Page 22 of Enemy Crush
Sadie’s watery eyes blinked behind her Harry Potter style glasses, and we hurried out together.
As we ran a lap for the warmup, I queried my life choices. Why had I reached out to Sadie when I should be a lone wolf? I was supposed to erect walls as high as a penitentiary and stay firmly behind them. Reject all people—and dogs—and exist in my own prison cell. Serve out my one year sentence. For Mom’s sake, I couldn’t risk spilling our family’s secret.
After a somewhat unchallenging session, Coach McLean said that team lists would be announced tomorrow and I walked with Sadie back to the locker room. I didn’t really have anything to say to her, but hoped my action showed her a little support. Livvy and Tori smirked in our direction, but I held some quietsatisfaction knowing I’d beaten Livvy in the sprints and out dribbled Tori.
I stopped at the cafe on my walk into town, ordering a caramel frappe, but having enough sense to drink it before I got to the salon in case Mom went ballistic about spending money. On her request, I entered the salon by the back entrance. Apparently sweaty soccer clothes weren’t a good look for the business.
I finished my homework and watched an episode of a reality show that everyone was talking about online, and still Mom wasn’t done. It seemed like I was wasting so much time. I missed my car so much.
“Hey Mom,” I said, coming into the salon. “Could I use your car?”
I hadn’t thought I’d been banished to the staffroom, but in the mirror, Mom’s eyes widened at my appearance, making me think otherwise.
Before she could say anything, her client, Mrs. Masters, piped up. “Oh, your daughter’s here?”
Mom flustered. “Yes, uh, Quinn. Excuse her, she’s been at soccer practice.” Her brow furrowed slightly, but her irritation was immense.
“I heard she’s no longer at Brizendine?” The Mayoress managed a gentle tone, yet was clearly probing.
Mom cleared her throat, maybe buying a moment of time. “Uh, yes, that’s right. We decided that...well...with the divorce,”—she paused and took a wavering breath—“I wanted to have Quinn...close.”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Masters soothed. “I can imagine it’s been a rough few months for you, Annabelle.”
Mom pressed her lips tightly and her pained expression was just enough to evoke Mrs. Masters’ eyes into mistiness. In unity, I matched her with my own pitiful gaze.
“We’re getting there,” Mom croaked with emotion, her fingers expertly pulling at curls framing Mrs. Masters’ face. “Being able to work here is my salvation, so helpful to healing.”
“I know you’ll come through this.” Mrs. Masters smiled kindly. “And it’s fabulous for me that you’re back doing hair. But we do miss you at the Country Club, darling.”
Mom lowered her head and her eyelashes fluttered like a tragic heroine in a moment of pure heartrending theater. I almost thought Mrs. Masters was going to cry real tears.
“Have you been talking to Chase Masters?” Mom asked later as we headed home.
“No, I don’t even know him,” I said, though of course I knew who he was. In the few days I’d been at Snow Ridge High, I’d come to learn who was popular and who wasn’t. Chase definitely hung with the popular kids. “Why? Is it forbidden?”
“It’s not forbidden,” Mom said, “but I need you to be mindful of what you say and who you say it to.”
“I’ve followed your script to a tee,” I mumbled.
“I’m just saying that there are a lot of gossips out there,” Mom said, “and if word gets out, I’d rather have Aileen Masters on my side.”
“Well, her hair’s never looked better,” I joked, trying to lighten the moment.
But Mom wasn’t amused, suddenly asking, “How did your soccer tryouts go?”
I shrugged. “I guess I have to wait and see tomorrow. If I make the team, there’s a parents meeting at 6:45 and an all day training session on Saturday.”
“I won’t be able to make the meeting,” Mom said. “How likely are you to make the team?”
I frowned, disappointed that she genuinely had no idea whether I was any good at soccer, that she’d forgotten that we’d won district and state titles in our division. Attendanceat my games had never been a priority. She always had more important things to do, always busy—and those were the days when she hadn’t worked. There were committees and fundraisers, Country Club lunches, book clubs and golf.
“But I think it’s mandatory for all parents,” I said.
“Well, you haven’t made the team yet, have you?” she fired back at me with an aggression that inferred I wouldn’t.
I had no response and a seed of doubt sprouted in my mind. Coach McLean already had two wingers, (one I learned was her daughter, Emma) and she hadn’t played me in that position today. She’d put me in the back with the defenders.
“Also, I’m going to need you to mow the lawns this weekend,” Mom said.
