Catching Jordan (9 page)

“Hel , don’t question it,” Mike says, laughing. “Just rol with it. I would.”

“It would be awesome if I went to Alabama—we’d be rivals!”

“Tennessee would total y kick your ass.”

“Sure, keep tel ing yourself that.”

Mike rubs his jaw. “But there’s one thing I don’t think either of us has considered. The coaches of any school you go to are going to use you as a recruitment tool. Alabama wil be showcasing you al the time, and they’l want you to help with advertising.”

“Ugh,” I say. “Like that time
Sports
Illustrated
wanted to do an article on me? Thank God Dad stepped in and said no.”

“Yup,” Mike says. “I don’t think your life wil be so private anymore. Everyone’s going to know everything about you.”

“As long as I can play col ege bal , I don’t care.”

“Cool. Now, on to more important issues—tel me what’s up with Ty. I like him.”

“Me too. I invited him to Dad’s game on Sunday. Are you going?”

“I can if you want me to. Don’t you want some alone time with Ty?” Mike asks, grinning.

“Please come. Please help me act normal. I real y like Ty and want to be his friend, but I keep pushing him away. He sat next to me on the bus tonight and I ignored him most of the time.”

Mike suddenly drops the control er. “He sat next to you on the bus? In the back row? In front of al those guys? Oh sis, he total y wants you bad.”

“What are you talking about?” I say with a sigh.

“I can’t even imagine having the guts to sit with a girl in front of al those guys. Henry and JJ wil kick Ty’s ass if he hurts you. And even if they don’t kick his ass, they’l make fun of him for it in the locker room. Hel , I’d never stop mentioning it,” Mike laughs.

Enough about Ty. “I’m going to bed. Thanks for the help with the coach.”

“No prob. Wait—Jordan,” Mike says, standing and putting a hand on my shoulder. “Give Ty a shot. I don’t want you to go through life never taking a chance on a guy.”

“I don’t know if I can,” I whisper.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know how to kiss or anything like that.”

Mike chuckles. “Sis, if he kisses you, you’l figure out how to kiss back pretty quickly.”

“What if we get together, and then he breaks up with me? That would suck. And then we’d be stuck on a team together.”

“He wouldn’t risk anything if he wasn’t serious. Trust me. I can tel he’s a good guy.”

I nod. “Yeah, I know.”

But is a good guy worth the risk of losing sight of my goals? My dreams?

Watching my favorite brother (okay, my only brother)

Watching my only father cheer for Mike Smiling

Laughing

Shouting

Telling Mom how proud he is Saying no father could have a better son And I’m sitting right there Ready to drown myself in nacho cheese ’Cause all I have is football And the person I want to share it with, more than anything

Hasn’t even asked if I won last night…

the count? 17 days until alabama
In his game, Mike total y kicked the Florida Gators’ asses, 21–10. I screamed so much for my brother that I got hoarse.

Now I’m back at home, sitting in the kitchen, texting with Henry.

I text: How did party go?

Henry texts back: Carter got trashed & made out with freshman from lunch.

WTF! Carter really got drunk? He never drinks. I hope nothing’s wrong.

Yeah, it was crazy. I was counting on him to give me a ride & I ended up lugging him home. He’s a heavy SOB. LOL.

I know. He killed me with that sack on Wed. JJ?

After crazy fight, JJ & Lacey went upstairs to bedroom.

Shocker. Was Carrie there?

Yup.

And?

I hung with Marie again.

Was Ty there?

Kristen spent entire time throwing herself @ Ty When I read that text, I throw up in my mouth. I text Henry back: Does Ty like Kristen?

Don’t think so. Carter, JJ & I will be at su casa in hour 4 fantasy draft K

Mom comes into the kitchen, carrying a bundle of sunflowers, and arranges them in a vase. “What are you doing tonight, Jordan?”

“The guys are coming over. Is that okay?”

Mom nods, pul ing a bottled water from the fridge, and takes a seat.

“Thanks for coming to my game last night, Mom.”

She smiles. “Wouldn’t have missed it. So…tel me about Ty Green. I haven’t seen a high school quarterback like him in years. Maybe ever.”

“I know.”

“He’s better than your brother was at seventeen.”

“Yeah, but we can’t tel Mike that!”

Mom laughs lightly. “Were you upset with Coach Mil er for taking you out?”

“Oh, hel yeah.”

