Page 16 of Home Game

“Fine, sure. Whatever,” Tasha says, sinking into the water with her bottle of Canyon Mountain Brew. She rolls her head to her left as she takes a long sip, and her scrutinizing gaze lands on me. “But don’t be mad when I transfer to Vista and make him my boyfriend.”

I glower at my friend as I splash water at her, which she quickly reciprocates. Our stereotypical squeals of teenage girl laughter echo in the empty space. I plaster my smile wide and will away the nagging jealousy raging in my gut at the thought of Wyatt Stone being with anyone but me.

Chapter Six

I’m not a social media guy.

Sure, I have the apps. And I’ve got profiles. But every single one of them shows nothing but my highlights and awards. There’s nothing social about any of it for me. It’s recruiting business.

Yet here I am, staring at a follow request from Peyton Johnson. And yeah, I’m thinking about accepting it. Not so she can poke through my shit, because everything I post is public. But hers isn’t. I get why. She’s probably endured her fair share of online bullying just for being a famous athlete’s daughter. Hell,I’mcurious about what things look like behind that curtain. I’ve seen the Johnson Ranch. Getting glimpses of their family room or vacation pics has nothing to do with why I’m considering clicking accept. Fuck if I don’t want to look at more pics of her. Maybe a few in that goddamn bikini, too. Forty-eight hours has done very little to erase that visual from my mind. If anything, it’s only grown more vivid.

“You’re up next, Wyatt!” A heavy hand slaps my upper back, and I shut off my screen before turning to face Jody.

“I’m ready. How was the interview?” I ask.

Jody shrugs, wordless, then starts dressing out for his first class.

It’s media day, which means the entire team showed up for the first day of school at five in the morning to get through photos and give interviews to the local press before class starts. A few of the bigger outlets are here, too, because apparently, our new high school is embroiled in an instant rivalry thanks to our cross-town opponent and its famous coach. Plus, a lot of our players wore the other team’s colors last season. Whiskey’s one of them, and I bet he’s getting grilled by reporters. Jody’s an outsider, like me. His family lives deep in the desert. His old high school barely had enough to field a team last season, and Jody was worried the program would get cut this year. He’s too good to lose out on his senior year.

I grab my helmet and head into the gym, where the photographer is set up. Whiskey is standing off to the side, his arms folded over his massive chest while he rocks back and forth in his size-twelve sneakers. His eyes are intense as he nods to whatever the reporter is asking.

“Wyatt?”

“Huh, yeah. Sorry.” I draw my attention away from my teammate and to the photographer.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Cora.”

We shake hands.

“You’ll be featured in a few places in the program, so if you’re up for it, I’d like to try a few different poses so we have a lot to choose from. We’ll need something strong for the cover?—”

“Oh, no. I’m not the cover,” I say, my attention still split between her and whatever Whiskey is saying to the reporter. I can’t tell for sure, but I think I heard some talk about Coach Johnson. This season is going to be hard for him.

“But it says here . . .” She flips through a stapled packet until she finds a page with a mockup of the program along with a bulleted list of shots. I lean toward her as she holds it out as proof.

My stomach knots seeing my name so prominent, on top, typed often. It’s not that I mind being used to sell ad space or to promote our program. It’s that I don’t want my teammates to be shafted on credit. And when we’re all so new to playing together, at least withmeat QB, I would really like to start the season with us all on the same pedestal.

“Can we just try some with a few of the guys?” I glance up and meet her anxious expression.

“I mean, I shoot the shots. That’s really all they hired me for.” Cora shrugs, and I think she’s hoping I’ll drop this idea. I’m making more work for her, but if it means our boosters have to throw an extra hundred bucks or two her way, I’m willing to wash cars by myself all weekend to make those photos happen.

“Just a few shots. I’ll get the players together. I’ll handle the pitch to the boosters.” She blinks twice, slowly, but caves.

“Whatever. It’s all the same to me. But I will need to get the ones of just you to make sure I did my job.”

“Deal,” I say, grabbing my helmet and getting into place in front of her backdrop.

We run through a few poses, some with me in my helmet, some with it tucked to my side. I do a few tosses of the ball as well, and we finish with a shot of me holding it out in my palm toward her lens. I’m sure the shots make me look tough. My mom will love them. The guys at the station will too. But I can’t be the cover. That’s the wrong first step. I feel it in my gut.

“Hey, Whisk!” I wave him over before he has a chance to head into the locker room after his interview.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“We want to do a group shot or two. I need to get Jody back. And some of the other guys.” I pull my phone from my pocket and send a message in our group chat.

“I thought the team photo was before practice?” He glances to the photographer, and her shoulder hikes up.

“Yeah, this isn’t that,” I explain.

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