“Does your roommate make food for you?”
I studied my brother. His voice was missing the vitriol it had previously carried when discussing Dane. I wondered if meeting Mr. Stud Athlete in person—and throwing out some heated barbs—had calmed him down. Then another thought made me freeze. Had Alex caught on to my ill-advised crush?
I sidled up to him to try to discern if I was busted. “So, how’s your second year going?”
When he slapped some mayonnaise on a piece of toasted bread, my heart thundered. Way too much fat!
“Got a ninety-five on my first test.”
I gripped the counter when he proceeded to plop two pieces of cheese on my sandwich. Oh, hell no. “That’s…great.”
“When do classes start for you?” He cut the sandwich in half.
Good, I only have to eat half of it.
Then he slid the plate toward me and reached to the bread to pick out two more slices for his own sandwich. Mierda!
“Lucy?”
I peeled my gaze away from the offending hunk of calories. “What?”
“I asked you when your classes start.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. “Next week, after our first match.”
“How’re you feeling about your first game as a Highbanks Cougar?”
I gasped. “Why are you using so much mayo?” When Alex frowned at me, I realized I’d said that out loud.
“Relax, hermanita. You need some fat in your diet.”
Like hell I do.
“In my neuro class we learned how your brain needs fat. You see, your brain has nerve cells called neurons. The axon of the neuron is coated in a myelin sheath, which basically consists of fat…”
He launched into one of his insufferable medical lectures, and all I could focus on was the chubby blob of white mayo oozing out of my sandwich.
“Have you heard a word I said?” His eyes darkened. “This is exactly why you need to eat more fat, to focus better.”
“Huh?”
“If you don’t eat enough fat, your brain doesn’t concentrate well. C’mon.” He picked up his plate and carried it over to the dining table, gesturing for me to do the same. He sat and took a ginormous bite of turkey and cheese.
I swallowed again. The sandwich looked delicious, but I knew it would slow me down on the court.
“Are you going to make me eat all by myself?” He patted the chair next to him. “That’s not being a very gracious host.”
I glared at him. Mom had always taught us the importance of caring for guests, even Aunt Maricela. My dad’s sister had a way of getting under my mother’s skin, but still, Mom would prepare Maricela’s favorite dish and boot me out of my bedroom so Tia Mari would have a nice place to sleep.
I grabbed the plate and set it down with a clatter on the table.
Alex’s eyes creased with amusement, and I realized I’d acted just like the child he thought I was. To spite him, I took a bite. Oh…tart tomato intertwined with creamy mayo and sharp cheddar cheese: a flavor profile that lingered on my tongue and sparked the flow of juices in my withering stomach. I looked down at the sandwich. I’ve missed you, food.
“Dad’s poll numbers went down this week.” Alex’s fierce chomp told me what he thought of that.
I winced. I should pay more attention to the election. “Do they know why?”
“We have to get the focus back on Yemen. Somebody’s got to be accountable for that cluster.” Alex’s gaze darted around, and he leaned in to whisper, “Do you think they’ve got this place bugged?”
I certainly hoped not. I didn’t want Dane to know about my crying jag the night I’d moved in. I mimicked my brother’s body language by holding still and listening, but all I could hear was faint music floating from Dane’s bedroom.
“I’ve never heard that band before,” Alex said.
“They’re Dane’s favorite,” I said. They weren’t as great as Neil Diamond, of course, but they were growing on me. I’d already studied the lyrics online, and the song “Attraction Infraction” was my favorite:
You turn your body away from me
Your eyes too dark, too blind to see
I want you, more than you can know
It’s wrong, it’s wrong, but oh-oh-oh…
If only Dane felt that way about me! My silent humming halted when I noticed Alex staring at me with a quizzical look. I attempted to swallow the bite I’d been chewing. “What?”
“You know his favorite band?”
I shrugged. “He plays them nonstop—how could I not know? The electric guitar’s so obnoxious.” When the tight lines around his eyes didn’t relax, my heartbeat surged. A wad of turkey got stuck in my throat. “Drinks!” I shot out of my chair. “I forgot to get us drinks. Want some Coke?” I headed to the fridge. “They call it pop up here. Isn’t that dumb?”
