Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter
thirty-five
I GOT TO SCHOOL EARLY Monday morning because I had a mess to clean up.
The athletics office was on the back side of the front office, but when I tugged on the handle to let myself in, it was locked. I knocked on the door.
The volleyball coach, Ms.Linus, came to greet me. “Hi, did you have paperwork you need to turn in or something?”
“No, I’m looking for Coach Wallis or Coach O.”
“They’re probably in their office.”
“They said they were going to post a list of who made the team here.” I scanned the door and window to the right to make sure I hadn’t missed it. They were full of flyers announcing fundraisers and game schedules and tryouts. No list of who made the footballteam.
“They must not have done that yet. Try their office.”
“The one in the boys’ locker room?” That was the only one I knew of.
“Or just wait here.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I didn’t want to wait here. I needed to catch them before they posted the list, not after. So I went to the locker room. School didn’t start for another thirty minutes, and the rows of lockers I passed as I walked through it were free from people. I was grateful for that. The offices were at the far back, and I kept my focus straight ahead, just in case, until I reached the door. As I lifted my hand to knock, I noticed a paper taped to the door. Varsity Football Roster, it read. My heart thumped hard in my chest as my eyes scanned the list. At the far bottom I found the word Kicker. My finger traced a line from the word to the name listed on the right. Finley Lucas. My breath caught in my chest. Even though I’d been expecting it, a small voice in the back of my head had told me maybe it wasn’t true. The pride I hadn’t felt on Saturday, that I hadn’t gotten to feel a month ago with the podcast, expanded in my chest now. I’d made it. I’d worked hard toward something and then accomplished it. There was definitely a deep sense of pride in that.
But…after my name were the words Second String: Jensen Ballard.
I reached up and ripped the paper down in one fast motion, crumpled it into a ball, and knocked on the door.
A muffled “Come in!” sounded through the metal.
I opened the door to find Coach O sitting at his desk. Coach Wallis’s was empty.
“Finley,” Coach said. “You’re here early. I was just about to hang another roster at the athletics office. Congratulations.”
“No,” I said. “I mean, thank you. But I can’t.” I walked the ball of paper I held to his desk and set it on top. “I’m sorry. I can print and hang another one, but I need you to take my name off it first.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t belong on the team. I have zero desire, and I tried out for all the wrong reasons. My heart isn’t in it, and I know how much work it will be. I want to spend my senior year on my goals, not on something that I only did to hurt someone.”
“I’m disappointed,” Coach O said. “You were good out there. The team could use you.”
“Jensen is good. The team doesn’t need me.” I needed me.
He stared at me for a while, and I could see why players might be afraid of him. But I’d already made up my mind, and this tactic of intimidation, if that was what it was, wasn’t going to work on me. I wasn’t scared of losing my place on the team. That was exactly what I was trying to do.
A voice came through the open door behind me amid the serious staring. “Coach, is the list going up soon?”
I turned to see Jensen’s big body standing in the doorway. His face went dark when he saw me.
“Just about,” Coach said. “Maybe you can talk Finley into—”
“Leaving,” I interrupted. I gave Coach a look that said, Jensen doesn’t need to know. “I’m going. You don’t need to tell me again.”
But Coach wasn’t having it, and he surprised me by saying, “You might want to thank this girl, because she’s turning down the starting spot for you.”
“No,” I said. “Not for him.” I turned to face Jensen. “Not for you. For me. I’m turning it down for me.”
His eyes shot to the ground, then met mine. “You don’t have to. You earned it.”
“Like I said, this has nothing to do with you. I don’t want it. But good luck next year.” I swiped up the crumpled paper on Coach’s desk because I decided I wanted it as a memento. “Sorry again. And thank you for the opportunity to try.” With those words, I left the office.
Footsteps followed behind me, but I kept going.
“Finley, wait up,” Jensen said.
“Nothing has changed,” I said. “I still don’t want to talk to you.” My anger may have expended itself on Saturday, but that didn’t mean I was suddenly a fan of Jensen’s again. What he had done was still messed up, and it said everything I needed to know about him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
I stopped in the middle of the locker room and turned to face him. “No, you shouldn’t have. But you did, so it’s done.”
“Do you want me to drop out? To talk to Nolen? Is that why you did this?” He pointed back toward the office.
“What? No. Once again, Jensen, not everything I do is about you. Keep both your spots. I was being truthful. I did this for me.”
“But now I feel bad.”
I let out a single laugh. “Now?”
“Yes. I didn’t see what I had done as being wrong before. I didn’t see it until Saturday, when you tried out.”
I studied his demeanor. He seemed sincere. Maybe he had learned a little empathy. “And what about Theo?” I asked, not planning to, but the words came spilling out. “Can you see what you did to him was wrong? What you took from him? Have you said sorry to him?”
“ That was an accident,” he said.
I didn’t think that was true, but still, I said, “Then you should feel even sorrier.”
He huffed out a breath of air.
“Bye, Jensen,” I said, and left.
“NOLEN, CAN I TALK TO you?” I asked. He and Susie had just finished morning announcements, and he was putting papers into his backpack, getting ready to head to first period.
“I told him he could,” he said. “Did he change his mind? Talk to you already?”
“What?” I asked, confused, then remembered what Jensen had said twenty minutes ago in the locker room. Had he approached Nolen about dropping out after our talk? “No, not that,” I said now. “I didn’t earn that. I want to commentate the football games next year. Do live calls during the game and interviews after the game. Teachers do it right now, but I think it should be a student responsibility. And I actually think I’d be pretty good at it. Not perfect, but I’d be willing to try.” That was new for me. Putting myself out there when I felt unsure. When I didn’t have the ability to edit out my mistakes. “I just spent the last month learning all the rules and regulations and terminology and plays and more than I ever thought I wanted to know. I even learned to kick.”
He slung his backpack onto his shoulder, not saying anything, and together we walked out of the studio. “You learned how to kick? Like through the uprights?”
“Yeah, Theo taught me. I’m pretty good,” I said.
He laughed. “Cool. And yeah, that’s a really cool idea. So you don’t want your podcast research spot? Is that why you’re telling me this?”
“Yes, I don’t,” I said. I was quitting, but for all the right reasons.
“Okay, I’ll reach out to the runner-up.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“You talked to Mr.Whitley about the commentator idea?”
“I did,” I said. He liked it.
“Nice. So did you forgive him?”
“Jensen? Yeah.” Because I did. I didn’t have to like him, but I was done with the anger.
“No…I meant Theo.”
“Oh.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t know yet.”