Chapter 7
QUINN
The overwhelming thought was Do not cry.
Under no circumstances could I show any weakness.
Imagine the gossip if the prep school girl got all teary.
Bad enough that Mom had made me cry over a Squishmallow.
I wouldn’t let these girls do that. Their bullying words were just that—words—and they couldn’t hurt me.
Only the truth could hurt me and so far the secret was safe.
It was no surprise that kids on the bus turned out to be so mean. Just a general stereotype that prep school kids had about public school kids. Yeah, in the real world our opinions were exactly the same but in reverse. They thought we were snobs; we deemed them rude and classless.
I was glad for the second day of tryouts which meant I’d miss the bus ride home. With my Brizendine Prep shirt in the laundry, I’d brought a plain sports t-shirt to wear. I had no expectations anyone would be friendly to me, keen only to work hard and show I should be selected for the team.
So it was surprising when Livvy and Tori, who’d definitely been two of the better players, stopped me in the locker room.
“I remember seeing you play last season,” Livvy said.
“Oh?” Thinking she was being friendly, I smiled and was about to congratulate her for being the Sonics’ leading goal scorer last season, stats I’d researched last night, “I see that—”
But she cut me off. “You really rate yourself, don’t you?
” she said with a sneer, mirrored by Tori.
It sent a jolt rippling through my chest, like I’d been pierced with a dagger.
“You come from your rich prep school and think you’re better than the rest of us with your fancy boots and your gold chains and your fake eyelashes. ”
I instinctively clasped at the necklaces around my neck, a gold leaf clover which had been a 16th birthday present from my parents and a dainty gold chain, formerly my grandmother’s, that I’d worn for years. I never took them off. As for my eyelashes, hadn’t she heard of mascara?
Livvy’s eyes dropped to my boots, and though they’d been top of the line, they were last season’s pair.
Though I doubted that pointing it out would appease her, not as she crossed her arms over her chest and her glare intensified.
Bumping Tori’s elbow, they simultaneously looked down their noses at me, which felt like a warning of sorts.
Didn’t they want me on their team? Couldn’t they see that I’d be a valuable team member?
I clamped down on my lower lip to steady my quivering chin and fight back the prick of tears behind my eyelids.
Spinning around to hide my face in my locker, I pretended to be searching in my bag, seriously considering whether I should abandon tryouts.
Perhaps I should forget about playing soccer.
I’d loved it at Brizendine because of the team camaraderie, but now, twice in one day I’d been on the cusp of crying.
Bullied...for coming from a prep school—and all this without anyone knowing the reason why.
If word got out, I imagined I’d be completely vilified and humiliated.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” For a second I thought Livvy was still talking to me, but a locker door slammed across the room. “You’re back?”
With my shoe bag in my hand, I spun around to see Livvy, Tori and a girl wearing a fluorescent green headband in front of the blonde girl who had spoken to me yesterday.
“You’re never going to get selected, Sadie, so why don’t you spare yourself the embarrassment.” Tori’s supercilious voice rung around the locker room and was accompanied by cackling that sounded like it belonged to witches stirring a bubbling cauldron.
“Yeah,” the other girl chimed in, “Sonics aren’t that desperate.”
“I dunno,” Livvy said, “there might be a position for her—Left Right Out.”
Like canned laughter at a comedy show, the three of them burst out in unison before clanking out in their cleats.
With trembling fingers, Sadie fixed her shin guards and socks and I watched as she took a couple of deep breaths.
I’d literally been on the verge of walking out, ready to take off my cleats and forget about trialing, but seeing Sadie’s resilience buoyed me on.
Walking out is what the bullies wanted.. .and expected.
“Hey,” I said, joining her, “we should go. Don’t wanna be late.”
Sadie’s watery eyes blinked behind her Harry Potter style glasses, and we hurried out together.
As we ran a lap for the warmup, I queried my life choices.
Why had I reached out to Sadie when I should be a lone wolf?
I was supposed to erect walls as high as a penitentiary and stay firmly behind them.
Reject all people—and dogs—and exist in my own prison cell.
Serve out my one year sentence. For Mom’s sake, I couldn’t risk spilling our family’s secret.
After a somewhat unchallenging session, Coach McLean said that team lists would be announced tomorrow and I walked with Sadie back to the locker room.
