Chapter Three Vaughn
Chapter Three
Vaughn
My eyes burn as I walk out of my bedroom the next morning. I stayed up way too late trying to figure out the latest Algebra II assignment.
School has never been a huge priority for me, but it’s never felt this hard either. Somewhere between eighth grade math and algebra, I got behind, and it’s like every new thing builds on the next, but I never learned the early stuff well enough to comprehend the new.
Two years ago I was planning to take a summer course to get caught up, but then my mom got remarried and I spent most of those six weeks of vacation in London getting to know her new husband and pretending my mom and I weren’t strangers.
When I step into the kitchen, I come up short. My dad’s manager, Rick, is standing there with a coffee mug in one hand and two women are pacing in front of the island, staring out into the living room with matching looks of deep concentration.
“Vaughn,” Rick says my name cheerily. His mouth is barely visible under his beard, but his face moves in a way to indicate he’s smiling. “How’s my favorite up-and-coming soccer star?”
“Up-and-coming?” I scoff. “Did you see my last game?”
He chuckles and I move closer to him and pull my shaker cup out of the cabinet.
As I’m adding protein powder and water, I motion my head toward the women. “What’s happening?”
“Your dad is being interviewed for a four-part documentary series.”
My brows rise. That’s news to me.
“About what?”
“Soccer. Him. Playing on the greatest team that’s ever existed.”
I’m digesting that news when Dad walks into the kitchen. Instead of his usual T-shirt and athletic pants, he’s in slacks and a polo shirt. His hair even looks like he put some gel in it.
“Ah, much better,” Rick says when he spots him. “Makeup will be here in twenty.”
“Seriously, what is happening?” I’m struggling to take in each new piece of information.
My dad hates reporters and interviews and all that shit.
Even when he was playing. He’s turned down so many media spotlights that his sudden agreement to do a documentary feels like the world shifted on its axis overnight.
Dad looks to me. He looks particularly grumpy despite his wardrobe and hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know they’d be here this morning. I only agreed last night.”
“We had to act before you changed your mind.” Rick is a big, burly guy. He played rugby before a knee injury ended his career. Like Dad, he’s mostly retired now. I think he continues to manage my dad only because they’re friends.
Though the way Dad’s looking at him now, maybe not for long.
One of the women approaches us timidly. “Hi. Good morning.”
“Morning,” Dad says back, polite but gruff.
She looks to Rick when she says, “We want to bring in all new furniture for the living room, and we’ll send over our designer to do something about the walls.”
“I thought we were shooting this in my office,” Dad says.
“The producers think having a couple different backgrounds will make for a better visual experience.” Rick sets his mug down and looks to the woman. “Thanks, Maureen. Do what you need, but let’s keep the disruption minimal. Can we shoot all the living room scenes this week?”
“I don’t see why not,” she says with a smile.
“What’s wrong with the walls?” Dad grumbles as Maureen turns on her heel and goes to converse with the other woman again.
I’m holding back a laugh when Rick looks from me to Dad. “The producers have also asked if you’d be open to having your family on camera.”
I have spent most of my life being compared to my father in one way or another.
We have the same hair color, same jaw and nose, and our gameplay is of course similar since I learned from him.
The only big difference is our eye color.
Mine are blue like my mom’s, while Dad’s are a hazel that usually look more green than brown.
It isn’t like I don’t understand people’s fascination with him or his life. He did incredible things and still holds individual records in addition to the cups and championships he won with Arsenal. But I don’t have any interest in using my dad’s fame to launch my career. I want to earn it.
Dad and Rick both turn their gazes to me.
“You wouldn’t need to be interviewed unless that’s something you’re interested in. It could be as simple as a few video clips of the two of you kicking around the ball.” There’s a twinkle in Rick’s eye that tells me he’s as much in favor of this as the producers.
“No way.” I shake my head. “I’m not making his documentary about me.”
“It wouldn’t really be like—” Rick starts, but Dad cuts him off.
“He said no. End of story.”
* * *
Over lunch I meet up with Caleb Foster in the library. Despite what Lacey thought, I did know who he was prior to yesterday. It’s not like I walk around with blinders on, though I’m sure that’s what Lacey and others think.
