by Kieran Scott
“All right, everyone! Let’s get this meeting started!”
The girl calling us to order was Trista Strickler, Crestie senior and major joiner. Even back when I was a freshman and she was a sophomore, she’d been either a member or president of at least half a dozen clubs. She had red curly hair held back by a Burberry headband, and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. Her sweatshirt was the proper colors: maroon with her name embroidered in gold on the left breast. On the back was the Orchard Hill High tiger in midpounce.
“I have the sign-up sheet right here,” Trista said, holding up her clipboard. “The first thing we need to do is assign a player to each of you. Anyone have any special requests?”
Instantly two-dozen hands shot into the air. Trista laughed. “Okay, let’s start at the top left. Name?”
“Melissa Waner,” the brace-faced girl said. Her friends giggled.
“Melissa Waner, sophomore.” Trista checked her off. “Who do you like?”
“Jake Graydon,” Melissa said. More giggles. Much louder this time.
“No way. Jake’s mine,” Shannen said.
“But I wanted Jake!” Faith added with a pout. “There’s no way I’m getting stuck with someone with back hair. Oh God! Or backne!”
“Please. Jake’s my best friend. I call him,” Shannen said.
Was that true? Were Jake and Shannen best friends? Was she just BFF with whoever lived in that room? The thought made me smirk past a sudden slice of envy. But was I jealous of Jake because he got to hang with Shannen, or Shannen because she got to hang with Jake? I decided I didn’t want to think about it.
“He’s my friend too.” Faith’s bottom lip jutted out even farther.
“Wait a minute. I called him first,” Melissa Waner said bravely. “Jake’s mine.”
I rolled my eyes and leaned back on my elbows, waiting for the shrieking and hair pulling to start.
“All right, all right!” Trista shouted, holding up her hands. “I had a feeling something like this might happen, so I’ve come prepared.” She fished a plastic baggie with a bunch of pink paper scraps inside out of her backpack. “I’ve written each player’s name down on one piece of paper.”
“We’re going to draw names from a hat?” Chloe asked.
“Actually, we’re going to draw names from a bag,” Trista corrected. “Seniors first, then juniors, and so on. Everyone, please come down here and line up in class order.”
They all jumped up like someone had just offered free manicures. I trudged down the bleachers after them and slid into line behind Chloe, who inched forward as if my B.O. were offending her. I felt an almost physical need to talk to her—to pull her aside and explain—but now was not the time.
The three seniors picked their names, and it was now Faith’s turn. She chose Jeff Levitt, who was apparently backne free, because she gave an overly dramatic sigh of relief as she read his name.
Shannen was up. She unfolded her paper. “Hammond Ross!” She turned around and handed the slip to Chloe, who took it happily and slipped from line.
“Wait! No trading!” Trista said.
“But Trista! It’s Hammond,” Chloe said, her green eyes wide.
Trista’s brow knitted as she mentally debated whether to stick to her all-important rules or give Chloe what she wanted. “Okay, fine. Shannen can pick again.”
Chloe, as always, won. And no one even batted an eyelash. Shannen reached into the bag again, unfolded her paper, and sighed.
“Josh Schwartz.”
“Oooh. The captain. Big responsibility,” Trista trilled.
Shannen forced a smile but was clearly not happy. So much for David’s fantasy of having Shannen’s slaps all over his back.
“And you are?” Trista asked as I stepped forward.
“Nobody,” Faith said before I could answer, earning herself a few laughs. Shannen smirked. Chloe smoothed the front of her OHH polo shirt and looked away.
“Ally Ryan,” I answered.
Trista checked off my name. “Go ahead and pick.”
I reached into the bag, repeating “David Drake” over and over and over again in my mind. The team roster had been posted that morning and David had celebrated like a maniac when he found his name under VARSITY STARTERS. If he couldn’t have Shannen, I had to believe I was the next best option. I unfolded my scrap of paper and my vision actually blurred.
“Who is it?” Trista asked, her pen poised.
