Page 14 of Enemy Crush
“It makes life easier,” she was saying matter-of-factly, gesturing to a couple of students in the front. “Let’s just keep to these seating plans.”
If I thought my heart was racing before, it suddenly propelled into manic mode with the thought of sitting next to Quinn for thewhole semester. I turned to Ash, who gave a satisfied nod. I had no issue with him, but Quinn?
I wasn’t sure if my respiratory system would survive.
Chapter 5
QUINN
Iknew that the world was against me when I walked into Health and Nutrition class and found myself sitting next to Miller Trask. Yep, things were getting bizarrely worse by the minute. Bad enough we were neighbors in lockers and real life.
That’s why I was looking forward to soccer practice so much. I’d not have to see him, unless by some twist of fate he was a coaching assistant or played in the boys team. But I was certain I’d never seen the Trask boys kicking around a soccer ball and surely my luck couldn’t be that bad, or could it?
I noticed the looks from the girls in the locker room as I tied my soccer cleats. Not sure if they were judging my makeup (well, I wasn’t going to take it off to train), or my hair (I had pulled it out of its bun into a ponytail) or my blue and black Brizendine Blaze soccer shirt. It could have been a mistake to wear it, but I wanted the coach to know that I was no rookie player.
Coach McLean was tall, lean and athletic, over 40, her short dark hair flecked with gray. Her thin lips tightened when I said I played winger, indicating that the incumbents would likely hold those positions, so I quickly added that I could play midfield too.
The Snow Ridge High Sonics took a more casual approach to training than Brizendine Prep. After the events of the past two days, I should have expected it.
I was used to a disciplined team warm up, everyone working together, but Coach took a less intense approach. As we moved into some drills, it became obvious that ball skills were lacking.Some girls failed to kick a ball around the cones, a few were kicking with the tips of their toes as if they’d never played before.
I made sure I aced the sprints and dribbling drills, eager to impress and be named in the varsity team. Several times Coach McLean praised me which raised my confidence levels, but I also worried—it could be a fine line between showing off your skills and being labeled a show-off. As we changed in the locker room, I was well aware that I was on my own and it was a feeling I didn’t like. I wasn’t looking to make friends but neither did I want to be an outcast. Surely there could be some middle ground.
“See you tomorrow?” I said with a half-hearted wave, choosing to keep on my training gear and only change out of my cleats.
Silence ensued, perhaps because I hadn’t addressed anyone in particular. I looked around the group and a skinny girl with a blonde ponytail who had worn cleats too big for her and could barely kick a ball was the only one who acknowledged me. “Sure,” she said.
“Okay,” I said with a fake cheerfulness, picking up my bags. Even if I hadn’t made friends, I hoped I’d done enough to be seen as a welcome asset to the team.
After practice I walked to Mom’s salon, a distance of about a mile. It should have been easy, but it was cumbersome with a heavy backpack and tote bag. With my throat dry and my water bottle empty, I stopped at a cafe and ordered a frappe to go. Now, walking was more awkward as I struggled to drink from my cup, the tote bag sinking lower on my shoulder. By the time I got to the salon, I was a hot mess with an aching back. I regretted not leaving some of my books in my locker.
The salon was busy with several clients, and I got a cursory nod and a frown from Mom as if she disapproved of me traipsing through the salon in my soccer gear. I sat in the small staffroomand immediately checked my phone. Celeste was the Brizendine Blaze’s captain and star striker, so she’d be dying to know how practice had gone.
But there was no reply to the messages I’d sent before school and in fifth period. I checked the Brizendine school page, seeing photos of the senior year doing various activities, a high ropes course, kayaking and most recently seated around a dining table. My chest ached at all I was missing out on. I enlarged each photo, seeking out Celeste and Naomi, analyzing every little feature about them. Wow, it sucked to be me. My friends were having the best time with the best bunch of people and I was sitting alone in my Mom’s salon.
Close to two hours later, Mom finally closed the salon and immediately kicked off her heels and slipped on a pair of flats. The other staff had left already and I’d made good progress on my homework. Still no text from Celeste but Naomi’s brief message gave me a little hope:So busy here, will catch up in the weekend!
I was given the broom and asked to sweep up, while Mom tallied the register.
“Huh? Don’t you have an assistant for that?”
“You’re my assistant,” Mom said briskly, like she actually meant it. “Just do it, Quinn. Please.”
Sweeping up other people’s hair was kind of gross but Mom’s face was in its resting state of hostility. A smile or show of friendliness was for clients only.
I waited for Mom to ask about soccer trials but when she didn’t, I volunteered a rundown on Coach and the potential players.
“Not now,” Mom stopped me. “I’ve got a splitting headache.”
I glanced across at her, tapping away on her calculator and sighing constantly, noticing how weary she looked. “Have youeaten today?” I asked. “Do you want me to order some food? Sushi or...?”
“No,” Mom scolded. “We’re not ordering food, Quinn. Just get me a glass of water please.”
I offered to drive home but Mom said no. I asked if we should stop for takeout and she practically exploded.
“We have food at home. We’re not wasting money on takeout. I just want to get home and soak in a warm bath.”
I waited for the tension in the air to dissipate which meant we were approaching Ambrose Lane before I had the courage to speak. “I don’t understand why you’re working such long hours,” I said, trying to sound calm.
