by Cassie Mae
“Even if that’s true, I’m not sure if I should believe a Trojan.”
“Hmm…” I pull my hoodie from the crook of my arm and hold it out. “How about you take this?”
He wrinkles his nose. “What would I want with that?”
I laugh. “It’s leverage.”
“What’s ‘leverage’ mean?”
I crouch back to his level, keeping my hoodie in my fist. “It means if I come to the field with any Trojans, you get to do whatever you want to this.” I lift my sweatshirt. “And I’m pretty attached to it. So I wouldn’t want anything to happen.”
“So… you won’t bring any Trojans here because you don’t want me to ruin that?” He points to my hoodie.
“Exactly.”
He tilts his head to the side and swipes the sweatshirt from my hand. “Then I’ll take the…leverage.”
I stand back up, and Sam must’ve moved closer. My whole arm feels her body heat even though we aren’t touching.
“Okay, Josh, if you’re done questioning Tyler we should get going.”
Josh nods. “Good call, sis. I’m starving.”
I walk with them to her car, and Sam opens the back door for her brother. “Give me two seconds then we’ll go.”
He sighs. “You say two seconds, and you mean twenty minutes.”
She gives him a little shove toward the car. He throws my hoodie over his shoulder and hops into his booster—which I’m assuming he only needs because he’s so short. She leans in to make sure he’s buckled while he traces his fingers over the Trojan’s logo with a thoughtful expression. I am fond of that hoodie. I really hope he’s not thinking of burning it or something. When Sam shuts the car door and looks back at me, we wait for about twenty seconds before saying anything because our track record for that kid breaking the mood has been Josh: 3 Us: 0.
“Sorry about that.” She leans against the hood of the car with me. “He’s a born and raised Skyhawk.”
“You don’t say,” I tease, and she nudges my shoulder. Guess it’s time to figure out where she stands on the whole rivalry thing. “What about you?”
“Born and raised Skyhawk.”
I raise my hand. “Born and raised Trojan, here.”
“What?” Her mouth pops open in mock shock. “You mean when I saw you in that golden yellow uniform that meant you’re a Trojan?”
My face gets closer to hers. “Is it going to be a problem?”
It looks like she wants to keep joking, but her gaze drops to my lips, and her breathing changes. I force myself to stay cool, but I’m not sure if I succeed.
“I’m not into labels. Just don’t tell my cousin that,” she says, and then her hand snakes into her back pocket. She flicks her wicked eyes up to mine. Her fingers curl around my wrist, and she pulls my arm straight out toward her.
“Wha…?”
“Look what I found in the car,” she says, tapping a black Sharpie on the bridge of my nose. She bites the cap off and brings the cold, wet tip to the crook of my elbow. She writes ten numbers down my forearm.
I grin, trying to calm my breathing. “Don’t trust my memory?”
She shakes her head, red hair falling from her ponytail. “It’s not that.” She starts adding a football goal post at the end of the number. “I just want to make extra sure you have it.” She caps the Sharpie. “And if you don’t call, it better be because you lost your arm.”
“Even if I lose my arm, I’m finding a way to call you.”
“I’ll drive you to the ER.”
“I’d rather you kiss it better.”
“Not sure if that would work.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Maybe.”
I know it’s ballsy, and Josh is sitting in the car waiting for her, but I lean in anyway. There’s something about her that draws me in, makes me want more, and makes me feel okay for wanting it, too.
What is she doing to me?
I get inches from her lips and a loud honk! jolts us feet away from each other.
Josh taps his wrist as if he was wearing a watch as my heart tries to get back to normal speed.
Sam groans, pulling my eyes back to her. I try to grin and laugh it off, but my breath comes out weird.
“That’s what they’re here for,” I say.
“What?”
I nod toward the car. “Little siblings.”
“You have a little brother, too?”
“Sister.”
Her face relaxes and she smiles. “Does she like football?”
I think about Parker and her collection of those freaky Monster High dolls and Disney Princesses. “Um, no.”
