So Not Happening (13 page)

“What?” She chokes on her water. “Why?”

I kick her under the table. “Because we want to support the team.”
Andyour cause, Lindy.
Not to mention, it will give me a chance to watch the football players and see if I can learn anything more about the conversation I overheard. See if I recognize any voices.

“Um, yeah. Watching practice would be . . . fun.”

“You girls—anything to watch some sweaty guys, eh?” Matt laughs.

“Well, maybe for me.”
Forgive me, Hunter.
“But I think Lindy here has already got her eye set on somebody.” I nudge her with my elbow.

“You do?” Matt frowns. “You like somebody and didn't tell me?”

“Uh . . . u h . . .”

“A girl has to keep some of her secrets, right?” My fake smile is bigger than the Oklahoma panhandle. Lindy only stares and nods.

“So Lindy and I thought we saw you at church last Sunday.”

My mind reviews last Sunday. I didn't really notice anyone. Well, except the creepy bald guy in front of us. “Really? So you guys go to the Church of the Holy High School?” As soon as it's out of my mouth, I want to stuff it back in.

But Matt only laughs. “Yeah, nothing like coming to school six days a week. We should be in our new building sometime next year.”

“Is that where your family is going to go to church?” Lindy offers me a fry, and I take it.

“Actually, my stepdad and his kids are from here. Just my mom and I are from New York. Do you know Budge Finley? He's my stepbrother.”

“Oh.” Matt and Lindy bob their heads. “He's like a computer genius, isn't he?”

Um, he's like a social moron.

“Yeah,” Lindy says. “He's on the student team of techies. It's pretty elite—students are trained to fix the school computers and stuff”

“Bella-”

I'm mid-bite as Luke approaches our table. I swipe my hand across my mouth and come back with a mustard-coated finger. Great. Mouth full. Yellow mustache. “Hmmm?” Chew, chew. Swallow.

“I forgot to mention that I'll need you to resume your research today.”

“What?” Pieces of sandwich shoot out of my mouth. He motions me over to a nearby wall, out of earshot.

“I am not climbing in that Dumpster again.”

“Of course you're not.”

That's what I'm talking about. He needs to recognize I have my limits.

“You'll be in the one on the opposite end of campus. Near the gym.”

“No! I'm busy. And I think I can still smell myself from yesterday.” Even though I spent half the night in the shower to degunkify.

“How are you going to write an article on the contents of school trash if you don't
look
at the school trash?”

Jesus, I'd like to ask for a little restraint. Because I'm about to tell
him I think I might
be
looking at school trash
right now.

“Look, I said I would do the article, and I will. But your hounding me at my every step isn't helping.”

“I have college recruiters watching our paper. Ivy League.”

“Yeah, I think you've mentioned that.”

“So get serious about the paper or get lost.” He does a perfect heel spin and walks away.

“Wait—“ I catch up as he exits the cafeteria. “I need more notice, okay? Believe it or not, there's more to my life than garbage watching. I have to be somewhere after school. I'll do it tomorrow.” He looks skeptical. “Seriously.”

He exhales loudly and I smell his cinnamon gum. “Is there anything you take seriously, Bella?”

I inch closer to him, closing the distance. “Your lack of faith in me is so encouraging. Tell me, Luke, is this how you treat the rest of the newspaper staff? Is this how you boost morale—by constantly letting them know how little you think of their abilities?” I am so channeling Oprah right now.

His eyes darken. “I won't let my paper go down the toilet just because some prissy socialite got stuck in the class. I care too much about my staff and the integrity of the paper.”

Have I ever noticed he's like a cross between a preppy Jake Gyllenhaal and that Superman guy from TV?
Wait, did he just say
“prissy socialite”?

“Even though I think this assignment is a total scam to get me to bail, I will dive into every Dumpster in the county if I have to. You're not getting rid of me, so get used to it.” Plus I don't want to take that class where you have to take home a computerized baby. I need my beauty sleep, thank you very much.

