More than Friends - Monica Murphy (31 page)

But as I draw closer to the field and see the boys out there, I can’t help but think of Tuttle. And how he cut me off.

And how mad that makes me.

Kyla spots me approaching and waves me over. She shows me the elaborate hydration station with all the brisk efficiency of someone who’s been at this for a long time. She is in her element here on the sidelines. The boys all treat her like she’s their little sister or adopted mascot.

She takes it all in stride, laughing and teasing, sometimes flirting, though not too much. She’s very professional. I can’t help but envy how easy she makes everything seem. Working with the boys, organizing the water, jumping to it when Coach Halsey screams her name. There’s never a hair out of place, her placid expression proving she’s unflappable. I wish I were that confident.

The coaches are running the boys through endless drills, though I don’t really pay attention. I’m too busy working the hydration station, trying to figure it out as I fill one empty water bottle after another. Kyla’s taking care of an injured player and most of the JV team is milling around the hydration station, including one Eli Bennett, Ryan’s younger brother.

“I know you,” he says, pointing his index finger right at me.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to point?” One of the other guys slaps Eli’s hand down and a few of them chuckle.

Eli glares at the kid before resuming his examination of me. “You’ve been at my house.”

Oh man. I so do not want to go down this road. “Want some water?” I offer him a water bottle.

“Nah.” He shakes his head, his sweaty hair flying, then spits on the ground. Gross. “What’s your name?”

“She’s a senior, Bennett,” another one of his teammates yells at him. “Save it for a girl who’ll really go for you.”

“Maybe I like older women.” He directs a dazzling smile straight at me, and I can’t lie—the boy is gorgeous, just like his brother. He has the same golden brown hair and the strong jaw, though his eyes are more of a hazel color versus green like Ryan’s. He’s the JV team’s quarterback, and while he’s not extraordinarily tall, Eli is lean and muscled. He can throw the perfect spiral and he’s led the team in a big way this season.

And what? Now he’s showing interest in…me? This has to be a joke.

“You were with Tuttle,” Eli says as he saunters toward me. “At my house, for Ryan’s party. You were sitting on the bus together Friday night. You two a thing, or what?”

I want to say
or what
so bad, but I keep my mouth shut. I shrug instead. I don’t want to say we’re something when we’re not. And I don’t want to say we’re nothing when we could be.

Meaning, I’m a confused mess and I don’t know how to answer Eli’s question.

“If she’s with Tuttle, you need to leave her alone, bro. Remember what he said?” The other guy leans over and whispers in Eli’s ear, resulting in the both of them cracking up.

Remember what
he
said? What did Tuttle say? About
me?

“Leave her the fuck alone, Bennett.” The growly voice is none other than Jordan Tuttle himself. I should’ve known he’d show up in my time of supposed need. I don’t bother looking at him because damn it, I’m still pissed. And I don’t want him always running to my defense.

“I’ve got this,” I say, smiling sweetly at Eli. He gives me a questioning look in return, and I take a few steps toward him, trying to get my flirt on. “I’m with no one,” I tell Eli. “And while freshmen usually do nothing for me, I might take
you
under consideration.”

All the guys start making noise, even Eli, who’s laughing and getting plenty of slaps on the back. The only one who’s quiet is Jordan. I can feel the anger rising off of him, like a living, breathing thing. But I still won’t look at him. I just flash Eli a giant smile before I resume my hydration station duties.

The JV boys run back onto the field, yet Jordan remains. Kyla is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of us, and I know I’m going to have to face him sometime. Slowly I turn to look at him, and the hurt I see in his gaze takes me aback.

“You’re really interested in Eli?” He sounds incredulous.

I sigh. Guess I’m not any good at this making Jordan jealous thing. “No. I was just…playing around.”

“With that kid? He’s a total punk.” He stares out at the field. “Damn good player, though.”

“Kinda like you?”

He faces me once more. “I’m not a punk.”

I muffle a laugh. “Please.”

“I think I’ve grown out of that stage.”

“Explain to me then the radio silence these last few days.” I cross my arms, waiting for his answer.

Jordan blows out a harsh breath and squints into the sun. Of course he looks amazing when he should really look ridiculous. He’s wearing this dark blue cotton Nike headband that girls normally wear, keeping his hair out of his face. He’s got his navy blue practice jersey on, and white uniform pants that mold to every part of him. He’s a little dirty and a little sweaty and a whole lot sexy.

I could slap myself right now for thinking this way.

“I’ve had some shit go down. With my parents,” he finally says, still not looking at me. “College crap. Life crap. You don’t want to hear it.”

His words are like a slap in the face. “You don’t know what I want,” I snap. His surprised gaze meets mine. “I told you I would be there for you if you want to talk, or even if you don’t want to talk. Whatever. I
will
be there for you, Jordan. You just have to trust me.” I pause. “Maybe that’s the problem. You don’t trust me.”

He stares at me, his mouth opening and closing a few times, like he’s trying to find the right words to say. But he says nothing. Just looks at me one last time…

And then he walks away.

M
y new norm is Tuttle and I not really talking to each other, unless it has to deal with school. Our group project for honors English has been reduced to us working on it on our own. I tend to write the best diary entries late at night, when I’m tired and sad and missing him. I let the emotion flow from my fingertips onto the page, curled up in bed with my laptop. We don’t even send them to each other anymore. Instead, we email them separately to Mrs. Meyer. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t ask us what’s going on.