I swallowed hard. “Jake Graydon.”
Of course.
There were disappointed groans throughout the crowd. A couple of girls actually bailed from the line. Chloe, Shannen, and Faith looked as if they were about to shove me over the railing and onto the track. I took a seat a few rows behind them, slumped down, and looked out at the field, where the guys were lining up for a penalty-kick drill. Jake’s perfect calf muscles flexed as he moved his weight from foot to foot. I wondered what he would think about having me as his backslapper.
“Okay, ladies! Everyone has their man,” Trista said happily, once the line had dwindled. “Our first big event will be next Friday, the day of the opening game. You’ll be decorating your player’s locker and baking him a little something to leave inside. Feel free to leave him an inspirational note as well, or a poem or whatever moves you. Be creative. I know last year one of our girls left a mix of heart-pumping songs to listen to pregame, and the player really loved that.”
“That was me,” Chloe said, raising a hand to shoulder level and preening. A bunch of the girls looked at each other knowingly, like, Who else could it have been?
“We’ll meet here briefly on Thursday, when I’ll hand out locker numbers and combinations, and then we’ll have the run of the halls until six o’clock, so you’ll have plenty of time to decorate,” Trista continued. “It’s your first chance to really show your player what kind of backslapper you’re going to be, so do it up!”
A few of the girls clapped, and everyone started gabbing at once. Shannen and Faith got up to talk to Trista, and as Chloe was still gathering her things, I saw my chance. I clomped down the bleachers and dropped in front of her.
“Can I talk to you?”
Chloe glanced over her shoulder at Shannen and Faith. “About what?” she asked quietly.
I blinked. Did she really have to ask?
“About . . . you know,” I said, finding it hard to form the actual words. “The thing Faith mentioned at Connor’s that night?”
Chloe’s cheeks turned pink and she looked at her shoes. “Oh, that. She was just being melodramatic. You know Faith.”
Okay. Now I was totally confused.
“Well, it was kind of a big deal,” I said, tucking my hands into the front pocket of my sweatshirt.
“Please. It was almost a year ago. And it was just a party,” Chloe said. Then she rolled her eyes. “I mean, I know I always made a huge deal about how important my sweet sixteen was, but I get why you didn’t come. Really. It’s all good.”
My mouth sort of hung open. What the hell was she talking about?
“Wait. You invited me to your sweet sixteen?” I asked.
Now it was her turn to be confused. Her brow knitted and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah. Isn’t that what . . . I mean, that’s what Faith was talking about. How you never RSVP’ed? I was upset at the time, but—”
“Hey, girls!” Faith interrupted brightly. My brain was still struggling to catch up as she and Shannen joined us. “My mom’s waiting in the parking lot. We’re all going to Riverside to get dresses for the Harvest Ball. Wanna come, Ally?”
My eyes darted to her face. I knew she was messing with me, but somehow my heart still flipped in hope.
“Oh, wait! The shoestring that is your budget couldn’t even lace up one of my Gucci boots,” she added, tilting her head so that her blond hair tumbled over her shoulder.
Shannen laughed, but Chloe simply looked pained. There was only one explanation for all the confusion of the past t
wo minutes: Chloe didn’t know. That night at Connor’s, when Faith had mentioned what I “did to Chloe,” she’d been talking about this infraction against manners I’d apparently committed by not RSVP-ing to Chloe’s sweet sixteen—a party to which I’d never received an invitation. That was confusing enough, but I could deal with that later. The more important point was that Chloe didn’t know. And also, from the looks she kept shooting me, she wasn’t one hundred percent down with the evil ostracizing of Ally Ryan. Ironic, considering she was the only one here I’d actually betrayed.
I was starting to feel dizzy. And sick. And maybe just a bit hopeful. If Chloe wanted to be friends again . . . maybe there was a slim chance I could get things back to the way they were.
“Come on,” Faith said, hooking her arm around Chloe’s shoulder. “We have to go warn Jake to expect some low-budge decorations and Costco brownies this year.” She snorted a laugh. “Later, Norm!”
