Page 19 of The Game Plan

“Then fucking act like it,” Wendy snipes.

Nobody talks to me at dinner. It’s like they’ve decided I’m persona non grata, too, so I’m shunned by both my sisters and my teammates in the same day. Okay, maybe the thing with the team wasn’t on me. They were content to pretend like nothing was wrong; I was the one who refused to sweep their poor treatment of Miles under the rug.

Normally, Tamar and I walk home together and gossip about who said what and who wore what. Tonight I walk home alone. She doesn’t even wait for me—she just leaves. My roommates are hanging out in the living room, watching HGTV. I don’t join them. I would rather be on my own.

In my room, I pull out my phone and sigh. Devoid of messages, as per usual. My brother’s busy with his life, and anyway, we’re not that close. My parents are busy with work. I miss them, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a little easier to deal with them from a distance. They won’t be able to make it for Parents’ Weekend next month, though they try to come out for a long weekend in the spring when we’re playing games.

My finger hovers over the button for Miles’ contact. I want to call him. I want to hear his voice. I don’t know why exactly I want it so badly. It’s this inexplicable need bubbling up inside of me. He’ll make everything better. He’ll make me feel better. I don’t know how I know that. I just do.

But we’re not that type of friends. We’re not friends, period. Two meals together doesn’t create a strong and solid friendship out of nowhere. It will take time to develop. Maybe after another couple tutoring sessions, I can broach the idea of us hanging out sans books sometime. He has to do something with his other than play football and study plays and work out.

That half-smile drifts into my mind again. I roll over and scream into a pillow. It helps a little bit.

Everything is wrong. I feel off-balance, off-kilter. My whole world has tilted sharply to the left and I’m not sure how to get it back to normal. If I even want it to go back to normal.

Chapter eight

Miles

Samisalreadyinclass by the time I arrive. Instead of sitting in the back of the room like she usually does, she’s right up front, in the chair directly next to the fat guy desk. There’s another bottle of purple Gatorade on my desk.

“Hey,” she says, giving me a mega-watt smile. My heart skips a beat.

“You don’t have to keep bribing me. I already said I’d study with you.”

Her cheeks go a bit pink, but she meets my eye and doesn’t flinch at the unintended harshness in my voice. “I know. I wanted to.”

“Thank you.” I twist off the top of the bottle and take a sip, letting the artificial grape flavor dance over my tongue. “Purple is my favorite flavor.”

She grins. She doesn’t try to fight me, try to tell me a color isn’t a flavor. Today she’s wearing another pair of leggings and an oversized sherpa jacket over a Newton shirt.

“You ready for this?” I ask, nodding to the board at the front of the room. The professor is organizing his notes, shuffling papers around.

“Never. But it’s going to happen whether I’m ready or not.”

Almost against my will, a smile pops out. She’s pragmatic and I like that.

“How was your weight lifting session?” she asks.

I grunt. “Good. Hit a new PR.”

My entire body aches, a bone weary exhaustion that comes with heavy weightlifting. At the same time, I feel impossibly energized. I wonder if this is why people do drugs. The natural endorphin high is amazing; I can only imagine how good artificially created endorphins would feel. I want to feel like this all the time.

She beams at me. “That’s fantastic!”

A warm glowing feeling spreads deep in my chest. I scratch idly at my clavicle. Nope, it’s not going away. Shit. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all.

I like her. I really don’t want to like her, but I do. Every time she smiles at me, my stupid traitorous heart skips a beat. My blood rushes in my ears and my pulse goes thready. I hate this. I don’t want to like her. I’m only setting myself up for disappointment. There’s no way she would ever feel the same about me. Nobody has ever has before.

“Thanks.”

There are people whispering about us. It’s a small class, only about fifty students. They’re all watching us. Watching me. The big guy who couldn’t possibly ever be normal.

I just want to be normal, to disappear into the shadows. Instead I stick out like a sore thumb.

I duck my head and pull out my notebook. Sam says something. I don’t hear her over the sound of the blood rushing in my ears.

She seems to get the hint that I don’t want to chat. She turns to her own notebook, drumming her pen against the spiral as she waits for Professor Cassidy to start the lecture. I can smell the cherry vanilla of her perfume, fresh and comforting.

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