Megan Meade's Guide to the McGowan Boys

by Kate Brian

  “So . . . Kicker,” Hailey said with a smile. “I see you’re no longer using my boyfriend as your chauffeur.”

  Megan was not in the mood. She paused for a long moment and stared at Hailey straight in the eye until Hailey’s face finally fell. Then she looked at the other girls who had smiled at the joke and let her eyes slide over them. There were two girls who hadn’t laughed or reacted. Megan smiled at those two before biting into her granola bar and striding past them into the building.

  * * *

  Miller was already sitting at his table in the courtyard when Megan walked out with her lunch tray that afternoon. One thing Megan had learned on the Web was that if Miller was ever going to be comfortable with her around, she was going to have to let him see that she was here to stay—that she was someone he needed to get used to. While avoiding the other boys seemed like a good plan, hanging with Miller was the only way to help him. Now was as good a time as any to start.

  She didn’t want to invade his personal space, so she sat down across the table from him and at the other end, as far away as possible. Through his headphones, she could hear an announcer calling a game, rambling on about the pitch count. Miller looked up and stared at her, his eyes blank. Flushing under his unabashed gaze, Megan looked down at her tray. She began lining up the items in front of her in height order. Soda can, apple, mini–ketchup bottle, fruit cup. The burger and fries she kept right in front of her. When she was finished, she looked up at Miller again and he smiled.

  He had a great smile. It lit up his entire face. Megan smiled back and Miller returned to his lunch. Megan took a big bite of her hamburger as a shadow fell across her meal. She looked up to find Evan standing at the end of her table. Her cheek was stuck out chipmunk style. She groped for a napkin and covered her mouth while she finished chewing.

  “How’s it going?” Evan asked, sliding into the chair across from hers. He had no bag, no books, no lunch. “Hey, Mills,” he said, nodding at his brother.

  Miller lifted his hand and turned up the volume on his radio.

  “It’s pretty cool, you know. You sitting out here with him,” Evan said.

  In the sunlight she could see that his brown eyes had these amazing gold flecks that made them sparkle. But she couldn’t get sucked in. She refused.

  “Why don’t you guys sit with him?” Megan asked, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest. Somehow Evan didn’t seem as nerve shaking as he had the night before.

  “You know how it is,” Evan said with a shrug. “So, what happened to you this morning? You left.”

  “Yep,” Megan said flatly. “I left.”

  There was a long pause and someone on the radio hit a home run.

  “You heard us last night, didn’t you?” Evan said, hunching forward with his hands clasped between his knees.

  Megan cast a look at him that showed him she had heard everything. Evan’s head fell.

  “You know what? It’s fine,” Megan said, grabbing a french fry. “I’ll just keep to myself. . . . I won’t bother anybody . . . and you all will just forget I’m even there.”

  “Yeah, bad idea,” Evan said.

  “Excuse me?” Megan said, her face heating up.

  “Look, ignoring my brothers is not the answer,” Evan said. “Trust me. I’ve lived with them a little longer than you have. You ignore them, they’ll just turn the screws even harder.”

  “Oh.”

  “I mean, you can’t ignore us,” Evan added. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of everywhere.”

  Megan snorted a laugh, then tried to cover it by taking a loud slurp of soda.

  “You can’t let them think they can walk all over you, ’cuz they will,” Evan said. “The in-their-face tactic is pretty much the only thing they respond to.”

  Megan chewed on the rim of her soda can.

  “Megan? Are you in there?” Evan asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

  Megan nodded and sat forward, placing her can back down on the tray. “I’ll try,” she said, staring at the tray. “Thanks.” She looked up at him. “I mean, for the advice.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Evan said, grabbing a fry from her tray. “I still can’t believe my parents, you know? With that curfew? I bet your parents never gave you a curfew.”

  Megan shrugged. Her parents had never needed to give her a curfew. She always came home on her own, way earlier than any self-respecting teenager should ever be home.

