Surviving Adam Meade

by Shannon Klare

  I slid into the seat behind the driver and grimaced as my legs stuck to the vinyl. Had I known I’d be on a bus, I would’ve worn jeans. There were few things more cringeworthy than being stuck to a nasty bus seat.

  My dad dropped his briefcase in the seat beside me and tugged a Pader High hat over his hair. He stood at the front, serious as he surveyed the team.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” he said. “Today is a good day for football. On the ride over there, I want you to think about one thing—how everything we’ve done has led us here. I want you to think about every drop of sweat you’ve shed, every drop of blood you’ve bled out on that field. We’ve worked, we’ve run, we’ve done everything we can to be able to get out on that field tonight and walk away knowing that we gave it everything we got.

  “Now, I know this is just another first game day for some of you. You might have another year, maybe two, but for some of my seniors, this is it. I want you to let that soak in for a minute. I want you to think about everything you’ve worked for the last three years. How every practice, every sprint you’ve run, every weight you’ve lifted, has led you here. You are my leaders, and I know you’ll lead us tonight.

  “Let’s go out there and start this season right. When you walk out on that field, strive for perfection. Go out there and give it everything you’ve got. Win or lose, that’ll be enough for me.

  “On the count of three. One, two, three … Pader!”

  * * *

  Football players, with blades of grass stuck beneath their cleats and jerseys plastered to their bodies, carried the smell of dirt and sweat across the locker room’s threshold. Exhausted and sore, Pader’s football team stood in the middle of the locker room. Football had worn them down, but they did exactly what they planned.

  My dad took his place at the front of the room, a football in his hand and a smile pasted on his face. When he shot the team a thumbs-up, their cheers echoed off the lockers around them. Players jumped and knocked into each other, then turned and gave high fives.

  Even I, Football Scrooge, had the urge to beat my hand against the locker in celebration. My palm stung as it landed flat against the metal. Case laughed at me as I shook out the sting. Stupid doors.

  “All right!” my dad said, clapping his hand against the football. “Great game! Can’t think of a better way to start district.” He motioned for my clipboard and took it with his free hand. After a quick glance, he lifted his attention. “We need to work on the veer, but I have full confidence. We’ll look at the specifics tomorrow during film. Next thing: game ball.” He extended the ball in front of him. Players watched as he swept it across the room. “With four touchdowns and two hundred total yards, tonight’s MVP is Mr. Tate Mack.”

  The boys erupted into hoots and hollers as my dad tossed Tate the football.

  “Keep playing like that, and you’ll be signing a letter of intent in the spring,” he said.

  Tate rolled the ball in his hands and smiled. “Thanks, Coach! Means a lot.”

  “It was well earned,” my dad replied. He handed the clipboard to one of his assistants and checked his watch. “All right. Get changed, check the locker room, and get on the bus. We’re leaving in ten. Meade, a word when you’re done?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  My dad moved through the door, and I exited at his side. He glanced at me and pulled his phone from his pocket while the other coaches continued down the hall.

  “Thinking about the diner on the outskirts of town,” he said. “Concerns about potential food poisoning? You’re a better restaurant judge than me.”

  “Looked good,” I replied. “Can we order cheeseburgers? I need meat.”

  “Possibly. The school only gave me five bucks a person, so I’ll have to check the price.” He punched in a number on his cell and moved out of earshot as players exited the locker room. “Bus,” he told them.

  Their dress shoes squeaked against the concrete while my dad returned to the call. Instead of following the players, I leaned against the bricks and fidgeted with a loose string on the hem of my shirt. I wanted cheeseburger assurance from the source and was too impatient to wait until he got on the bus.

  A throat cleared behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to find Adam strolling through the locker room door. With damp hair curled at the ends, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a tie hung loosely around his neck, he leaned against the bricks and stared at me.

  “Your dad on the phone?” he asked.

  “Yeah. He’s calling about food.”

