by Syms, Carly
Not a bad run, but not what he's capable of, either.
"Come on, Blaine! Take it the house!" I scream, and Stella looks over at me and laughs.
"There you go. Really get into it!"
The quarterback completes an eight-yard pass on the next play, giving Ashland a fresh set of downs. The next pass falls incomplete and I'm pretty sure Blaine will get a chance to run now.
Sure enough, the ball ends up in his hands, and he charges straight through the mess of bodies crowding the line of scrimmage, and I hold my breath, and then suddenly he pops out on the other side of them, only one man from Waverely left to beat, and he jukes left and the defender bites on the fake, and Blaine cuts right and has an easy run to the end zone.
Touchdown, Ashland!
The crowd screams, everyone in red and white jumping up and down. The cheers are deafening and even though there's a smile on my face, I feel sort of numb inside.
This isn't fun.
Not like it used to be, anyway.
I don't like seeing Blaine rush for that touchdown anymore, and I hate it. I hate it so much; I've never felt this kind of jealousy that's raging in me now.
Why did it have to be me who got hurt?
This isn't fair.
Want to know the worst part about it, too?
There's not a single thing I can do to fix it.
CHAPTER SIX
I make it to the end of the game, but just barely. Ashland wins, of course, just like we'd been expected to, and Blaine scored three of our five touchdowns.
I'd grown number and number with each one. When he scored twice in last week's game, Stella and I had waited outside the team's locker room for twenty minutes after the game for him -- and okay, and for Richie, too -- to head over to Pinto's Pizza & Wings to celebrate.
Today? Not happening.
As soon as the final seconds had ticked off the clock, I'd grabbed my backpack, waved goodbye to Stella and bolted to the front of the high school building to wait for Dad to come pick me up. While waiting, I'd been digging through my bag to find my assignment book and see what I could get started on for homework.
And of course, I realize I've left my math book in my locker room.
Because what this day really needs is one more aggravation, right?
I trudge back into the school and through the halls toward my locker, muttering to myself, thankful the school is mostly empty at this hour because I'm pretty sure I look like I'm going insane.
Which I very well might be.
"And that's when IIIII...foooounnndddd....yoooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"
I stop dead in my tracks, looking around. I'd thought the halls were empty, but now I'm not so sure. I still don't see anyone, but I know what I'm hearing -- a girl's loud, high-pitched singing.
In the high school building?
Why?
Forget grabbing my math book -- I want to know what's going on.
It's not all that easy to follow a voice to its origin and I wander through the maze of halls -- usually so familiar but suddenly feeling incredibly foreign after hours -- for what feels like half an hour but must only be a few minutes before I stumble on the auditorium.
Well, that makes sense.
The singing is muffled behind the heavy closed doors but it's definitely coming from in here, the same words being sung over and over and over again.
I glance around in both directions, then feel my good hand close around the door handles.
What am I doing?
Why do I care so much about finding out what's going on behind these closed doors? I've never bothered myself with anything that's going on at Ashland outside of my friends, volleyball and the football team before, and now this?
Yeah, so it's been a weird week so far, and it's only Tuesday.
I inch the door open, just to sneak my head around and look, hoping that'll get rid of whatever strange curiosity is gripping me right now.
But that doesn't answer any questions, so I push it open wider and that's when my heart sinks.
The door's hinges squeal like a thousand pigs waiting for food. It's loud, it's high-pitched and it most definitely overpowers the singing on stage.
In fact, everything inside the auditorium just sort of grinds to a stop as every head swings to look in my direction.
My eyes go wide and a yucky feeling bubbles up in the back of my throat and I squeak out something unintelligible and quickly bolt from the doorway.
Good thing it's not my ankle that's broken.
I back up against a wall of lockers to catch my breath, not sure what the heck this is all about. Being noticed has never been a problem for me before, but for whatever reason, I really don't like how it feels right now.
I start walking back outside, not at all thinking about my math homework. I've seen enough to realize a bunch of people had been standing on the stage in the auditorium. I'm about halfway down the hall when I hear the same awful high-pitched shriek of the door.
Crap!
"Hey! Hey, did you need something?"
I turn around and swallow hard.
I've never seen him before.
I'm absolutely positive of that.
Actually, I'm not even sure he goes to this school.
"What?" I say lamely.
He smiles and keeps walking toward me. I have the overwhelming urge to keep moving back with every step that brings him closer to me.
"Weren't you just looking in there?" he asks, glancing back over his shoulder at the entrance to the auditorium. He looks me up and down. "I could swear it was you. Hard to forget that shade of pink."
I glance down at my neon tank top and shrug. I consider lying to save face, but let's be real for a second: I'm standing here outside the auditorium, I'm dressed like a highlighter, my cheeks are bright red, I'm pretty sure I'm sweating, my backpack is on the floor in front of me after I dropped it in surprise, I bolted from a high school football game and, oh yeah, my hand is in a cast.