I’m not great at socializing. Never have been.
I wouldn’t say I’m shy, but I’m not ever going to walk up to a stranger and start up a conversation either.
I learned early on from my dad that saying less makes it harder for people to get a sound bite.
He and Mom shielded me as much as possible, but I still felt that pressure of doing or saying the wrong thing to someone.
Once I told a friend at school that we were going to Los Angeles over a long weekend.
And when we got there, news had spread and there were cameras waiting.
Luckily being chatty isn’t necessary with Caleb. He does all the talking. He sits across from me at one of the tables. My textbook and notes are spread out in front of me, but he doesn’t even look at them as he talks me through it.
As Caleb explains the last section to me his words come fast, and he has this nervous energy about him like he’s really pumped up about math.
He might as well be speaking another language.
“Easy, right?” He smiles at me and the knot in my stomach tightens.
No, it’s not fucking easy. Or if it is, then I’m an idiot. Which is more likely. I run a hand over my hair and try to smile back at him, but I’m sure it’s more like a grimace.
“Definitely not as difficult as that pass you made at the end of the last game. God, I still can’t stop thinking about it.
You and Keller were unstoppable.” He offers me his fist and I awkwardly bump mine against his.
I feel bad that he seems to genuinely want to help me but hasn’t at all because the words he’s saying don’t make any sense.
And he can’t stop talking about soccer. At every break in conversation, he brings up some old game or stats that I’m shocked anyone knows. Goals, assists, and even my pass completion rate last season.
I had no idea he was into soccer. When I asked him if he went to games, he said he preferred watching replays at home to being crammed into bleacher seats with half the school. At least we have that in common.
“Can we go over the last section again?” I ask.
The bell rings signaling the end of lunch. Caleb waves me off. “You’ve got this. Brayson doesn’t stand a chance and neither does this test. Am I right?”
I wish I were as confident in my test as I am the game. I know what to do in almost any situation on the field, but everywhere else my statistics are bad.
Caleb packs up his stuff into his backpack and stands. “Good luck this weekend. Not that you need it.”
“Thanks.” I nod. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he can meet again, but I’m not sure this helped, and I don’t want to waste any more of either of our time.
He waves two fingers and walks out in that same quick way he talks.
As soon as he’s gone, I let out a long breath and lean back in my chair.
The hallways are filled with the sounds of opening and closing lockers, hurried footsteps, and happy chatter.
I’ve never been particularly into high school.
Most of the time people are jerking around, goofing off, engrossed in the drama, and living in the moment.
I don’t have time for that. I need to focus.
I have too much I want to achieve. Too many people depending on me. Myself most of all.
Sitting up, I toss my stuff in my bag, and I’m about to head out when Rowan is passing by the library. We make brief eye contact, and he doubles back, entering the library with a grin.
“Hey. What are you doing in here?”
“Studying,” I say. “I have an Algebra II test Monday.”
“Ah.” His brows lift and he glances around. “Is Lacey helping you?”
I open my mouth to answer but surprise makes me slow. I haven’t talked to him about getting a tutor.
“I might have overheard something about you needing a tutor.” He gives me a sheepish smile. “I’m glad she’s helping you. She’s so smart. She was a godsend last year in Physics. I don’t think I would have passed without her tutoring me.”
He doesn’t give me time to respond to anything he’s said because the second bell rings, and he says, “Anyway. I gotta go. See you at practice, Cap.”
“Yeah. See ya.” I shuffle out into the hallway.
As if I conjured her up by thought, my gaze goes right to Lacey.
She’s standing at her locker alone. I move toward her instead of my class.
Rowan’s words are echoing in my head. I guess her whole “I don’t tutor people” excuse really meant “I don’t tutor people named Vaughn. ”
She shuts the locker door and turns, then freezes to stop from colliding with me.
“Vaughn.” Even the way she says my name is about as unenthusiastic as you can get. Impressive, since every other word out of her mouth is bubbly as can be.
“Thank you for giving me Caleb’s information.”
“You’re welcome. I hope he can help.”
She steps to the side and so do I. Lacey quirks one brow but doesn’t speak.
“You told me you don’t tutor people.”