  Adam’s arm grazed mine and heat poured across my skin. He was like a fire, lit by football and fanned by victory. He wouldn’t cool down until the win wore off. Seth was the same.

  Case exited the locker room in the next string of guys. He looked at Adam before looking at me. “What’s Dad doing?” he asked, stopping beside us.

  “Ordering food,” I replied.

  Case nodded and sipped from a water bottle. “Thought the players were supposed to head to the bus,” he said to Adam. “Did I miss something or is that still the plan?”

  “I’m waiting on your dad,” Adam answered. “Thought I’d flirt with your sister while I waited. That good with you?”

  Case choked on his water, and my cheeks flamed.

  “Just thought I’d be honest,” Adam continued. “Why beat around the bush, right?”

  “Right.” Case cocked his jaw and hesitated before taking a step back. “Just know that if you hurt my sister, I’ll hurt you. You’ll be in the hospital for days.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to cover my embarrassment. All I got in return was Adam’s amused laugh as Case continued down the hall.

  “Don’t think he expected that answer,” Adam said.

  “Neither of us did.” I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and shot Adam a challenging smile. “But I’d rather gouge my eyes out than flirt with you. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Sparky.”

  “We’ll see,” he answered, grinning.

  “Burgers ordered!” My dad stopped beside me and waved his phone. “Ordered fries, too. You’re welcome. Hopefully, everything will be done before we get there.” He crammed his phone in his pocket and nodded toward the exit. “Meet you at the bus, Claire? I need to talk to Adam.”

  “Okay.”

  I pulled myself away from the wall and caught the faint murmur of “football trip” as I walked to the door.

  Outside, grass glowed beneath stadium lights. The stands had cleared, but the players’ conversations lingered in the dark. Their voices grew louder as grass morphed into loose gravel. The bus sat alone at the back of the parking lot, and I earned the temporary attention of the team as I made my way inside and found my seat behind the driver.

  Case glanced at me but was caught in a conversation with a few of his teammates. He had to postpone his interrogation on my social life, but I knew to expect it within a few days. He’d want info about Adam I wasn’t willing to give.

  The back of my legs sat flush against the vinyl as I pulled my phone from my pocket and relaxed against the window. My Facebook and Twitter feeds were filled with game day pictures from all my old friends. They won their game, too, and I was happy for them, but I should’ve been there. My eyes burned as I landed on a picture of Seth. Clad in a navy-and-gold jersey, he had his arm wrapped around a cheerleader’s shoulder—a new cheerleader. When I spotted the blue bracelet wrapped around her wrist, identical to the one on mine, jealousy swept through me. I’d been replaced by Claire 2.0!

  “Who’s that?” Adam asked, sliding into the seat beside me. I glared at him over the screen. “Let me try again. Hi. Who’s the dick face on your phone screen?”

  “No one,” I grumbled.

  I shut off the screen and rubbed my temples with my hand. A ball of anger swelled in my throat, threatening to spill over and drown me in emotion. This wasn’t the time or place to lose it over Seth. If nothing else, it gave Adam more ammunition to tease me.

  “Go rejoin
the land of your people,” I told him, turning so I faced the window.

  “Last time I checked, you don’t own the bus,” he replied.

  My dad boarded the bus, and it pulled out of the parking lot onto a busy road. Adam relaxed beside me, his eyes in my direction as we crossed through town.

  “Rumor has it you’re going to the lake with us tomorrow,” he said. “Any truth to that rumor?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, but are you leaning more toward yes or no?” he asked. “I’m in charge of drinks, and I need to know how much to bring. If I don’t bring enough, I’ll end up sharing my Gatorade with you. Sorry, but I don’t want to share.”

  “I don’t know,” I repeated.

  He frowned. “Someone’s grumpy.”

  “Sure am, Snow White.”

  Through the window, building silhouettes weaved between tall trees. I focused on them and tried to control my breathing. The sooner I could calm myself, the better.