“Too bad.”
“Not really. I think my mom would go insane if all of her kids were football obsessed.”
Honk!
“Okay, okay!” Sam rolls her eyes and starts walking backward to the driver door. I automatically follow her steps. “Did you want a ride?” she asks.
My eyes travel over the Skyhawks bumper stickers, and the Hilton High parking pass hanging off her rearview. It’s not the most welcome car in my neck of the woods.
“Nah, I better finish my run.”
Her gaze flicks to my stomach, and I macho man flex even though I’m not sure she can see it through my shirt.
“Can I call you tonight?” I ask.
Something flashes across her expression. Like worry or fear or something, but it’s gone in the next blink when she smiles at me and opens her door. I hear Josh in the back say, “It’s about time!”
“Just make it after nine.”
Then she gets in her car, fumbles with the key, and gives me a wave through the windshield. I wave back and watch her pull out of the parking lot, going south, while I’m about to head north.
It’s a good thing I’m not into labels either.
***
“You have to get a boyfriend before you go to the dance, Ty.”
Parker points to one of the boyfriend squares on the Barbie Prom Date game Mom forced me to play while the Eagles/Titans game echoes from the family room. Mom and Dad argued for a good half hour over whether I’d get to watch football after the suspension, and Mom won. No games till I’ve served my time on the bench.
“I don’t want that guy,” I point at the picture of Ken in a sparkly disco suit. This game was Mom’s when she was a kid.
“He’s the only one left, Ty.” Parker is the only person I let call me Ty. “And you have to have a date.”
She pulls her Cinderella blanket over her head and waits for me to backtrack from the dressing room square—to change into my prom dress I bought for two Barbie bucks, of course—but I give her my best big brother pout face. “Can’t I go stag?”
Her small nose wrinkles. “What’s stag?”
My shoulders drop and I move my Barbie piece to Disco Ken. “Never mind.” I pick up my “date” and set him over by my dress and horse drawn carriage.
Parker smiles and spins the glitter spinner. “See, now you’re ready for prom.”
“Nah,” my older brother, Hunter comes in and right hooks me in the shoulder. “He still needs his crown.” He leans over Parker, plucks the plastic pink-gemmed tiara thing from the center of the board game, and settles it on my head. I’m off my feet in a second to tackle him to the ground.
“Hey!” Parker leaps on my back as I get Hunter in a headlock. He punches my gut and Parker screams in my ear. “You can’t have the crown unless you win!” One of her arms tightens around my neck, blocking my airway while her other hand grapples for the crown still stuck on my noggin. Hunter’s laughing, and I knee him in the chest. His arms wrap around my middle and I want to warn him about tossing me while Parker’s still on my back.
“Wait!” I croak, trying to force out something around the chokehold my seven-year-old sister has on me. Hunter stops mid-tackle and opts for punching my gut again. Parker finally gets the crown off my head, but slips on my back and stabs my left eye with the plastic edge. I instantly let g
o of Hunter to press the heel of my hand to my face and let out a grunt. Holy shit, I think she gouged my eye out.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Mom shouts as Hunter and I switch spots. Now I’m being choked by a seven-year-old, head-locked by my college-age linebacker brother, and I can’t see a thing through my watery eyes. I know exactly what Mom’s reaching for, and before any of us can get hit with the spatula, we freeze, breathing hard. Or for me… just trying to breathe period.
“Parker, Hunter, off Tyler now. Tyler, pull up your pants.”
I help Parker slide from my back when Hunter lets me out of the headlock. As soon as my sister’s on the floor, I yank up my gym shorts which have slid right below my ass letting my ma get a nice view of my Green Bay boxers.
Mom sets the spatula down on the kitchen counter and shakes her head. She’s muttering under her breath when she opens the fridge.
Hunter lightly punches my shoulder as he passes me, ready for whatever food Mom’s making. He hops up on the bar, but Mom threatens him with the spatula and he jumps back down.