“Is Ty coming over tonight?” Mom asks. Glancing up at me, she starts peeling the label off her bottled water.

“Nah. But I invited him to Dad’s game tomorrow.”

“Ah, wel I can’t wait to meet him. He looks like a cute young man.”

“Yup,” I say before thinking.

“Oh?” Mom’s grinning now. “Do you like him as more than a teammate?”

I shrug.

Mom folds her hands together and lifts them to her chin, and her smile brightens even brighter, like how the sky gets when the sun starts dribbling over the horizon during early morning runs.

Before I embarrass myself even more, and before Mom can start talking about feelings and shit, I dart out of the kitchen and run downstairs.

•••

Later that evening, the guys and I are finishing up our fantasy draft while eating enough Chinese food to feed al of China itself.

Henry lies down on the rug and clutches his stomach. “Remind me not to eat two orders of General Tso’s chicken ever again.”

“Hey, Henry,” I say.

“Yeah?” he replies with a grin.

“Don’t eat two orders of General Tso’s chicken ever again.”

“This egg drop soup is complete crap,” Carter says, kicking the egg snot stuff around with a spoon. “Not enough salt. And the eggs are rancid.”

“When I turn eighteen, I’m getting a tattoo,” JJ announces.

“Of what?” Henry asks.

“I’m thinking of getting a Chinese character, like right above my butt,” he says, pointing at his lower back.

“You
would
get a tramp stamp,” I say, biting into a fortune cookie as Henry and Carter start laughing. “What would it say?”

“I was thinking
thunder
, or
ripple
, you know, something deep like that.”

Henry hoists himself up onto an elbow and leans over to whisper in my ear. “Maybe we could pay the tattoo artist off, and get him to write the Chinese word for
exit
.”

I crack up. “Total y.”

“What are you talking about?” JJ demands.

“We think you should go with
thunder
,” Henry says, biting his lips together.

JJ thinks for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right.
Thunder
, it is.”

“I’l get a tattoo too,” Henry says, flexing his left arm. “Of a hula girl, on my bicep.”

I grin before asking, “What are you gonna get, Carter?”

“Um, maybe, like, flames? What about you, Woods?”

“Maybe the Alabama logo?” I point at my hip bone and say, “Right here?”

Henry coughs into a fist as JJ’s cel rings.

“Yo, how’s my favorite girl?” JJ says, grinning lazily and reclining against the couch as if he’s the Greek god in charge of pleasuring the women of Hundred Oaks High School. Hel , he’s probably waiting on some girls to jump out of the closet and start fanning him with palm leaves while feeding him potato chips. “I’l be there in ten minutes,” JJ continues, standing up.

“Who was that?” Henry asks. “The redheaded chick from the cafeteria?”

“Nah. Lacey wants me to come over.” JJ winks. “She
needs
me.”

Henry laughs. “Have fun, man.”

“Gag me,” I mutter as I start cleaning up trash, picking up used chopsticks and fortune cookie wrappers.

JJ says, “Later,” and runs up the stairs and out the basement door.

Carter stands up and throws a few take-out cartons away. “I’m gonna jet too, Woods. I need to get home before my dad freaks out.”

“Why would he?” I ask, throwing Diet Coke cans into the recycling bin.

Carter shrugs, but he looks sad. “He thinks I’m not getting enough sleep.”

I nod, understanding completely. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in casa de Carter, where protein shakes and stomach crunches start the day, and pushups and being in bed by 10:00 p.m. end it.

Is that why Carter got drunk last night? Did he need a release or something?

“That’s cool,” I say, not wanting to push Carter into talking if he doesn’t want to.

“Are you sure you’re not secretly meeting up with that hot freshman from last night?” Henry says, a smile stretching across his face.

“No,” Carter blurts out. “Shouldn’t have done that…I mean, I’m not even into Stacey.” He seems seriously torn up. “She’s a nice girl.”

“I get it,” Henry says, slapping a hand on Carter’s back. “After practice on Monday, let’s go to the batting cages, okay?”

“Cool,” Carter says, knocking fists with Henry and me before heading upstairs.

So now it’s just me and Henry. I flop down on the couch and grab the remote, ful y expecting him to leave in a few seconds. I’m sure he’s got gobs of nameless chicks waiting for him.