I'm not so sure there's a whole lot of dignity left to protect here, y'know what I mean?
"Oh." I give a little laugh and then wonder what the heck is happening to me. I rule this school, for God's sake. I really need to get it together. "Yeah, but I wasn't looking for anyone. I got turned around."
He folds his arms across his chest and cocks an eyebrow. "And just happened to wander into the auditorium?"
I don't think I like the way he's smirking at me, and after the day I've had, it's kinda starting to get to me.
"Yeah," I snap. "And I just happened to wander into the auditorium."
"By accident? You weren't curious about the singing?"
"What difference does it make?"
He shrugs, and I really look at him for the first time. He's tall, taller than Blaine, definitely, with a surprisingly muscular build for someone who clearly isn't an athlete; I'd already know him if he is. He has a light tan, which isn't unusual for the middle of September in Phoenix, and short, buzzed brown hair that might make me wonder if he's military if I don't already know he's a high school student.
He's too far away for me to tell what color eyes he has, but I know they're irritating and sparkling with amusement now that he's got me all ruffled.
"Do you always wear stuff like that?" I blurt out, realizing he's dressed like he belongs in Buckingham Palace.
He looks down at his clothes and laughs. "Haven't you figured it out yet?"
"What?"
"Emma," he says, talking to me like I'm a five-year-old. "We're doing a play. I'm in a play. You know, auditorium, singing, costumes. It's not that unusual."
I blink twice, everything he says after 'Emma' barely registering in my brain. "I never told you my name."
I watch him closely as he realizes his mistake. The blush creeping into his cheeks is the first sign he knows he screwed up. His cocky, confident posture is next to go as he shifts and scratches the back of his reddening neck. I resist the urge to smirk now that I've finally gotten the upper hand.
He shakes his head like he's trying to get rid of a fly that keeps landing on his face and sighs. "You'd have to be dead to go to this school and not know your name," he says at last, and it's hard for me to control my smile. "Go on and say it."
"Say what?"
He shrugs. "Whatever you want. People like you always have something to say."
I frown. "People like me?"
"Yeah. The ones who think they run this school."
"I don't think I --" I trail off as I think about what I'm about to say, and whether or not he might actually be right. "Well, whatever."
"That's what I thought," he says, making no effort to conceal his self-satisfied smirk, and somehow I realize that as quickly as I got it, I've managed to lose my advantage here in about five seconds flat. "But maybe you're different."
"What?"
"Maybe you're different. I don't know. Most people like you wouldn't be curious enough to look in the auditorium. It'd be a bad look for them if they got caught or something."
I roll my eyes. "What is with you and the auditorium thing? Get over it."
"I like curiosity," he replies with a shrug. "Shows you're interested in things you don't know about."
I press my lips together. I'm pretty sure he has no idea about me, and I'm pretty sure he's wrong. I like my familiar, comfortable world. And I really don't have any reason to want to leave it, either. Or at least, I didn't up until this week. Now I'm just confused.
"I better go," I say, waving around my cell phone and bending over to pick up my backpack. "My dad should be outside any minute."
I glance down at the phone's screen and notice I have a new message from Dad. Hopefully he's already waiting outside and I can get the heck out of here.
Except then I read the message.
'Hey kid. Sorry, running late at work. Can Stella give you a ride?'
"Ride just bail?" He raises his eyebrows and smiles.
I look up at him reluctantly. "You're either a superhero who can read minds or I'm just really transparent." I pause. "I'm not sure which one scares me more."
"I'll never tell," he replies. "Look, we're about done for the day in there." He gestures toward the auditorium behind him with his thumb. "I can give you a lift."
"You don't even know where I live."
"No, but I bet you do. Pretty sure I can follow directions."
I raise an eyebrow skeptically and think about how irritated Blaine gets when I tell him to stop and ask someone for help whenever he gets us lost on road trips. "That'd be a first."
"Give me five," he says. "And I'll take you home."
I reluctantly nod because I would like to make it home before midnight, and he turns to head back into the auditorium when I call out to him. "Hey! I don't even know your name."
He opens the door with the same squeak that set this whole stupid chain of events in motion and smiles at me. "Emma, I'm Russ. It's good to meet ya."
I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure he winks before disappearing behind the heavy wooden doors.
***
"Don't laugh," Russ says to me ten minutes later as we walk through the senior parking lot. He digs a set of keys out of the back pocket of his khaki shorts and a car beeps nearby.
"What am I -- oh."
I don't even need to finish my question before I figure out the answer. Russ has led us straight to an old -- seriously, it might've been around for my dad to take my mom to prom in -- brown two-door car with several rust spots decorating the side.
"It runs," he says with a shrug. "Probably not what you're used to driving around in, but she's been good to me."
He's right. Blaine's sporty black BMW is just a little bit different than this.
"A ride is a ride," I say at last, and go over to open the passenger side door. Russ rushes past me before I have a chance to tug on the handle.
