Ali & the Too Hot, Up-to-No Good, Very Beastly Boy: A Standalone Sweet YA Romance (Jackson High Series Book 1)
Page 17
“You were right. You told me I knew you, only I had to trust myself to see it. I do know you. I know whatever happened, it wasn’t to hurt me or the team. You’ve shown me in so many ways who you are. You’re smart, honest, authentic, generous and brave.”
“Darn, DeLeon, according to you I’m a Girl Scout,” she said, arms across her chest and not even a smidge of a smile on her lips.
“Not hardly. Sometimes your honesty cuts like a scalpel, you can be stubbornly independent, and getting to know you was like trying to hug a prickly cactus. Is that better?”
Coach Frost cleared his throat and shook me off with a subtle head shake.
“What I’m trying to say, Ali, is I’m sorry. I wish I had a do-over. I was an idiot—”
“Oh, hey, look. We agree on something.” Still no softening from Ali.
“Okay, well, obviously you aren’t ready to forgive me. Which I get. I want you to know, even though I don’t know what went down, I know it wasn’t you.”
Ali didn’t say anything, but gave me a curt nod of her head.
“My gut—which I wish I’d listened to last night—tells me Paige is involved in this somehow. Which means this whole thing—you getting blamed and everyone in school…”
“Hating me?”
“Right. It’s my fault.” I didn’t care that Ali was strong enough to handle being the most hated girl in school a second time. Because I wasn’t going to let her. I would find a way to fix it. “Would you be willing to tell me what really happened? Not because I need proof. But I’d like to see where Paige fits in so I can try to fix this.”
“Honestly, it doesn’t matter how it happened,” she said. “It’s done. You should probably spend your time figuring out how you’re going to approach your playoff game now that the other team has all your plays.”
Yeah. Coach Devlin’s special plays that were going to give us the edge and hopefully lead us to the championship. I didn’t have a solution for that other than we’d have to play a hell of a game.
“They stole your playbook?” Coach Frost asked, sounding more coach than worried father suddenly.
“I gave it to them,” Ali said, her gaze still on mine.
“What the heck, Ali?” He was full on angry Coach Frost now.
“Coach, she didn’t,” I said without a doubt in my mind.
“As both a father and a coach…” His voice was scary-serious, like get down and give me fifty up-downs serious. “…I’d like to hear the story. The whole story. In fact, let’s go sit.”
Coach led the way into his office and took a seat at his desk. Ali sagged down on one of the two over-stuffed chairs facing him and I took the other.
She narrowed her gaze on me and huffed out a breath. “Fine. It all started when I agreed to be Dax’s fake girlfriend—”
“Excuse me?” Her dad’s gaze sliced over to me.
“Dad, I’ll never get through the story if you interrupt me every time you hear something crazy. This story is chock full of crazy.”
“Sorry. I’ll shut up. Although, Dax, you and I will be having a talk later, but I’ll shut up and listen.” He frowned at me before turning back to Ali. “So you agreed to be Dax’s pretend girlfriend…?”
Great. I’d pissed off Coach Frost. Should be a fun talk. Maybe he’d let me do those fifty up-downs instead.
The story Ali proceeded to tell was full of crazy. It started when she was jumped in Bowl-O-Rama’s parking lot by goons demanding a playbook. The goons poured a milkshake in her bowling ball and threatened her before running off. And the crazy kept going: Mr. and Ms. Jackalope were kidnapped, Ali found a ransom note in her locker, the fake playbook Ali and her friends tried to swap for the rabbits, a second ransom note with a fake bloody rabbit’s foot, and stealing my playbook from my truck so they could get Mr. and Ms. Jackalope back. Finally ending at the big finale: the doctored video to make Ali look guilty.
Holy crap.
“Is that it?” her dad asked.
“Except for the part where the person I thought knew me and trusted me believed I could do something like that and publicly dumped me.”
“Ali—” I started, but she cut me off.