“Tyler,” she says, pulling out a block of cheese and salami stick—required food at our place. “Will you put your sister to bed?”
Parker hops on my back again, and I swipe at my watered eye so I can see up the stairs. I take her to Mom first for a goodnight kiss, Hunter gives her one next, then I bounce her to the family room to say goodnight to Dad and my other older brothers, Cooper and Spencer. Coop and Spence toss her around like a football, acting out actual plays until she’s laughing so hard she says she has to pee, and then she’s back on my back.
I go through Parker’s bedtime ritual, which is potty, brush teeth, brush hair, arrange all her stuffed animals in order of who her favorite is that day, then she says her prayers—out loud—and I make sure the nightlight is working before I turn off the overhead.
“Tyler?” she asks from her Care Bear bed sheets as I arrange the pillow under her head.
“Yeah?”
“Why do you have marker on your arm?” She points at Sam’s phone number. “Mom says we can’t draw on ourselves.”
I squish her bright pink stuffed monkey and tuck it in next to her. “You’re right. I better go wash it off, huh?”
She nods and yawns. “You don’t want to get grounded even more.”
The concern on her face makes me laugh. “You won’t rat me out, right?”
“No way. You’re my favorite.” Then she taps her finger on her chin. “But, if you’re grounded, you have to play more games with me. I’ll have to think about this.”
Out of all of us kids, she’s definitely the smartest. I kneel at the side of her bed and give her my puppy eyes because I know she caves every time I use them. She pokes a finger at my left eye and says, “It’s all red.”
“That’s because you stabbed me with a crown.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “I blame Hunter.”
“We’ll get him tomorrow.”
“Damn straight.”
“Ty, don’t cuss. I’m a lady. You don’t cuss around ladies.”
“Sorry, ma’am.”
“I’m tired now.”
“Is this your way of getting me to leave?”
“Yes. You need to wash your arm.”
“Right. And you won’t tell?” I do my puppy face again.
She sighs. “I won’t tell. But you have to promise to play more games with me.”
I put my hand over my heart. “Promise.”
“Goodnight.” She kisses the corner of my left eye while I kiss her forehead and stand. The nightlight passed her test, so I flick the overhead off and leave the door open a tiny crack. Parker doesn’t like to be trapped.
I hop down the stairs to clean the game up, but Hunter’s putting the box lid on as I get in the kitchen. I don’t know if it’s ’cause Mom made him, or if he cleaned on his own, but I say, “Thanks.”
“Yup.”
“You crashing here tonight?”
He shakes his head and leans on the table. “Nah. Gonna stay at Alina’s. Her dickhead boyfriend messed up again, so I’m keeping her company.”
“What kind of company?”
“Same as always. I’m the go-to friend-zoned schmuck she runs to when shit hits the fan.”
“When are you gonna tell her to dump his sorry ass and go after yours?”
He shrugs and I drop it. Hunter and Alina have been friends for who knows how long. I don’t get too involved with it, but it’s sort of obvious how he feels about her.
“What about you?”
“Huh?”
He nods toward my Sharpied up arm. “Looks like a phone number.”
“Yeah.”
“In girly writing.”
“Yeah.”
He pushes off the table and rolls his eyes. “Just don’t let Mom see it.”
“Parker already gave me the lecture.”
“Listen to her. She’s the smartest out of all of us.”
Hunter smirks and punches me hard in the thigh, giving me a dead leg. I curse at him as he bolts to the family room.
I slouch to the floor and pull my cell out of my pocket. I was trying to distract myself all night so I wouldn’t be looking at the clock every two seconds waiting for it to be past nine. It’s 8:47 now, and already I feel like time is crawling as I watch the clock tick.
Rubbing the feeling back into my leg, I scroll through my contacts list and program Sam in. I hope I’m able to walk to my room before 9:00, because no way in hell am I making this call within hearing distance of my family members.
