Page 8 of Call the Shots
I sank to the ground and wrapped my arms around my knees, hugging myself as tight as I could. Nobody knew how bad everything was, and the thought of breaking open that Pandora’s box made me squeeze myself tighter.
Burying my head, I sobbed.
I didn’t recognize myself anymore.
The June before, homecoming queen, highlighted planner, preppy football girl with a clear face and two sizes smaller, would’ve never fallen this far and smashed to pieces. I would’ve given anything to bethatJune again.
I needed my house back. I needed my old life back.
The tears eased, and I brushed the last of them away. What I needed was a chance.
And I knew who to go to.
The training center was buzzing with activity, everyone either preparing for summer training or their trips outside of Houston. I fixed my makeup in the bathroom, trying my best to smile, like my insides weren’t crumbling to dust. Upstairs, I found the familiar War Room where Cleo Bennight, a no-nonsense redhead who always had her bluetooth headset in her ear, turned fires to fireworks.
“Cleo?” I called, my voice shaky.
She was packing everything into boxes, which was…weird? Cleo just graduated and was promoted from head intern to PR director. Why would they take her office away?
“June?” She picked up a tape runner. “What is it?”
Swearing her to secrecy, I told her all of the sticky, terrible details no one else knew. Every time a tear fell, I quickly wiped it away. I didn’t want to cry, I wanted a solution.
Cleo’s frown deepened until she had her head in her hands.
“June. Why didn’t you come to memonthsago?”
“I thought I could handle it.” The lump in my throat wouldn’t go down. It hurt to swallow. “I need my house. I’ll do anything for the Romans.”
She checked something on her phone and sighed. “Athletics only has so much influence. A signed lease, tied with the housing department? That’s outside of our jurisdiction. We can’t touch that.”
I sank into the only chair left. “There has to be something I can do.Anything.”
“Get your grades up. Apologize. Reapply to the housing department in the fall.”
“I have summer classes. I don’t know where I’m going to stay.”
“You could always…”
Her question trailed off where I didn’t want to go. I worked hard on campus to prove myself as a dedicated, imperative cog in the machine. I didn’t only want to be June Basil, daughter of Freddie Basil, one of the loudest city council members.
Besides, I couldn’t imagine howthatconversation would go. My family had no idea I ruined my life.
Going to them, homeless, was unthinkable.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
Cleo kneeled next to me. “June, I can’t get your house back, but Icanget you a place on campus.”
“Summer housing closed the?—”
“Not through the housing department.”
“Oh.” I knew where this was going. “What am I doing for the Romans?”
“Not football. They’re transferring me.”
“What?” I stared in shock. Cleo Bennight was engaged to a wide receiver on the Texan Hounds. She spent her entire college career dedicated to the program. The only time I ever saw her without her usual professional blouse and pencil skirt combination was when she donned her fiancé’s jersey. “You’re leaving football?”