  “So, you’re not going to talk to me at all?” Adam asked.

  “Nope,” I answered.

  He shrugged and crossed his arms. He remained in the same position as the bus stopped at the diner. He didn’t move until there was food on the bus.

  The smell of charbroiled patties drew my focus. My mind was on a million other things, but I wasn’t resistant to the tantalizing aroma of grilled beef. My dad handed a set of brown paper bags to Adam and continued toward the back.

  “Too bad these aren’t vegetarian,” Adam said, holding my food out of reach.

  “Give me my burger, or I’ll claw your eyes out.”

  “Kinky.”

  I reached for my bag, but he refused to give it to me.

  “These are acrylic and extremely effective in inflicting bodily harm,” I said, flashing my sparkly black fingernails. “If you don’t want me to scar your money maker, give me my burger now.”

  He handed me the bag, and I ripped into the contents. Staring back at me was a much-needed, greasy cheeseburger.

  “Is that your way of saying I’m hot?” he asked, opening a ketchup packet.

  “You were granted the gift of beauty to make up for your lack of intelligence,” I answered.

  Ketchup flew all over my shirt. I glared at Adam. “Tell me that was an accident,” I grumbled. “It better have been an accident.”

  Adam gave me a sheepish smile and flashed a half-filled packet of ketchup. “Whoops. Butterfingers.”

  “I’ll give you a finger.”

  My dad returned to his seat, and the bus left the diner parking lot. I kept a wary eye on the condiments. When we finally merged onto the highway, I decided it was safe to shift my gaze. I slathered the burger in mayo, decided it wasn’t enough, and stole two discarded packets from Adam’s bag.

  He watched me, amused, as I finished soaking the patty. “Want some burger with your mayo?” he asked as I lifted the burger to my mouth. I discreetly flipped him off, and he laughed. “Not judging, but you infringed on my condiments.”

  I rolled my eyes and took another bite. Adam was staring at me and wouldn’t look away. “Quit looking at me,” I said, shifting in the seat. “It’s weird, and I want to eat my burger in peace.”

  “I’m looking out the window. Quit being so self-absorbed.”

  “You calling me self-absorbed is funny,” I replied. “It’s like you took your biggest personality trait and tossed it on me.”

  “Or, I identified your biggest personality trait and brought it to your attention.”

  “You know what, asshole—”

  Adam’s hand landed over my mouth, and he pointed at my dad. “Don’t know how your parents are about cursing, but my grandma loses her shit. Cool it.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  His eyes narrowed as he sat his burger on my lap. I looked at it, trying to register how I’d become Adam Meade’s tray table.

  “Um, my lap,” I said.

  “Deal with it.” He reached for the duffel lying on the floor. When he straightened, he held a bottle of Gatorade in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. “Here,” he said, handing me the water.

  “Is there a catch?” I asked, taking it.

  “What makes you think there’d be a catch?”

  “Figured I’d ask.”

  Adam retrieved his burger and adjusted the bun. “Sometimes you should just say thank you and move on. Life is too short to be skeptical of people.”

  “Been around a lot of people,” I answered. “If I’m skeptical, it’s for a reason.”

  “What’s the reason?”

  I shook my head. That was a long conversation, centered on Seth. I wasn’t talking about it tonight.

  Adam surveyed me, quiet as he munched on his food. “Whatever it is,” he said, crumpling the wrapper, “forget it. I don’t beat around the bush. I give you something, it’s because I want to. No catch. No strings attached.”

  “You sure about that, Meade?”

  “Positive.”

  7

  Hit On

  Wood creaked beneath my feet, disturbing the silent living room. I stood in an unfamiliar house, with little to defend myself, but I had to try. If I didn’t, the mouse would swallow me whole.

  The rodent turned. Its beady black eyes menaced me through the dark. In one swift move, it charged. My spine collided with the counter, and I raised my hands to defend myself. I could fight it. I had to fight it, or I’d never make it home alive.