“Oh, wait. There is more. Last night, when my friends came over—friends who actually trusted me and believed me, just sayin’—we figured out who the goon was. I’m not going to name him since I have no proof. He isn’t on a team you’ve played so far.” Ali glanced at me, and shrugged. “Sorry, but you lost Friday’s game on your own without help from me.”
“Ali…,” her dad said, sending me an apologetic glance.
“Like I said, surgical precision.” I winked at her. Considering her face stiffened up and she looked like she was figuring out how to remove a vital organ or two with that scalpel, in retrospect, the wink had been a bad move.
33
Gonna Need a Hail Mary Pass
Dax
On Ali’s Shit List, 7:15 p.m.
“Dad? Will you please tell DeLeon that if he winks at me one more time, I’m going to use one of those moves you taught me?”
“Ixnay the winking, Dax.” Coach shot me a don’t-poke-the-bear look before turning back to Ali. “Keep going. What about the goon and the playbook?”
“The goon’s car got impounded about ten minutes after I gave them the playbook. So, we came up with a plan to steal the playbook back while his car was locked up.”
“Tell me you didn’t break in to the impound lot,” her dad said.
“No! I mean, we thought about it, but no. We went there this morning right when it opened. Except the goon was there too to pick up his car.” Ali frowned and shook her head, clearly frustrated with the guy. “We followed him, thinking we’d retrieve it when he went into his house. Only the playbook wasn’t there. And then Paige showed up.”
Coach Frost sat back in his chair looking a bit shell-shocked. “Well, you weren’t kidding. That’s a crazy story.”
“We also sort of rescued the guard dog from the impound lot,” Ali mumbled. “Technically, I guess we stole it, in case the police call you along with Principal Barstow.”
“Paige set you up because of me. She was angry that you and I were together,” I said. “She’s the one who doctored your video.”
“Yeah, I still haven’t figured out how she accessed my private V-log, but yes.”
“Your phone. One day at bowling, while you were at the shoe counter talking with Mr. J, she handed me your phone and said you must have dropped it.”
“She’s a peach, that one. You sure can pick ’em. Anyway…” Ali slapped her hands on her thighs. “That’s where we are. Paige gave the playbook back to the goon, and you’re playing against them in the first playoff game. So if you lose, everyone really can blame me for the loss.”
“Not you.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Paige and that cheating jerk.”
“Thanks to the video and the photo, everyone thinks I did it.”
“Ali, honey, why didn’t you come to me for help? You know I’ve got connections.”
“Dad, you quit your job for me because I worried you so much.” She blinked at him, her eyes tearing up. “There was no way I was going to put you through that again. Plus, you promised that after you saw I was okay, you’d start living again. So I threw myself into showing you I was okay. I made friends and ogled cute boys. That’s why I agreed to fake-dating Dax.”
“So none of it was real?” he asked.
“Not in the beginning. The funny thing is, it grew into the real thing. I love my bowling teammates. They’re the best friends a girl could have. The thing with Dax…” Ali looked at me and the sadness shining in her eyes reached out and wrapped a tight fist around my throat.
“What we had was real too. Is real,” I said. “Only I screwed up.”
“Back to the playoff game,” Ali said. “I feel horrible that Jackson might lose.”
“So we won’t lose,” I said. “We’ll simply have to outplay them.”
“Maybe not…” Coach pulled open his desk drawer, grabbed out a playbook, and handed it to me. “This might help.”
I stared down at my hands. I was holding the Holy Grail of playbooks. “You’d let us use your plays?”
“Absolutely. As a coach there are three things I can’t stand: laziness, bad sportsmanship, and cheating. They cheated. I’m only helping level the playing field.”
“Wow. I can’t thank you enough, Coach. This is amazing.” I flipped through some pages, shaking my head. “Your playbook is legendary.”
“Will you have enough time to learn them?” Ali asked.
“Sure.” I nodded. “We only need two or three good new plays.”
“That’s exactly right,” Coach agreed. “Plus, you’ll have the advantage of surprise on your side.”
Coach and I grinned at each other.