“Water’s fine,” he said, a hint of suspicion still lacing his voice.
I filled two glasses with ice water. “So, how can Dad’s team get the focus back on Yemen?”
He accepted the glass. “It helps now that the story about you living with the enemy has died down.” His skeptical eyes kept studying me, so I slid back into my chair and took another bite. “But what we really need is to put the heat on Secretary of State Cannell—what a joke he is. And the lamestream media definitely won’t apply any pressure, so Dad will have to keep bringing it up on the campaign trail.”
“But won’t that make Dad look vindictive?” I asked.
My brother took the bait, went off on a diatribe about the best defense being offense, and just like that we had moved on from Dane.
The next morning, I waved goodbye to Alex as he climbed into his rental car. I closed the front door of the greenhouse and swiveled around to lean back against it. A long sigh deflated my lungs. I’d managed to diffuse the caliente argument between Alex and Dane last night, but keeping them apart since then had called upon all the skills I’d honed from years of living between two hothead brothers. Thank goodness Alex had a morning flight back to Baltimore.
I heard soft voices coming from the sitting area beside the foyer and knew Dane must be watching some sort of news show. Recalling his comment from last night, I smiled. He’d labeled me a mediator in my family, which was spot on. How had he read me so well?
Not only had Dane seemed to see right through me, he’d also been protective. I loved when he’d called Alex out for treating me like a child. I’d wanted to do that my whole life. I could still picture his smirk when he joked about forcing me to drink liberal Kool-Aid. When Dane wasn’t busy insulting my father, his face seemed to relax—that sharp crease on his forehead smoothing out, his eyebrows lifting slightly—making him even more handsome.
I had it bad for my roommate, for sure. Hopefully Alex hadn’t figured that out.
I was about to head to my room when an envelope on the small table near the front door caught my eye. “What’s this?” I picked it up, realizing only after I’d spoken that I was snooping in Dane’s outgoing mail.
“What?” he asked, apparently hearing my question from the other room.
Crap. I walked into the sitting room and read aloud the addressee. “African Children’s Fund?”
He glanced up from his laptop, which looked tiny in his big lap. “Figured I’d do something good with my grandpa’s money.”
I felt my eyebrows arch. His grandfather owned scads of land across the Midwest, making him one of the richest men in the country.
“Why so surprised, Ramirez?” That beautiful smirk lifted half his mouth, mesmerizing me. “Feeling guilty you don’t give to charity too?”
That preposterous question quickly un-mesmerized me. My dad’s company donated a ton to charity—much more than Dane’s mother had donated, according to her public tax records. “Hardly. Just surprised someone like you would give to charity at all.” I waved the envelope at him.
“Nice. Thanks so much for judging me.”
“Only stating the facts,” I countered. He
is so infuriating! I was determined to set him straight. “Conservatives donate way more to charity than liberals do.”
He snapped his laptop shut. “That’s a fantasy.”
“It’s true!” I gestured to his laptop. “Google it.”
He popped to his feet, forcing me to look up to him. “No way that’s true. My mother and I care about people. Conservatives care about things.”
My jaw hung open for what felt like ten minutes before I finally closed my mouth, realizing I must have looked ridiculous. Hot blood pulsed through my veins and my chest tightened. “I…you…I…”
“You can’t find the words to argue because you know it’s true. You know your party doesn’t care about the poor.” He took a step closer to me. “Hell, your own Mexican father wants to throw undocumented workers into prison. How’s that for hypocrisy?”
“He, he doesn’t want to reward people who break the law!” I managed, my mind whirling. Confrontation freaks me out.
“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.” He winked at me, then patted his taut abs. “Time for my second breakfast.” He disappeared from the room, and I stared at the muscular V-shape of his back until he turned the corner.
I closed my eyes and tried to settle my surging heart. My face felt hot, and my hands trembled. We care about people! I wanted to shout. Making citizens dependent on the government hurts them more than helps them. And my dad just wants to secure our borders, that’s all.
