.
I swat his hand away. “That was four days ago, Hunter.” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice, but it comes through anyway.
“You know how crazy the first few weeks of school are.”
My eyes narrow. “Yeah, I'm sure it's been a very stressful time for you” Are you kidding me?
He pulls my chin up with his hand. “We knew this would be hard.”
“But we also knew we'd have to try.”
“Are you saying I'm not trying?”
I look away and stare at the dance floor. “I don't know what I'm saying.”
“Don't tell me you've found yourself a cowboy in Oklahoma.”
My lip curls and I return my attention to Hunter. “Don't be small-minded. That's a stupid stereotype.”
He steps back and holds his hands up. “Whoa, what is this? I'm just kidding. Somebody sounds a little possessive. Maybe you do have another guy.”
“Oh yeah, Hunter, I've found someone else. After I sat in a few trash heaps for the paper, then did my new list of chores at the house, and my hours of AP homework, plus the time I've put in helping Lindy, I managed to find a moment or two to cheat on you.” My anger could incinerate this whole club. “Do you want me to see someone else?”
Hunter just stops. Says nothing.
His eyes fuse with mine. “What's going on with us?” He braves a smile. “Bella and Hunter do not fight.”
“I don't know.” I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. “This wasn't how I pictured our little reunion.”
So Not Happening (2009) Page 10