“Okay then. I’ll leave you two to talk football.” Ali stood abruptly and left the room without even a backward glance.
I stared after her, regretting I was such an idiot.
“She is royally pissed at you,” Coach said.
“Tell me about it.” I looked across at him. “Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”
“I don’t know. Getting hurt by people she trusted—that’s still an open wound.” His face said it would be a long shot. “A deep wound, so forgiveness won’t be easy. Maybe give her some space for a few days.”
Space. I could try. We had bowling class together, but I could keep quiet and let her bowl.
“And…I think you’re going to have to come up with a Hail Mary pass.”
A Hail Mary pass: a pass made in desperation with only a small chance of success.
“Yeah, I’m afraid you’re right.” The thing about a Hail Mary pass was—you only had one shot at it.
34
Ali and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week
Ali
School Parking Lot, Monday Morning
After a short reprieve from the Thanksgiving break—Dad and I ate a quiet Thanksgiving meal at the Bluebird Diner—it was back to school and time to face reality. The false hope that time might have lessened the gossip and the anger was quickly dashed.
I pulled into the student parking lot Monday morning to find someone had been nice enough to decorate my parking spot. They’d spray-painted some clever, bordering on inspiring, sobriquets for me in large, white letters. Sweet. I parked, shut off my engine—one, two, moo—and sat in my car, waiting for the bell to ring.
Grabbing my phone from my backpack on the seat next to me, I clicked on my video to record this super-duper moment for posterity.
“All right, Ali—Oh! And anyone else who’s enjoying watching my private diary—you already know this week at school is going to be the most amazing, fantastic, and super-awesome week ever. The fun nicknames, notes of encouragement in my locker, the shower of confetti tossed at me in class, and the enthusiastic supportive pats on the back in the hallways. So. Much. Fun. Who wouldn’t want to be me? Today’s objective: exchange oxygen and CO2 like a boss. Positive affirmation: I am a diamond. I shine under pressure.”
The bell rang and I headed to the activity bus.
“Traitor!” some kid yelled across the parking lot.
“You don’t belong here, loser!” someone else bellowed.
I lifted my chin higher and stepped onto the bus to a greeting of boos.
You know what? Instead of dragging you through this, I’ll glide over a few details. The rest of the day went exactly how you’d think it went. It was pretty much Groundhog Day the rest of the week. Remember when I said I’d never be chum again? Wrong again, Ali Frost. I was chum. I was the weakest gazelle on the tundra. I was the rabbit caught out in the open. Almost exactly like what happened at Cox.
I say almost because there was one huge I’m-a-lucky-girl difference. This time I had rock-solid friends who stood by me. They took flak for defending me, but they didn’t back down. Shani, Gaby, Mari, Rowena, and Bhakti were fiercely protective. They were barracudas.
Dax kept his distance, even in bowling class. He was polite and friendly, yet didn’t press me for conversation. Maybe he was distracted with football—learning the new plays for the playoff game. Or maybe he didn’t care anymore. Had he moved on? Maybe. Except something in his eyes said maybe not. Those dark fathomless eyes of his still held heat, interest, and intensity when his gaze met mine.
Either way, I was not going to obsess about Dax’s hot gaze. It didn’t matter. I was over Dax. No, that was a lie. But I was trying to get over him. Trying to ignore the way Paige and Gwen flirted with him in bowling class. I kept my focus on the lane stretched out in front of me and not on the way Paige touched Dax’s wrist or grabbed onto his biceps or ran her gaze over him like he was completely edible and she was on another grapefruit diet. Nope. Didn’t notice any of that.
The highlight of the week was our last regular season bowling competition on Thursday.
We stood in a circle, our hands piled on top of each other’s, ready for our pre-competition cheer. Only things were different now.
“Ro, I can still see your face when you stood up to Paige and called her a ‘mean, snotty, dishonest bitch.’ All this week you guys have had my back. You’ve been ferocious, bold, and undaunted in the face of all the ugliness this week. You know what that means?”