I clutched my forehead, feeling the stirrings of a headache. Why couldn’t I have said those things to Dane in person? Why did I become a tongue-tied idiot in his presence? And the most important question of all: how could I be so attracted to such a jerk?
Cou, cou, cou, cou-gars!
The inane cheer pulsed through my head as I joined the huddle by our bench. I’d been reeling ever since the squad of Highbanks cheerleaders had run onto the court midway through our warm-up. Cheerleaders! At a volleyball match? If I hadn’t known before that I’d arrived at big-time college sports, I now knew for certain.
Coach’s voice drew my attention away from the pixie, miniskirted girl perched atop the male cheerleader’s hands, holding steady above his head. There’s no way a guy would ever be able to support my weight like that. “Ladies,” Coach said.
The announcer boomed over the intercom, “Who wants a Cougar Pride T-shirt?” The cheerleaders bounded up to the university mascot, Banky—a guy in a light-brown cougar costume—and the fuzzy feline pumped a large water-gun-thingy before aiming it up into the stands. I realized it was a T-shirt launcher when teenage girls in the sizable crowd lunged for the grey blobs sailing toward them. A sizable crowd! At a volleyball match? Their roar of appreciation competed with the peppy tune played by the school band in the stands behind me.
“Eyes on me, Lucia,” Coach barked.
I bobbed my head in a frantic nod, and my jittery energy must have been evident to Maddie because she placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. She’d given me a pep talk in the locker room before the match. I still couldn’t believe she’d said I was a much better player than she’d been as a freshman. No way that was true.
Coach frowned at me. “I know this environment is distracting, but I need your complete focus.”
The band’s drums made me jump, but I nodded again. Coach had picked me to start tonight—the only freshman in the starting six—and I didn’t want to blow it.
“Okay, back row: remember to shift left when number seventeen serves, and to watch for the ‘out’ call when number twenty-two serves. Nina…” Coach turned to our setter. “When do we run the one?”
“Whenever number sixteen is their middle blocker.”
Her look of complete boredom as she answered his question amazed me. How was she so chill in this charged environment?
“Good.” Coach nodded. “And use your legs to get your sets out to Lucia’s left hand. She looks like she’s about to crap her Spandex, so she’ll need all the help she can get tonight.”
My mouth dropped open as everyone stared at me. Was my nervousness that obvious? But then Maddie laughed and said, “That’s okay, I made her wear three pairs of Spandex tonight just in case.” Soon most of my teammates giggled, and even Coach smiled. When I let out a laugh, I felt some of my tension release. Holter had just made a joke? Who would’ve predicted that?
“Madison,” Coach said, his face all serious again, “I need you to carry the load tonight. Lots of twos and back row hits.”
“You got it.”
My implacable teammate’s confidence impressed the hell out of me. I wondered if I would ever feel so secure in my ability. Maybe her confidence stemmed from her lean body? Coach probably never made her get a body scan like I’d had to do yesterday. So humiliating. Now I had to remember to schedule another appointment with the dietitian to find out the dreaded results.
The announcer’s voice filled the gym. “Please join us in standing for the national anthem.” I followed the unfurling of the huddle and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest of my teammates on the baseline. I could see the blue-and-white uniforms of our opponent through the net. Like my father had taught me, I placed my hand over my heart just as the recorded music boomed over the sound system.
Dane would’ve probably made fun of my patriotic gesture, but he wasn’t in the stands. He’d left after morning practice for his mother’s campaign stop in Milwaukee. Even though I hadn’t said much to him since he’d spewed that ridiculous comment about conservatives a week ago, the house had felt lonely today. No Dane or Brad or China. I hadn’t known what to do with myself without two practices filling my day, especially with classes not starting until next week.
I snuck a glance into the stands, and I couldn’t stop the press of sadness weighing down my heart. This would be my first game without at least one family member attending. My mom had always been there, and my dad had made it to as many matches as he could, even after becoming the governor of Texas. But Dad was in California campaigning, and Mom still hadn’t emerged from our Houston home. She claimed she wanted to be there for Mateo, but I bet she was still trying to lose weight. I knew what that was like—to want to hide from the public because of feeling fat. But I had no choice about standing in the spotlight tonight.