I glared at her back as they sauntered off. She may have gotten a couple of zingers in, but she was wrong about one thing: Jake was going to get the most kick-ass locker decorations in history. Over the weekend Annie had helped me land a job at CVS, where she worked, and I would spend my entire first paycheck on Jake if it would prove to Faith and the rest of them that I could still be a good backslapper.
I took a deep breath and leaned against the front railing on the bleachers as the girls hit the soccer field sideline to chat with Hammond, Jake, and some of their teammates. My heart was still pounding over the realization of my near miss. I’d almost apologized to Chloe for what had happened with Hammond all those months ago, and she hadn’t even known about it. If I had gotten out the words, if she’d found out that way, I may have lost her forever. But now I had a chance to be friends with her again. All because I’d been too chicken to just say it.
How lucky was I? I mean, maybe Chloe didn’t need to know. It hadn’t meant anything, after all. At least, not to me. I’d been emotional and confused and scared and sad. And clearly she and Hammond were still together. What would be the point of telling her and screwing up her relationship? Of alienating the one person who seemed to be happy—or at least not angry—that I was back?
I swallowed the lump of guilt that had formed in my throat and decided it was for the best. I was just going to have to continue to keep my deepest, darkest secret. I’m not just doing it for me, I told myself. I’m doing it for all of us.
jake
The Friday of the first soccer game, colorful leaves had fallen all over the walkways at school, and for the first time it really felt like fall—all crisp and clear and windy. Inside, the team’s lockers were decorated. I always thought it was stupid, having a whole club with the sole purpose of fawning all over us. But it wasn’t just soccer. We had the backslappers, and the football team had the cheerleaders. Next week there would be a huge pep rally for them and their lockers would be decorated too. That was how we did things here at OHH. We were all about the spirit.
Besides, this day meant cupcakes for breakfast. And a hot girl waiting by my locker. And this year, that girl was going to be Ally Ryan.
My friends were all sympathetic that penniless Ally was in charge of my decorations, but I didn’t give a crap about the size of the posters. I just thought it was awesome that Miss Holier Than Thou had to show me the love. I kind of looked forward to lording it over her.
Also, it meant I was going to get to talk to her again.
When I turned down the hallway toward my locker, I almost tripped. I looked over my shoulder to make sure this wasn’t a joke. A few people were staring, but that was about it.
The entire hall was decorated. Streamers across the ceiling, attached to the wall over my locker and fanning out in all directions. There were at least ten posters with my name on them. Glitter and sequins and stars everywhere. Mini soccer balls dangled from my locker door, which was surrounded by balloons, and my name had been spelled out in letters decorated with the black-and-white soccer ball pattern. I opened my locker door carefully, and confetti exploded in my face. I was still spitting it off my lips when I smelled the chocolate. Piled inside on the floor were half a dozen cellophane-covered paper plates. Brownies, cookies, cupcakes, lemon squares, blondies, doughnut holes. More dessert than one person could eat in a week. A big yellow card was propped on the shelf with my books.
Jake Graydon kicks! Good luck in the game tonight, Tiger! Your backslapper, Ally.
For some reason, my palms were sweating. I couldn’t believe she’d done this. That she’d gone all out like this. It must have cost her a fortune and she’d done it all for me. The girls were going to shit. Hammond was going to shit.
“You like it?”
I turned around. Ally stood in the center of the hall in a tight maroon T-shirt and denim skirt. And she was giving me the eye. I knew it. I knew she wanted me. Maybe that bitchy act the first day of school had just been a reaction to Shale’s party. But now . . . I looked her up and down. It was like a whole new her.
“It’s awesome,” I said, placing the card back in the locker and slamming the door shut.
“Cool,” she said. And smiled. “I spent my entire paycheck on it. And I baked all that stuff myself. It did not come from Costco.”
I glanced toward the back of the school. “Do you wanna go and, like, talk or something?”
A little wrinkle popped up over her nose. “Um, sure.”