“I don’t.” There’s a hint of frustration in her tone.
“You tutored Rowan in Physics.”
“That was different. He’s…” She stops herself from finishing that sentence.
A friend? Not a jerk? I fill in the blanks for her. But I don’t care if we’re friends or not. I’ll do whatever it takes to pass this test, and all signs are pointing to Lacey being the key.
“I need you.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice lifts an octave, and both brows are now inching toward her hairline.
Dammit. I’m not good with words, but by the look on her face I need to say something and fast.
“I met with Caleb at lunch.”
“You did?” She seems surprised by that little tidbit.
I nod. “Yeah, and it isn’t going to work. He’s smart, for sure, but I need someone else.”
The look she gives me is part confusion and part something else I can’t quite name. “Why?”
“I just do.”
Her narrowed gaze scrutinizes me carefully, and then some unnamed emotion flicks across her features.
“Was he not cool enough? Not hot enough? Would you like me to ask around and see if I can find someone a little more popular, so you don’t have to be seen with nerdy Caleb?
” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “I didn’t think you were such a snob.
He’s actually a really cool guy. Sure, he talks in Klingon part of the time and his cologne is so strong you can smell him as soon as he walks into a building, but he’s a good guy. ”
She’s so fired up that I can’t do anything but stare at her as she goes off on me. She’s inched closer too. I can smell her minty breath, and my gaze drops to the light freckles along the bridge of her nose. The tiny dots fan out over her cheekbones where a flush is also creeping onto her skin.
Lacey is pretty. The way she’s always smiling at everyone draws people’s attention. But there’s something about seeing her like this, glaring and nearly shouting at me, that has my blood pumping.
“Well?” she asks, clearly wanting me to admit to being the asshole she thinks I am.
“Caleb’s a good guy,” I say. Sure, I only spent thirty minutes with him, but he was willing to help me, so I’d say that qualifies his character well enough.
“Yes, he is.”
“I appreciate his help, and I don’t care if the guy smells or is obsessed with Star Wars.” The Jedi in Training T-shirt he was wearing isn’t my style, but what do I care?
“You just don’t want to be seen with him?”
I sigh heavily. I wish it were that simple. “It’s not that. He’s…a fan.”
“Okay.” Her head shakes slightly. The movement makes her long, dark ponytail swish around her shoulders.
“I spent the last hour with Caleb, and he was more excited to talk about soccer and the upcoming game than Algebra II. He can’t tutor me because he’s too worried about hurting my feelings to tell me when I’m doing something wrong. He looks up to me too much to tutor me.”
Lacey’s lips part, and her chin dips slightly. Slowly her lips curve up, and then she…giggles. The noise starts small and then grows until her entire body shakes with it. She reaches forward and places a hand on my arm.
My skin pricks at the contact, warmth spreading up my arm despite my confusion.
“Wow. Full of yourself much?” She continues laughing as she pulls her hand free, then says to herself, “‘He looks up to me too much.’”
“Yo, Collins!”
I turn as someone calls my name, too agitated to place the voice until I spot Caleb jogging toward me. His dark hair flops around his head and a big smile is splashed across his face.
“Hey, Caleb,” I say in greeting.
Lacey composes herself and stands next to me, offering him a smile that is much brighter than any she gives me.
“Hi, Lacey.” He blushes a little as he steals a glance at her, and then his attention comes back to me.
“I accidentally grabbed your pencil by mistake.” He holds out the blue mechanical pencil toward me.
“Oh, thanks.” I take it from him. I have like a dozen more of these in my locker, but it was nice of him to bring it back.
“It was almost out of lead, so I refilled it.” One side of his mouth hitches up. “And I added an eraser to the end since yours was about half gone. Can’t have our star forward going to class without a writing utensil. Go Knights!”
My pencil now has a stormtrooper eraser.
“Thanks, Caleb,” I say as he beams at me.
Lacey makes a squeaked noise of surprise as Caleb turns on his heel and jogs back in the same direction he came.
I open up my stance to Lacey. Saying I told you so feels like overkill, so I slide the pencil behind one ear and head off to class.
I don’t know what I’m going to do about Algebra II, but I feel a little rush of pleasure at watching Lacey eat her words.