“You want my faith, Kirkwood, you gotta earn it.” And Mr. Dismissive marches down the hall, out of sight. Hunter could so give him some lessons in manners.

After school, I walk across the street with Lindy to the football field. The boys are already in their practice uniforms and in motion. I have no idea how this game of football works, but apparently it involves lots of sweating, grunting, and drinking water like thirsty dogs.

It's kind of hot.

“Lindy, you have to show interest in what Matt does—like his sports.” We take a seat midway up on the metal bleachers. “When's the last time you watched him practice?”

“Never. In a few weeks I'll be at practice myself, so that's not really an option.”

“Do you go to the games?”

“I'm the water girl.”

“Oh.” I guess she couldn't get any closer to him on the field if she were a cheerleader. The hot Oklahoma sun beats down on my head, and I swat my limp bangs away. “Hey, I was thinking . . . I'm getting away this weekend to Manhattan... Would you want to go?” Nerves spike my stomach. “You don't have to. I totally understand if you'd rather not. You don't know me
that
well and all, and I haven't really—”

“Are you serious?”

I see nothing but excitement in her face. “Yeah, totally. We could get our hair done. Shop. I could show you the sights.”

Lindy is speechless for a few seconds. “I would love to. It might take some work talking my dad into it.”

“Perfect.” I smile. Maybe I'm really making a friend here. “So . .. I was wondering what you could tell me about Truman High. You know, any gossip? Any stories? Any scandals I should know about?” Like something to do with the football team last year?

Lindy swats a bug off her Nike t-shirt. “Can't think of anything.”

This is getting me nowhere.

“How did the football team do last year?” I watch Matt throw the football to Jared Campbell.

“We went to the state play-offs. That hadn't happened in a long time. Truman used to be known throughout Oklahoma for our football team. So last year we finally made it to state. We played our archrival, River Bend. The game went into double overtime, but we lost in the last minute.”

“What happened?”

“Reggie Lee, our kicker, missed.”

As in
the
Reggie? The one the guys at the Dumpster were talking about?

“Between that and some other stuff that happened last year, he's never quite been the same.” She points across the field to one of the padded players. “He's a senior this year. He's got recruiters watching him.”

Apparently everyone does.

“What do you mean he never got over it? It's just a game.”

The head coach blows his whistle and calls for a water break. “That's Coach Lambourn. His son, Coach Dallas, is an assistant.” Lindy then does her best to explain the basics of football. The girl is a walking Wikipedia of the sport. About ten seconds into it, my eyes are glazing over and my attention goes elsewhere.

I spy a lone football player heading toward the field house. Reggie Lee.

I interrupt Lindy. “Where's he going?”

“I don't know. Probably to use the bathroom in the locker room.” A couple other football players head in his direction.

“I need to grab something out of my car. I'll be right back.”

And I make my way down the bleachers, my flats proving to be a good choice today.

I walk toward my Bug, then keep going, following Reggie and the other players at a distance. I have no idea why. I'm kind of new to this investigative reporting stuff, so it's not like I know what I'm doing.

They pass by the field house entry and keep going, walking around to the back of the building.

I stop at the corner and dare a quick peek around.

The tree-sized guy on the left punches Reggie in the shoulder. “Your allegiance is with the team. Are you in or not?”

Reggie bows up. “Back off, man.”

“Don't make this hard for us,” the other player says.

“Hard for—“ Reggie spits on the ground. “You have no idea what it's like to be me—to live with this.”

“Can I help you?”

I jerk my head back and flatten myself to the wall. “Um ...” It's one of the coaches. I read his shirt. Dallas Lambourn. Guy looks young enough to be in high school himself.

Coach Dallas lifts a brow and waits.

“I was just trying to find a bathroom.” That's somewhat true. A girl can always use a bathroom.

“Really? Because it looks like you were following my boys here.” He gestures behind me, and slowly I turn around.