Flipping through the channels, I stop on ESPN as Henry sits down on the sofa cushion next to me. He slumps down and closes his eyes, and even though he was acting normal a couple of minutes ago, I can feel sadness radiating off him like steam rising from hot asphalt in summertime.

“Can I stay over?” Henry asks final y.

“Sure. You’re not going out?” I’m surprised, and glad, when he says he’d rather stay in than go out with the cheerleader du jour. I feel better when I know he’s safe and not out doing anything crazy or reckless, like driving his truck at eighty miles an hour through a mud pit.

“Not tonight.” He looks over at me and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re not going out either?” he asks.

“What could I possibly have to do? JJ and Carter just ditched us. You’re al I have left,” I say, laughing.

“What about Ty?”

I feel myself blushing, my face ripening up like a strawberry. “Eh…I dunno. He’s coming to the game with us tomorrow.”

“Oh real y?” He sighs, picks up the remote, and starts flipping through the channels.

“Henry—what’s up? Please talk to me.”

“Nothing’s up.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Can we go to sleep now? I’m tired.”

I have nothing better to do, so I might as wel get a good night’s sleep. I’ve gotta try to make myself pretty for Ty tomorrow, and if I only get a couple hours of sleep, I’m sure I’l look like a gremlin. So I stand, put out both hands, and pul Henry up from the couch, and we go upstairs to my room. He takes off his shirt and jeans and puts on a pair of my mesh shorts as I change into sweatpants and a T-shirt. In my bathroom, we brush our teeth together, then drop our toothbrushes into the holder.

Just as I head to bed, he picks up the tiny canister of shea butter from the counter and flips the lid off. Takes a whiff of it. “Yum. So that’s why you’ve been smel ing better lately,” he says, his chest fil ing with laughter.

Ripping it out of his hand, I say, “Give me that,” but he snatches it away again. He takes some of the shea butter and slathers it on his hands and arms, smiling and smel ing himself. I rol my eyes and head to bed.

I yank the covers back and crawl in, and Henry lies down next to me, reeking of shea butter. “Ugh. You smel ,” I say. “Turn around. We have to sleep head-to-toe. Mom’s orders.”

“We can’t tonight. I heard a rumor that you have athlete’s foot, and I can’t risk getting it in my nose.”

Laughing, I hit him with a pil ow. “If you don’t behave, you’l have to go sleep in Mike’s room.”

“No!” Henry blurts. He quickly scoots around and moves to the other end of the bed.

“Are you stil scared of Mike’s room?” I say, giggling.

He fal s face first onto the pil ow I just threw at him. In a muffled voice he replies, “No, I’d rather just stay with you.”

“I bet you’re stil scared of his room because of your whale dream.”

“We’re not talking about that spooky whale. That haunted house thing was so fucked up.”

“Dude—it wasn’t a haunted house. It was a church Hal oween bazaar.”

Henry laughs. “Whatever it was, it was fucked up.”

It’s been nine years since Carter invited us to that Hal oween bazaar at his church. Instead of creepy people in Freddy Krueger masks chasing us with chain saws, or people reenacting Blair Witch shit, al the booths were Bible-themed. The church had converted this long dark hal way into a replica of the inside of a whale’s stomach, so people could experience what it was like for Jonah after he was swal owed.

Walking down that almost pitch-black hal way, I felt the wal s and found they had hung plastic bags covered in Jel -O and Spam to simulate whale innards. A soundtrack of whale songs and crashing waves played over a cheap stereo, and pudding-fil ed water bal oons littered the floor. Miniature internal organs?

I thought it was the lamest thing ever.

Henry? Wel , Henry freaked out. He must have some deep fear of whales or something because he clutched my elbow and whimpered.

Whimpered. I didn’t make fun of him—I just covered his hand with mine and pul ed him through the whale’s stomach. Instead of three days, we were in there for about thirty seconds.

Later that night, Henry slept over at our house. He had always stayed in Mike’s room, but in the middle of the night, Henry sneaked into my bed because he’d had a horrible dream he’d been eaten by a whale.

He’s stayed in my room ever since. “You’re definitely stil scared of Mike’s room.”

He looks up from the pil ow and grins. “Please let me stay. I promise I’l behave.”

“Fine,” I say, but as soon as we’re lying down head-to-toe, he shoves his socked feet right in my face.

•••

My alarm clock wakes me up at 9:00 a.m. I move to turn it off and realize that Henry’s arm is draped across my stomach. How did he get turned around in my bed?