I’m thankful she leaves us alone.

I went with Livvy to Planned Parenthood. She did a pregnancy test—negative. Got an exam, got on the pill, and now she and Ryan are, and I quote, “boinking like bunnies.”

At least someone is getting laid.

I had an exam too. Got a prescription for birth control and went and filled it. I’ve been dutifully taking the pills for over two weeks, which means I’m fully covered.

I’m also still a virgin, so…that was pointless.

I’ve been working a lot, both at Yo Town and the hydration station. School is kicking my butt. So is work—Mom always drives me and sometimes Livvy takes me or picks me up. Being at the football games with Tuttle so close, yet so distant, is killing me.

Oh yeah. I’m back to calling him Tuttle again. I don’t want to call him Jordan. Feels too intimate, and we’re not on that level anymore. I don’t think we’ll ever be there again.

Late at night, when I’m alone in my bed and I can’t sleep, I think about what happened. Wonder endlessly where exactly it went wrong—where
I
went wrong. Did I do something? Say something stupid? Irritate him beyond belief and now he can never forgive me?

I don’t know.

And it’s slowly killing me.

That last night we were together was…life-changing. He’d shared a side of himself I’d never witnessed before, and I wanted to know more. See more. Experience more. But he cut me off. Denied. That’s what it felt like. He took a stamp and punched it on my forehead.

DENIED.

At least Lauren Mancini isn’t flaunting their so-called relationship, because they don’t have one. She’s given up, moved on to someone else, I have no idea who. Em has been hanging around Lauren lately, along with Brianne Brown, who is still with Dustin. Now there’s a weird triangle, though I say nothing. Em and I talk a little bit, but it’s all surface. I think she’s mad at me over the entire Livvy thing, even though I’m not the one who said all that mean stuff.

Yet I feel like I’ve let everyone down.

It’s almost Halloween and the yearbook staff has put together a fundraiser so we can help lower the cost of our yearbooks, which is outrageous. I haven’t been able to participate much in the planning, but I am taking part in the weekend festivities. We’re hosting a haunted house at the fall carnival this Saturday at school and I’m one of the designated haunters, along with Livvy. She bought a ton of makeup at the Spirit Halloween Store and we found our costumes there too, which luckily weren’t too expensive.

She’s come over to my house tonight—Ryan dropped her off—and we’re practicing our makeup and costumes. It’s Thursday and we knew we couldn’t get together tomorrow. I have hydration duty and she has girlfriend in the stands duty, since the boys are playing a home game.

Another torturous night spending time with Tuttle so he can ignore me tomorrow—I can’t freaking wait.

“How should I do my hair?” I stare at myself in the mirror, frowning. We’re in the middle of my room sitting on the floor, and I have my own light up mirror while Livvy brought hers. They’re both double-sided and I’m looking at myself five times closer, which is sort of freaky. I can see every flaw, every tiny zit and scar and a weird hair growing out of my forehead that’s nowhere near my hairline. I need to pluck that thing like yesterday.

“Long and flowing and straight, parted right down the middle. Like Elvira,” Livvy answers me as she lines her eyes repeatedly with black kohl eyeliner. If she keeps that up, I won’t be able to see her eyes at all.

“Who’s Elvira?”

Liv sends me an exasperated look. “Google her.”

I grab my phone and do as she says. Immediately I find Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, who does
not
part her hair in the middle. She has bangs and a big poufy bouffant thing on the back of her head that looks crazy, along with the biggest boobs
ever.

“I look nothing like Elvira.” I thrust my phone out toward Liv, showing her the photo. “Look at her hair! And her giant boobs!”

Livvy starts giggling, and soon both of us are laughing, sprawled out on my floor, makeup surrounding us, our mirrors between our knees. I finally sit up and wipe the tears from beneath my eyes, thankful I still have Livvy when I’ve felt so down and out these past few weeks. She’s been a good friend. Has even ditched Ryan a few times so she could hang with me.

That meant a lot.

“Let me work on you,” she says, staring at my very blank, makeup-less face. “I can make your skin really pale and your eyes super dark, then give you blood red lips.”

“Should I wear fangs?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Let’s keep it simple. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be a witch?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be. I don’t think anyone really cares.” I glance over at my costume, which is hanging from the open door of my tiny-yet-still –a-walk-in closet. It’s black and long with flowing sleeves and an equally flowing skirt. The edges are jagged and the neckline dips to a low V, meaning I’ll have lots of skin on display but no cleavage since…you know. I don’t have any.

But whatever. I’m going full on in character this Saturday night, and I’m excited. This is the first time I’ve been excited about anything in a while. Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. I’m helping decorate the haunted house—aka the cafeteria—on Saturday morning before I go to my four-hour shift at Yo Town, which ends at three. Then I’ll come right back to the school, get into costume, have Livvy do my face, and we’ll be ready to scare by the time the carnival starts at five o’clock.

Livvy grabs my mirror and pushes it away, then sets in on creating my mask. She slathers on a blend of regular foundation mixed with white face paint, then works on my eyes. She slicks so many layers of mascara on my lashes I eventually ask her why I don’t just wear fake eyelashes, but she tells me to shush.

So I let the artist work her magic commentary-free.

When she’s finally done, she hands me the mirror and I blink at my reflection, stunned. She did an amazing job. My eyes are dark and scary. My skin is so pale I look like a ghost. My lips are an arresting shade of red, and she even drew faint, thin black lines coming from the corners of my mouth.