  “Come and get me!” I screamed, swinging my fists at it.

  Whack!

  “Son of a bitch!”

  My eyes flickered open. I blinked against the bus’s interior light. Adam sat on my right, clutching his jaw as the last of his teammates stepped on the gravel outside.

  “Why did you hit me?!” he griped. “Here I am, trying to be a nice guy, and you thanked me with a right hook!” He stood, livid, and moved his jaw left to right. “Damn, you hit hard!”

  “I was fighting a mouse,” I croaked, straightening in the seat.

  “News flash: You weren’t.” He tossed his duffel over his shoulder and winced. “I told your dad I’d wake you up. No wonder he was so quick to accept.”

  “Kicked him in the groin before,” I muttered. “I was thirteen. He was on the floor for ten minutes.” Adam’s scowl morphed into fear. “I have vivid dreams,” I defended. “It’s not like I can help it.”

  “Clearly.”

  He stepped toward the exit, a red spot visible against his jaw.

  “You should ice that,” I said, collecting my things. “It’ll bruise if you don’t.”

  “It’ll bruise either way.”

  He exited the bus, and I followed. Gravel crunched and scattered beneath his harsh strides.

  “It was an accident!” I said, catching him as he entered the field house.

  “Sure it was.”

  He was a ninja in the dark, navigating the machines with ease. When he entered the hallway, the spot where I punched him became easier to see. At this rate, it would be bruised by morning.

  Regret swirled as I tried to hold his pace. “I promise it was an accident,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

  Adam pushed his way into the locker room and was immediately hidden by the thick aluminum door that separated us.

  I sighed and leaned my back against the wall. Cold seeped through my football T-shirt, sending goose bumps up my arms. The air-conditioner vents turned the hall frigid, but they wouldn’t compare to Adam. One day of being ignored was enough to know I didn’t want him to freeze me out. My only option was to make this right.

  I was still leaning against the wall when the door swung open. Adam paused in the doorway. “You’re kidding me,” he groaned.

  “Think of me as Claire the Ice Fairy.”

  “What about Claire the Perpetual Pain in My Ass?”

  “Shut up.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall. “I’m trying to apologize. Let me.”

  “I don’t need your apol
ogy.”

  I pushed my way into the training room and reeled from the arctic temperatures inside. I swore at the ice machine for being both a blessing and a curse and directed Adam to a large metal table on the other side.

  “Sit your butt over there and wait,” I said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  “(A) Don’t tell me what to do. (B) I need to get home. I have things to do and people to see. You aren’t one of them.”

  I ignored him and opened a supply cabinet. Adam plopped onto the table. The metal creaked beneath his weight as he scooted to the edge.

  “See,” he said. “Even the table is protesting.”

  “Tell the table to mind its own business.”

  With a quart-sized bag in hand, I found the ice machine. My fingers turned rosy as I scooped the ice inside.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Adam said. “I’m fine. It isn’t the first time I’ve gotten hit in the face. Doubt it will be the last. I promise it’ll heal.”

  I dropped the lid with a thud and zipped the bag. When I stopped in front of Adam, I motioned to his face. “Let me see it.”

  “No.”

  I ignored him and gingerly put my hand beneath his jaw. Stubble scraped my fingers as I tilted it for a better view.

  “I’m fine,” he repeated.

  “And now you’ll be better.” I pushed the bag flush against his skin, and he pulled back.

  “That’s cold!”

  “Freezing,” I said. I kept the bag firm against his face, despite his objections. “If it wasn’t cold, this would be a waste of time.”

  “It’s a waste of time regardless.” He huffed and raised his hand to the bag, covering mine with calloused fingers and a warm touch. “If you would’ve kept your hands to yourself, none of this would’ve happened.”

  “You should’ve made my dad wake me up,” I countered.

  His green eyes flickered across my face, surveying me quietly. I returned the stare with equal intensity. We waited for the other to crack, neither looking away.