Page 28 of Dirty Filthy Boy
"I attended a very small school in the California mountains. The teachers did their best, but did not know what was wrong. They didn't figure it out until I was in high school."
"I don't understand how you did so well in school." I flip through my records. "You graduated with a B average in high school and a B+ in college."
At that he looks up. "I can remember anything I hear. In grade school, my mom read the textbooks to me. In high school, a team of volunteers recorded my lessons. They earned their community volunteer credits that way. To preserve my anonymity the students were not told who they were reading for."
But somehow Marigold found out.
"What about tests?"
His glance darts to the floor again. I wish he'd look up. I'm truly not looking to shame him. "I would fake take the tests, so I wouldn't arouse suspicion. Later, my teachers administered them orally."
"And no one figured it out."
"No." He shakes his head.
"Memorizing all that material, that's quite a hard thing to do."
"I don't forget. I have a perfect aural memory."
"That's amazing. Truly. And you've kept this secret all these years?"
"Yes."
What he's managed to accomplish boggles my mind. School's hard enough when youcanread, but to do it without being able to study the material? I don't know how he did it, but I aim to find out and write his story. I won't do it, though, unless he approves the piece. "Aren't you tired of keeping this secret all these years? Sooner or later, it will leak out. Wouldn't it be better if you revealed it now? I can work with you so you can tell your story the way the way you'd like it to be told."
His head jerks up at that. "Why should I do that?"
"Well, for one thing, someone's bound to discover your secret. And it might come out in a way that would embarrass or hurt you. For another, you can help others like you, Ron. I guarantee you there are kids out there who think themselves failures because they can't read. But it you talk about how you overcame your disability and point to the fact that you're a starting wide receiver for the Chicago Outlaws, you'll give kids hope for the future."
"I don't know."
"How about I write up the article and let you read it?"
At that inane statement, he raises his head and cocks up his left brow.
My face heats up.Stupid much, MacKenna?"Sorry. I'll read it to you. If you don't like what I write, I'll take out anything you want." This is not something I'd normally do. A journalist is supposed to report the truth. But I don't want to do it at his expense. "Deal?" I stick out my hand.
For a long time, he looks at it and then his huge hand engulfs mine. "Deal."
"Great!" I beam him a wide smile. "I'll come by Friday with the article. If that's okay."
"Sure." He nods.
I can see he's not quite convinced. No matter. I intend to write the most brilliant piece I've ever written, one sure to knock his socks off.
* * *
By dawn on Friday, I'm exhausted and bleary-eyed from the hours I've spent writing and polishing Ron's piece. The last thing I need is Ron's okay before I turn it in. So early morning, I call the Outlaws' camp and make an appointment to meet him. They assure me he can squeeze in a few minutes. No sooner do I hang up with the Outlaws PR office than Mar calls. A broken water pipe at her school has given her a rare day off. Am I available for lunch? I jump at the chance to get together. I need to tell her about my one night stand with Ty. Because if I don't, I may very well explode. Since her place is on the way to the football training facility, I offer to pick her up. She can sit in the car while I meet with Ron, and then we can head out to a restaurant where we can talk.
At the Outlaws' camp, I read the article to Ron. It's rock solid journalism if I say so myself. One sure to get a lot of reads. Not only does it cover the football angle, but the human side as well. He clarifies a couple of things I got wrong, and I gladly make the revisions. He may have appeared reluctant on Wednesday, but now he seems pleased with the piece. Maybe it's because he won't have to hide this great big secret anymore.
On my way to my car, I spot Ty on the edge of the field. My heart scrunches at the sight of him. Unlike the first time I met him, he's not wearing his uniform but dressed in a fisherman's sweater and jeans. Why isn't he playing? Did he get hurt in practice? Although I'm aching to know, I can't very well approach him. Doubt he'd give me the time of day after the way I brushed him off. Besides, I don't want him to see me. It would hurt too much. I duck my head into the hood of my coat and tear down the perimeter of the field. I'm so lost in my misery I don't look where I'm going and run dab smack into a hard chest.
Cheeks flushing with heat, I jump back, and my hoodie slides off. "Oh, I'm so sorry."
Two hands grab my arms to steady me. "MacKenna?"
I glance up to find Oliver Lyons staring at me. Cousin to a neighboring family back home, he'd spent a summer at their farm. I'd fallen so hard for the gorgeous college-bound guy, I'd spent hours and hours daydreaming about him.