“Come on.”
We walked down the hall and out the back door. No one was around. I nudged her arm and pressed her up against the wall.
“What’re you doing?” she asked.
“Thanking you,” I said.
I was half a millimeter from her lips when she ducked away. My forehead hit the rough brick wall.
“Ow! Fuck.” I brought my fingertips to my scratched skull.
“What the hell?” she spat. “God! Maybe whoever was your backslapper last year slapped more than your back, but I was just doing my job.”
My heart felt sick as my brain tried to catch up. “But I thought—”
“What? That because I went all out on your locker that I was, like, in love with you or something?” Ally said, looking me up and down in disgust. “Get over yourself.” She yanked open the door and strode inside. The slam made my head throb even worse.
I leaned back against the wall and touched the bump above my nose again, checking my fingertips for blood. There wasn’t any. “Fuck me,” I muttered under my breath, kicking at the ground.
So much for that.
ally
“Graydon! Get off the field! Now!”
Jake cursed under his breath and stormed past Coach Martz. I flushed with heat as he passed me by, his eyes on his muddy cleats, sweat soaking his hair and the collar of his shirt. He shrugged Shannen off as she made a move for him and slammed his open hand into a stack of paper cups on the water table, sending them flying. I swallowed hard and clutched my own arms.
It was the third match of the year, and the team’s top scorer, Jake Graydon, was not on his game.
“Ally,” Trista sang in my ear. “It’s about time for you to start acting like a backslapper.”
In the first two games I hadn’t so much as talked to Jake, let alone slapped his admittedly sexy back, and Trista had definitely noticed. I wondered if she’d still be on my case if I told her that he tried to maul me behind the school on the morning of the first game. Jackass.
“Drake! Sub in for Graydon!” Coach shouted.
My heart leapt.
“Seriously?” David said, popping up off the bench.
“No. I’m practicing my stand-up routine,” Coach spat. “Yes, seriously! Sub in!”
“Go, David!” I shouted, slapping his shoulder as he jogged by.
“Yeah, David! Kick ass!” Annie screeched from the bleachers.
We shared a smile before she got back to taking Crestie behavioral notes on her laptop. David hadn’t seen much game time before, and never in the first half. Now he was b
iting back a grin as he took the field.
“That’s great, Ally, but I didn’t mean for him,” Trista said, nudging my elbow. “Jake is your responsibility. Go! Pep talk the boy!”
She practically shoved me toward the bench. Jake sat at the end, his elbows pressed into his thighs, his hands clenched into fists against his forehead, his right leg bouncing up and down. I knew how he felt. We’d all had bad games when we just couldn’t get anything right. But did I really want to boost Mr. Ego? The guy who was so cocky he thought a few posters meant I wanted to taste his tongue? Maybe he needed some humbling.
“Jake! Dude! It’s all right, man! You’ll get ’em next time!” Trevor shouted from the top bleacher.
“Jake, Jake, Jake! Jake, Jake, Jake!” Todd chanted, trying to get the crowd into it. “Jake, Jake, Jake!”
I rolled my eyes at them. Didn’t they know they were just making it worse?
“Oh, no worries, man! Look! Here comes your backslapper to save the day!” Trevor joked loudly, standing up and pointing at me.
“Ally Ryan to the rescue! Woot!” Todd added, raising the roof.
I would have knocked their skulls together, but I had a feeling that had already happened to them too many times. It was probably the whole reason they were like that.
Jake, meanwhile, spotted me and dropped back against the bench, shaking his head. Like I was some huge, pointless disappointment. A waste of a backslapper. Was that what he thought?
Suddenly, Shannen’s hand fell on my arm. “You’re not really going over there.”
My adrenaline rose in my veins. “I’m his backslapper.”
“I’ll do it. He doesn’t even know who you are,” she said snidely.
I glanced past her shoulder at Jake. So he still hadn’t told anyone we’d met. That Crestie code was as strong as a gag order. I pried my arm from her grip.