  “Whatever. Screw them,” Evan said. “Sean never had a curfew; why should I? They think you’re here and now suddenly we need rules?” He scoffed and took another french fry. “I’m not gonna be following any of them.”

  Megan’s pulse raced and she stared at his mischievous smile. When he said he wasn’t going to be following any of the rules, did that include the “hands off Megan” rule?

  “You know what? It’s a good fry day. I’m gonna go get something to eat,” he said.

  “Oh. Okay. I’ll . . . see you later.”

  Evan looked at her, perplexed. “I’ll go get something to eat and then come back,” he said slowly, like he was talking to someone who had just learned English.

  “Oh,” Megan said, smiling. “Okay.”

  He walked through the door and Megan followed him with her eyes, a goofy grin plastered to her face. Evan was going to eat lunch with her. By choice. This had to mean something. And unless she was wrong, they had just had an actual conversation with only one little snort to speak of. This day was looking up.

  As Megan returned to her lunch, something inside the cafeteria caught her eye. Hailey was glaring at her. She was sitting at a table in the center of the room and she and all her friends were openly, blatantly glaring at her.

  Megan’s stomach churned and she averted her eyes quickly, pretending not to have noticed. Unbelievable. Why was Evan going out with someone who was obviously so bitchy? He deserved so much better. Megan picked up her hamburger and took a big bite.

  From now on, it’s every woman for herself, Megan thought. Then she giggled at her sudden boldness, grabbed her school-issue copy of Hamlet from her backpack, and buried her flushed face in its pages.

  * * *

  The sun beat down on Megan’s back as she took the ball up the sideline. She was working on pure adrenaline. Blood dripped from a scrape on her knee, soiling her sock and the cushioning on her shin guard. Her arm was streaked with dirt and her nose was on the verge of running. Still, all Megan cared about was the feel of the wind blowing her hair back as she raced down the field. All she could see was the goal in front of her. All she could sense was Hailey breathing down her neck. The girl was right on her heels.

  Megan set up to pass, but at the last second, something caught her ankle and she flew off her feet. Her forward motion was helped by a swift shove between her shoulder blades and Megan’s head snapped backward as the rest of her body slammed into the ground. It hurt like hell, but she didn’t stay down for long. She was not going to let Hailey get the best of her, no matter how many illegal tackles the girl flattened her with.

  “Hailey! What the hell are you doing?” Ria Wilkins shouted, offering her arm to Megan.

  Ria was a compact, powerful defensive player. She and Aimee had gotten Megan’s back all day, taking some of the burden off her once they realized that Hailey was going to try to kill Megan every time Megan got the ball.

  “What?” Hailey said, stopping and popping the ball up to her hands. “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Please! You totally shoved her down!” Aimee countered.

  “You guys, it’s fine,” Megan said, sucking wind. “It was a clean play.”

  “It was not and you know it,” Ria replied. “I’m sorry, but where I come from, you get a kick-ass player on your team, you don’t try to sideline her at practice.”

  “What are you saying, Ria?” Hailey asked, getting up in Ria’s face. “Are you saying I don’t care about this team?”

  “Hey, you said it, not me,”
Ria replied, staring at Hailey.

  Suddenly the whistle started bleating furiously and Coach Leonard broke into the center of the rapidly growing circle. Megan stepped aside and wiped the back of her hand under her nose. Hailey had been fairly violent today, but Megan had given as good as she had gotten. Megan’s hits had been clean, unlike Hailey’s, but Hailey had eaten plenty of turf herself. Her elbow was banged up and her face was streaked with grass and dirt. It was all part of the game.

  “All right, girls, that’s it. I think we’re calling practice a little early today,” Coach Leonard said, glaring at all of them. “I like the energy I’m seeing out here, but Hailey, Megan, if you two don’t clean up your act and do it fast, the refs will be sidelining you before you can say O and ten,” she added, glancing at both of them. “We’re not gonna be winning much without you two on the field, so I suggest you start finding a way to work together.”