"Here, here, let me." He jiggles the handle a few times and the door pops open. He offers me an apologetic smile, and I can't help but return it. "Sticks sometimes."
I gingerly climb into the front seat and keep my backpack resting on my lap. I look around the car, expecting the inside to match the exterior with empty fast food wrappers and trash all over the place, but there's nothing, not even dust.
"I don't have the money for a paint job," Russ says, sliding into the driver's seat and pulling the squeaking door shut behind him. He sticks the key in the ignition and it sputters once, then twice, then finally catches and roars to life.
"Or a muffler?"
He grins. "I do what I can. But keeping the inside clean is free."
I don't say anything else as Russ guides the car out of the parking spot and toward the highway. I give him a few basic instructions to point him in the right direction toward my house and stick to looking out the window. The silence is, weirdly, kind of comfortable, but I also don't know what to say to him.
It's pretty clear now we're from two totally different worlds that haven't managed to collide until now.
"What happened there?" Russ asks, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye and see he's pointing at my cast.
"My stupid teammate wasn't paying attention during the game yesterday and ran into me," I blurt out without thinking about it, and I surprise myself with the bluntness of my comments. I hadn't thought that I blamed Marybeth for what happened, but maybe I do. Interesting. "Now it's broken."
"You sound mad."
I shift in my seat so I'm facing him and don't bother trying to hide the incredulous look on my face. "Uh, yeah. I'm mad. You could probably say that."
"What's the point?"
The crease in my forehead deepens. "The point? The point of what?"
"Of being mad about it," Russ says without taking his eyes off the road.
"Because it pisses me off."
"Right, I get that. But why?"
"Are you serious?"
"I'm asking the question, right?"
I throw my arms up in the air. "Because I was a volleyball player and now I'm not!"
"What do you mean, now you're not?"
"I can't play with this stupid thing on my arm," I say, holding the cast up. "So yeah. Now I'm not."
"That's stupid."
I glare at him. "Thanks a lot."
Russ rolls his eyes. "I didn't call you stupid. I just think suddenly deciding you're not a volleyball player because of some injury that's not even permanent is lame."
"It's how I feel," I say defensively, clutching the backpack in my lap.
"That's fair," he agrees. "Probably not rational, but fair."
"Happy to have your approval."
He grins at me, and it's kind of infuriating. "I knew you'd come around." He pauses for a second. "So what are you going to do now?"
"What?"
"Well, aren't you going to do something?"
"It's not like I can go break Marybeth's wrist to get back at her."
Russ laughs and shakes his head. "Come on, Emma. That's not what I meant."
"I don't know. I don't do anything else. Make a left here."
"Come out for the play."
I snort back a laugh. "I hope you're joking."
"Why?"
"I'm not an actress. I'm an athlete."
"You're sidelined," he points out. "You're gonna need something to take up your time now."
"I'll get back on the court eventually."
"But not right now."
I sigh. "No, not right now."
"So do it. We're still holding auditions for the new play," he says. "That's what you walked in on today."
"I don't sing."
"It's not a musical. The director just thinks it's the best way to see if people can get over stage fright. Nothing like singing to a crowd to freak people out."
"I also don't want some stupid role where I'm only on stage for ten seconds and that's it."
"I thought you just said you're not an actress."
"If I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna go all in."
He laughs. "I like your style."
"I don't have a scholarship to Michigan Tech for nothing, you know."
He raises his eyebrows. "Didn't know that."
"You don't know a lot."
"Ain't that the truth."
"Make a right at the next light."
Russ does as I tell him and within a minute, we're parked in front of my house, and I'm left wondering what the heck I'm supposed to do now. I pick up my backpack and put my hand on the door handle.
"Don't," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of the car. "I'll get that for you." He comes around the car and wiggles the door open for me, which I'm pretty sure is only going to make this weirder since I can't just yell good-bye through the car window and run inside as fast as possible.
"Uh, thanks," I say as he shuts the door once I'm on the sidewalk. "And thanks for the ride."
He grins at me. "Anytime. I'll see you at tryouts? They end on Friday so don't wait too long."
"Um, yeah. Don't hold your breath."
"Have a good night, Emma," he says, backing away from me and walking back around to the driver's side of his car. "See you around."
He gets back behind the wheel, the engine sputters to life and roars, making it sound like six fighter jets are flying by overhead, and with a small, quick wave, Russ pulls away from the curb and drives down the street, leaving me standing here, wondering what the heck just happened...and what the heck I'm supposed to do next.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I grimace as I walk into the cafeteria a little after noon the next day. Everything I've done so far today has felt...off.
It's not that it necessarily feels wrong, exactly, but it's like nothing is the same as it once was, and it may never be that way again.
And I gotta say, I really don't like it. Part of me feels like I should forget what happened and go on with my life as usual. Outside of Marybeth, the girls on the team aren't treating me any differently just because I'm hurt, and it's not like I've become a social pariah. I'm just not going to practice or play in games like I used to. Not a big deal.