I didn’t really have anything to say to her, but hoped my action showed her a little support.
Livvy and Tori smirked in our direction, but I held some quiet satisfaction knowing I’d beaten Livvy in the sprints and out dribbled Tori.
I stopped at the cafe on my walk into town, ordering a caramel frappe, but having enough sense to drink it before I got to the salon in case Mom went ballistic about spending money.
On her request, I entered the salon by the back entrance.
Apparently sweaty soccer clothes weren’t a good look for the business.
I finished my homework and watched an episode of a reality show that everyone was talking about online, and still Mom wasn’t done. It seemed like I was wasting so much time. I missed my car so much.
“Hey Mom,” I said, coming into the salon. “Could I use your car?”
I hadn’t thought I’d been banished to the staffroom, but in the mirror, Mom’s eyes widened at my appearance, making me think otherwise.
Before she could say anything, her client, Mrs. Masters, piped up. “Oh, your daughter’s here?”
Mom flustered. “Yes, uh, Quinn. Excuse her, she’s been at soccer practice.” Her brow furrowed slightly, but her irritation was immense.
“I heard she’s no longer at Brizendine?” The Mayoress managed a gentle tone, yet was clearly probing.
Mom cleared her throat, maybe buying a moment of time. “Uh, yes, that’s right. We decided that...well...with the divorce,”—she paused and took a wavering breath—“I wanted to have Quinn...close.”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Masters soothed. “I can imagine it’s been a rough few months for you, Annabelle.”
Mom pressed her lips tightly and her pained expression was just enough to evoke Mrs. Masters’ eyes into mistiness. In unity, I matched her with my own pitiful gaze.
“We’re getting there,” Mom croaked with emotion, her fingers expertly pulling at curls framing Mrs. Masters’ face. “Being able to work here is my salvation, so helpful to healing.”
“I know you’ll come through this.” Mrs. Masters smiled kindly. “And it’s fabulous for me that you’re back doing hair. But we do miss you at the Country Club, darling.”
Mom lowered her head and her eyelashes fluttered like a tragic heroine in a moment of pure heartrending theater. I almost thought Mrs. Masters was going to cry real tears.
“Have you been talking to Chase Masters?” Mom asked later as we headed home.
“No, I don’t even know him,” I said, though of course I knew who he was. In the few days I’d been at Snow Ridge High, I’d come to learn who was popular and who wasn’t. Chase definitely hung with the popular kids. “Why? Is it forbidden?”
“It’s not forbidden,” Mom said, “but I need you to be mindful of what you say and who you say it to.”
“I’ve followed your script to a tee,” I mumbled.
“I’m just saying that there are a lot of gossips out there,” Mom said, “and if word gets out, I’d rather have Aileen Masters on my side.”
“Well, her hair’s never looked better,” I joked, trying to lighten the moment.
But Mom wasn’t amused, suddenly asking, “How did your soccer tryouts go?”
I shrugged. “I guess I have to wait and see tomorrow. If I make the team, there’s a parents meeting at 6:45 and an all day training session on Saturday.”
“I won’t be able to make the meeting,” Mom said. “How likely are you to make the team?”
I frowned, disappointed that she genuinely had no idea whether I was any good at soccer, that she’d forgotten that we’d won district and state titles in our division.
Attendance at my games had never been a priority.
She always had more important things to do, always busy—and those were the days when she hadn’t worked.
There were committees and fundraisers, Country Club lunches, book clubs and golf.
“But I think it’s mandatory for all parents,” I said.
“Well, you haven’t made the team yet, have you?” she fired back at me with an aggression that inferred I wouldn’t.
I had no response and a seed of doubt sprouted in my mind. Coach McLean already had two wingers, (one I learned was her daughter, Emma) and she hadn’t played me in that position today. She’d put me in the back with the defenders.
“Also, I’m going to need you to mow the lawns this weekend,” Mom said.
Okay, so Mom had warned about helping out with chores, but I thought that meant vacuuming my room and folding laundry—not freaking gardening!
The lawn mower was a scary machine and I had no idea how it worked.
I’d never even seen Dad use it—Mr. Jones was the only one who did.
Again, I didn’t answer, hoping it would slip her mind by then.