  “Yes, Coach,” Megan said quickly.

  “Yes, Coach,” Hailey added.

  “Good. Now before you hit the showers, I want to remind you all that at our last Saturday practice before the game against Hacketstown, we’re going to be electing our new captain,” Leonard said. “So start thinking about what kind of person you want to have leading this team.”

  Almost everyone looked at Hailey. Clearly the girl had a lock on the captainship. Megan thought of her team back in Texas—the team she was supposed to captain this year. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to ignore the pang of regret in her chest.

  “All right, let’s hit the showers,” Coach Leonard said.

  The group broke up and Vithya Jane, the girl Megan had recognized at Logan the other night, came over and slapped her hand. “Nice practice,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Megan replied, surprised that any friend of Hailey’s would give her props.

  Vithya smiled and jogged to catch up with Hailey and Tina while Aimee and Ria flanked Megan.

  “We should clean up that knee,” Ria said, wincing as she looked at the blood.

  “Eh, I kind of like it,” Megan said. “It’s my first Wildcat battle scar.”

  Aimee and Ria laughed and the three of them chatted all the way back to the gym.

  * * *

  Megan was sure she was fine until she stepped off her bike in the McGowans’ driveway and her muscles cramped up. Apparently she was due for a bit more stretching. Hailey had really given her the workout of a lifetime that afternoon. If the girl didn’t watch out, she was going to wind up improving Megan’s game instead of putting her on the injured list.

  The back door closed as Megan came around the house, and she saw Finn cross the yard and head into the toolshed again. Megan wheeled her bike over to the side wall and propped it up with the others. She paused for a moment, listening. There was no noise. Nothing. What was he doing in there?

  God, I really hope it doesn’t involve a stack of Playboys or something, Megan thought, grimacing.

  Still, even with that disgusting thought in her mind, she couldn’t help giving in to her curiosity. Besides, she was supposed to be immersing. Part of that was finding out what guys did when they were by themselves in a toolshed, right?

  Bracing herself, Megan walked over to the door and pulled it open. Finn whirled around, his eyes wide, and stared at her. He was wearing a blue T-shirt that read Good Boys Vote and it was dotted with fingerprints of purple paint. His hair was a little more mussed than usual.

  “Okay, life flashing before my eyes,” he said, letting out a breath. “You scared the crap outta me.”

  “Sorry,” Megan said.

  Something in her mind told her that she should just back out of the room, but she was too stunned to move. Finn was not, thank goodness, doing anything unsavory. He was holding a paint palette and a brush and standing in front of a canvas. Around him, behind him, on the floor, and leaning against the walls were dozens of other canvases, all in various stages of completion. None, as far as she could tell, were finished.

  “Wow,” Finn said, looking her up and down. “Wander into a bad part of town?”

  Megan looked down at the scrape on her left knee and the nasty bruise forming on her shin.

  “No. It was . . . practice,” Megan said. “I’m sorry, should I go?”

  “No! No,” Finn said, pulling a stool out from the wall. “Come in. Take a load off. You look like you could use it.”

  Megan smiled and inched into the shed, afraid to touch anything with any part of her body. She slipped sideways past his easel and sat down on the stool, which shifted under her weight. Megan threw her arms out for balance and Finn caught her hand.

  “Sorry. It’s kind of old,” he said.

  “No problem,” Megan replied. She looked at his hand clamped around hers. He released her, clearing his throat and slapping his palm against his jeans.

  “So, Hailey give you those?” Finn asked, lifting his chin and looking at her legs. He squirted some paint from a tube onto his palette and pressed his brush into it, mixing it around.

  “How did you know?” Megan asked.

  “I know Hailey,” Finn replied, blowing away a blond curl that fell in front of his eye. “At the Fourth of July party at the town pool in second grade, she stole my Popsicle and shoved me into the deep end. I’ve been afraid of her ever since.”