“We’re freaking barracudas,” Shani said.
“Yeah, we are.” Rowena nodded once, her lips sliding into a huge, cheesy grin.
Then we were all grinning.
“We’ve never won the team competition,” Mari said. “I say that changes today.”
“Let’s do this,” Bhakti said. “Make every roll count. Balls to the wall.”
“Um, you mean that metaphorically, right?” Gaby asked. “Not literally.”
“Whatever it takes,” I said, more fired up to bowl than I can remember. This felt bigger than the state championships even. “Barracudas on three. One. Two. Three.”
“Barracudas!” We shouted and blew up our hand stack.
Someone snorted from three lanes over. I turned to look. Figures. Kayla Tercera, aka Snotty Gold Shoes.
“You do know you guys are those imaginary rabbits, right?” Tercera smirked.
“Not today,” Mari said.
My dad arrived and handed me a colorful bouquet of wildflowers which made my whole team ooh and ah.
“Holy cupcake, Coach Frost! That is so sweet,” Gaby said.
“They’re not from me,” he said. “They’re from Dax.”
Even more oohs and ahs from my friends.
Part of me wished I was strong enough to toss them in the trash can.
Dad must have seen that thought flash across my face because he grabbed my hand. “I know it hurt, kiddo, but he did apologize and believe you before he knew the details. That’s something.”
He gave me a wink and walked off to talk with Mr. J until we got underway.
“Not that you asked for my opinion, but I think Dax is a good guy who made a mistake.” Bhakti wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “I think you should give him a second chance.”
“I agree. I like Dax,” Gaby said. “I like how much you smiled when you and Dax were together.”
I shook my head. “I thought he knew me, but he didn’t.”
“He made a mistake.” Shani tilted her head, arching an eyebrow in my direction. “I sort of remember your knee-jerk reaction when someone accessed your video diary. There were a few seconds when you thought it could be one of us.”
Rowena nodded her agreement.
“A few seconds when you didn’t trust us,” Mari said, wrapping her arm around my waist on my other side. “We understood that it was a gut reaction in a moment of pain. We forgave you.”
We forgave you. They had.
“You don’t have to decide right now.
In fact, you shouldn’t.” Gaby steered me back over to our assigned lanes. “No more thinking about Dax until we’re at the game tomorrow night.”
“Wait, what? No, I’m not going—”
“Yes, you are,” Shani said and every one of them nodded. “We’re going together. You’re going to show Paige that she didn’t win. Now, speaking of winning… Let’s roll, bitches.”
We threw ourselves into the team competition like never before. Each of us reached deep for every roll.
“Are you ready to be out-bowled, Jackalopes?” Undaunted in the face of Tercera’s smack talk and her gold shoes. “We don’t even have to try hard; your team chokes. Every. Time.”
“Tercera, none of us want your opinion,” I said. “Would it kill you to be a good sport?”
“Fine. Good luck.” And then she ruined it with a smirk. “You’ll need it because, just like last time, we’re taking the trophy home.”
We were bold, going hard on every strike and spare.
“Hey, no hard feelings when we beat you.” Tercera smirked. “Someone’s got to finish second.”
We were ferocious.
“The object of the game is to knock down the pins, sweetie.” Tercera’s disingenuous advice rolled off our backs.
Frame by frame, Tercera and her team got quieter. Their puffed-up confidence deflated as our team matched them roll by roll.
Shani, Gaby, Mari, and Bhakti rolled their highest scores ever in a competition. Rowena was awful close. Our team didn’t have a single foul or gutter ball. We set a team record for the number of spares picked up. As for me… I rolled my second 300 game. Twelve times I hit the pocket with every roll. Twelve strikes. It was important to be good sports, but our team enjoyed seeing Tercera’s face pucker up like she’d sucked a lemon with each of my last three strikes.
And, okay, I might have grinned when Shani called across the lane, “Hey, Tercera! Do they make those shoes in silver or bronze?” The girl looked close to throwing one of her gold shoes at Shani.