As I scanned the crowd, I noticed one person I knew: Allison. Frank was undoubtedly around somewhere, too, along with a couple of other agents brought in for the match. Allison’s hand covered her heart, but she wasn’t looking at the flag. Instead, she glared at something across the gym floor. I followed her gaze and felt my stomach drop when I saw a guy with a zoom-lens camera kneeling close to the referee’s stand. Even worse, he had the camera aimed straight at me. I kept my eyes glued on the flag for the remainder of the anthem, hoping to avoid giving the media any ammunition about my lack of patriotism.
When the anthem ended, the announcer launched into introductions for our opponent’s starting squad. I was surprised how many Kentucky fans there were—probably parents of the players, mostly. Then a rumble of cheers began as the announcer boomed, “Your Highbanks Cougar starters!” Wow, it got loud in this gym. “Number twelve, the starting setter, at six-foot-three, junior Nina Dahlstrom!”
I watched Nina step forward and wave to both sides of the stands as the crowd roared. Thankfully, the announcer didn’t share our weight—just our height.
“Number twenty-eight, outside hitter, six-foot-two freshman Lucia Ramirez!” My face blazed as I managed to wave to the crowd amidst ear-splitting cheers. The fans were probably intrigued by somebody famous playing on the team. I gulped, knowing I needed to live up to my hype.
Mr. Paparazzi waved wildly by the net as he tried to get my attention. “Lucia!” He kept shouting my name right through the introductions of the remaining four starters, making me blush even more. How rude. I refused to look his way.
Once introductions finally ended, Maddie approached the net to shake the hands of the University of Kentucky team captains. Whoa. One of the Wildca
ts towered over Maddie—what was she, six-six? I’d been too distracted during their introductions to listen to their heights. And I thought I was a freak of nature.
Five of us stepped forward, toward the middle of our side of the court, while the rest of the team returned to the bench. Maddie joined our smaller huddle with a serene smile. “Relax, Rez,” she said to me. “That tall girl was on their team last year. She’s not that great.”
That’s good to know. It was like Maddie could read my mind. And I liked how she’d borrowed one of my dad’s campaign slogans—Rez for Pres—for my nickname. A nickname solidified my place on the team.
“Okay, let’s get a W for our first game, guys. First play’s a one-four-three.”
We each raised one arm, touched hands above our heads, then swung our arms down together while shouting, “Go Cougs!” I settled in my familiar spot on the left side of the front row with a massive grin on my face.
My smile vanished when I heard the click-click-click of the camera. The guy had planted himself just to my left, crouched down by the lower step of the referee’s ladder.
“Rez!” From the middle of the net, Maddie beckoned me forward, and I tried to forget the stupid camera dude as I hustled to the net on her left. Kentucky had won the coin toss and elected to receive the serve, so Nina was behind us, preparing her jump serve. I held my arms up and scanned the defense as the ref above me blew her whistle to get play started. ¡Ay, Dios Mío! My first college game. Coach was so right that I was about to crap my Spandex.
Nina’s serve screamed over the net, but Kentucky’s back-row player passed the ball cleanly to their setter, who was across the net just to my right. She set the ball to their outside hitter farthest from me, and I shuffled back to crouch in defense. There was no need for me to dig the ball, though, because Maddie’s steel block stuffed the hit. The ball dribbled to the floor on their side of the net. Point, Highbanks!
I gave Maddie a high-five and settled back into my position. Maddie called out their defense as Nina slammed the next serve down their gullet. This time their setter arched her back and set the ball behind her, to the Kentucky hitter right in front of me. Oh no, it was the uber-tall girl. I felt Maddie join me on the right as we jumped together for the block. Crap! The ball went right through my hands down the line, and our defensive specialist Lynette couldn’t get to it. Click, click went the camera, unnerving me. Now it was a side-out, and Kentucky would get the ball. Point, Kentucky.
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