  “Seriously?” Megan said with a smirk.

  “I never joke about Popsicles,” Finn replied with a half smile.

  Megan laughed and looked around. The half-finished painting nearest to her showed a pair of hands, one laid across the other in a graceful pose. The fingers, however, hadn’t been detailed and they tapered off into nothing. Behind that was what appeared to be the bare shoulder and neck of a girl who was half looking away from the viewer, but her hair and features had never been filled in. Every painting, in fact, featured some odd angle on some different body part, but none of them were completed and not one was a traditional, face-forward portrait.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Finn said, touching his brush to the canvas in front of him. “This guy never finishes anything.”

  Megan flushed. “No . . . I just . . .”

  “That’s what I think every time I walk in here,” Finn said. “It’s so bizarre. I get these inspirations and I come out here all ready to throw my vision down on the canvas, but once the rush is gone, I freeze up. It’s like I don’t know where to go.” Finn placed his brush in a cup of water and glanced at her over his shoulder. “So, is she giving you hell?”

  “Who?”

  “Hailey,” Finn replied.

  Megan smirked. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Finn turned away from his painting to smile at her. “Good,” he said.

  For some reason, that simple word flooded Megan with relief. Maybe it was the way he said it. Like he was proud of her. Or impressed. Or not at all surprised.

  “Maybe I’ll even make her repay you your Popsicle,” Megan quipped.

  “That’s okay. I’m over Popsicles,” Finn said. “I’m more of a milk shake man now.” He pulled up on his belt loops and they both laughed.

  Finn held Megan’s gaze until she glanced away. Suddenly she was overcome by the familiar sensation of not knowing what to say next. Finn seemed like a nice enough guy, but like the rest of his brothers, he had been in on the debate about how to run Megan out of town. Was he just being nice to her because none of his brothers were around? Was it all just some kind of act?

  Finn cleared his throat again and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Megan thought of what Evan had told her earlier that day—that the best way to deal with his brothers was to meet them head-on. Her pulse raced at the thought, but at least Finn was alone. Maybe taking them on one at a time wouldn’t be as difficult. Plus, talking to Finn somehow seemed to be a lot easier than talking to anyone else in this house.

  “So . . . I . . . I heard you guys talking about me last night,” Megan said, looking down at her hands.

  Finn�
�s brush hand dropped and he glanced at her, clearly embarrassed. “Oh. Okay. You . . . Good.”

  “Good?” Megan asked.

  Finn flushed. “Yeah, I do that sometimes. I was gonna say, ‘You did?’ but I was also gonna say, ‘Not good,’” he said, putting his brush and palette down on a cluttered shelf. “I kind of have my own special language.”

  Megan smiled. She knew the feeling.

  “So . . . you heard us,” Finn said, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

  “Yeah, so . . . you all want me gone?” Megan asked.

  “We were just . . . We’re just kind of used to the way things were.”

  “I get that. I do,” Megan said. “But don’t you guys think that this is hard for me too? I’ve never had to live with this many people and my parents are gone and, well, in case you hadn’t noticed, you guys are kind of . . .”

  “Overwhelming?” Finn asked.

  “Good word,” she said.

  “Look, everyone just needs an adjustment period,” Finn said with a shrug. “Try not to let them get to you.”

  Megan looked up into Finn’s gray-blue eyes and smiled slightly. “So . . . you’re not one of them?”

  Finn smiled in return. Like Miller, his whole face lit up and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “Having you here is . . . Let’s just say it’s different,” he replied. “But don’t worry about me. I think I can handle it.”

  Megan lifted her eyebrows. “Oh, you do?”

  “Yeah,” Finn said matter-of-factly, looking her straight in the eyes. “I do.”

  From: Kicker5525@yahoo.com

  To: TooDamn-Funky@rockin.com

  Subject: Boy Guide

  Megan Meade’s Guide to the McGowan Boys