Of the twenty-four hours in a day, I would say Mom’s in her bed at least sixteen of them. When she’s not in her bed, she just mopes around the house, so out of it she barely eats or talks to us. She’s sleeping, and I wait till I’m sure she’s still breathing before letting the door click shut. I would love to have my mom back. Have her make great dinners and give me hugs and kisses. I want to say something as I leave her room with the bag of garbage I gathered from the side of her bed. I want to tell her to pull it together, and that we all lost Dad. Or maybe explain about how she’s supposed to be the adult, and she’s letting us down.
But I say nothing. I’ve had my sixty seconds already today.
I quietly click the door shut, but I end up screaming a muffled cry when I run face-first into a hard chest and strong cologne.
Brad laughs as I step back and smack him in the gut.
“Shit, don’t do that!”
“Sorry. Next time I’ll bring a trumpet and announce my grand entrances.”
I roll my eyes and maneuver around him, knowing he’ll follow me downstairs. It’s no surprise when I see his pillow and overnight bag near the couch.
“Hope you don’t mind…” he starts.
“I don’t mind,” I tell him with a wave of my hand. He doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to.
“It’ll be just tonight I think. He had whiskey so…”
“I get it. It’s fine.”
“Thanks, Sammy.”
I give him a mock mad face. “Stop calling me that!”
“You let Josh.”
“Well, he’s six.”
Brad’s grin widens, and he reaches out and squishes my cheeks. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…”
Batting at him with the garbage bag, I laugh and bump him back with my hip. “You keep away, or I’ll…” My voice stops dead, because I almost threatened to beat him. But that’s not exactly the best threat to joke around with.
“That’s right. You’ll stand there with no comebacks.” He squishes my cheeks one more time before walking past me to our kitchen. His head is in the fridge when I collect all the bills I’ve got to get in the mailbox and drag the garbage to the front door. Brad doesn’t help open it, but that’s okay. I can do it myself. Have been for six months now.
After I get all my chores done, I lock up, toss Brad the remote to the TV, and head upstairs. I hope Brad finds something to watch because I’ve g
ot a phone call coming that I really don’t want him to ask me about.
I try to sneak into Josh’s room without waking him, but as soon as his door hits the creaking spot his little eyes flutter open. I should really see if there’s any WD-40 in the garage.
“Sammy?”
I cross the room and crouch down next to him, not bothered by the name when it comes from his mouth. “Yeah?”
“Do you think Tyler had fun playing with us?”
“How could he not? You’re the coolest six-year-old I know.” The corners of my lips turn up. “Scoot over.”
He lifts up the blanket, and my breath catches in my throat. He’s wearing Tyler’s hoodie. Pretending I don’t notice, I cover the blankets over us and try to ignore the smell of the sweatshirt and the way it makes my stomach feel.
Josh lets out a big yawn. “Do you really think he’ll be there next week?
“He said he would. And besides, you’re holding his hoodie hostage, right?” I run my finger along the hood.
“He’ll be back.” He nods.
“All right kid, back to sleep with you.” I give him a kiss on the forehead. “I love you more than summer.”
“I love you more than football.” His eyes drift shut.
“Wow. That’s a lot.”
His breathing deepens, but I don’t leave. I lie next to him and watch his peaceful face, so innocent.
Not only do I worry about my heart, I worry about his too. We’ve both lost someone so important. I really hope Josh doesn’t start depending on Tyler and expecting him to come around every weekend.
Tyler seems like a nice guy, I’m sure he’d never hurt our feelings intentionally. It’s the unintentional stuff I worry about. It’s what the other people would do if they found out. My stomach lurches as I think about Brad just downstairs. He’s always been so big into the rivalry and dating your own kind.
The glowing red numbers on the ceiling say it’s almost 9:00. I slide from the sheets and kiss Josh one more time on the forehead before I retuck him in.
***
I’m just climbing onto my bed when my phone goes off, making me jump about two feet in the air. The ringtone muffles between my hands, and I triple check my door to make sure it’s nice and closed.
“Hello?”
“Sam?” His voice slips through the line and sends shivers down my back.