There stands Reggie Lee and his two teammates. They don't look happy. In fact, I think they have their tackle faces on.

“I'm new here.” I smile prettily. “I'm a friend of Lindy Miller's. We're just watching practice. I come from an all-girls school, see, and Lindy was teaching me all about football.”
Am I still talking?
Why can't I shut up? Stop talking!

“I don't like anything to distract the team from their practice. Do you understand, Miss—?”

“Yes, I understand completely,” I blather, not bothering to fill in the blank with my last name for the good coach. “I'm sorry, I just got a little lost. But hey, Coach, your team looks great.” My eyes widen. “Er, not necessarily these three. I didn't mean they're hot and I'm stalking them or anything.” One behind me growls. “Not that you're not hot. No, totally fine and all that. Well, the pants might be a little too tight, but I meant the whole team”—I make a swooping gesture toward the field—“looks very professional . . . and, um . . . “ I back up slowly. “I'm just going to take my seat with Lindy now. We should actually be going, now that I think about it.” I continue retreating. “Good-bye.” I wiggle my fingers at Reggie Lee. “Good work.” I toss a wave to boy number two. “Go team!” to guy three.

And I speed-walk back to the bleachers. I barely contain a sigh as I resume my seat beside Lindy, who keeps an eye on Matt below.

She tears her focus away from him. “Did you get what you needed?”

I glance back to the field house where Coach Dallas still stands with his players, all eyes on me.

“I'm not sure.”

chapter seventeen

I
peel Lindy's fingers from my arm as the plane starts its descent. It took Mom and I going over to Lindy's to meet her dad to convince him to allow her to go to New York with me. It's just Lindy and her dad, so he's pretty protective.

“This is only my second flight in my life. Can you believe it?”

I pat her shoulder. “You're doing fine.” Oh my gosh. Her fingernails are embedded in my arm. “Not much longer now.” My heart does a little somersault at the thought that I will be on home turf in less than thirty minutes. Unless Lindy leaks all the blood from my veins.

“I can't wait to meet your dad,” Lindy says, her eyes clutched tightly shut. She's had her eyes closed the entire flight. Even when she went to the bathroom—she just felt her way there. Ran into one drink cart and an old lady. “I think I've seen him on
E!,
right?”

“Yeah, he's a guest commentator on
E!
News. Whenever they think a star has had plastic surgery, they call him for his opinion.” Though Dad never really rats anyone out.

“Are you excited to see your boyfriend?”

I lean my head into the seat. “Yeah. It's hard to do this long distance thing.” So hard we haven't talked since Monday. “We're both so busy.” Hunter with school and sports. And me with . . . um, sitting in Dumpsters and spying on football players.

When the plane touches down, the weight on my shoulders lightens. I'm home. Hello, New York City!

We weave through LaGuardia Airport—as well as you can weave when you have to pull a transfixed Lindy behind you the whole way.

“This airport is so big they have two Chili's!”

“Come on.” I pull her around the corner.

And there among the crowd stands my dad. Like I'm seeing him with new eyes, I take a moment to compare him to Jake. Dad is a good six inches shorter—not quite six foot. He wears clothes tailored for his body, unlike my stepdad, who wears whatever flannel shirt he pulls out of the closet. Dad's jeans look worn and faded, yet I know they were hand-picked by a stylist. And Jake's are also worn and faded. From the barn. And hanging out with cows. And feminine products.

“Bella!” Dad throws his arms out wide, and I run into his waiting embrace. He twirls me around in the middle of the airport. “I've missed my girl.”

“Missed you too.” I inhale his scent, a mix of cologne and shampoo, and smile. Why do things ever have to change?

“Who've we got here?” He sets me down and I introduce Lindy.

“I'm honored to meet you. I've seen you on TV.” She stands in awe, like Dad is Brad Pitt or something.

“Why don't we get your bags and go get something to eat?” He throws an arm around both of us.