Chapter 17
Cooper
After the game, I called my father to tell him about the scout. I didn’t even wait until I got home, just called him while I walked across the parking lot to my car. He was going to be the most excited about the news. All those times he tossed the ball with me growing up—they might pay off.
He didn’t pick up the phone. Must be offshore somewhere without service.
I left a message, announcing the news into the silence on the line, which was anticlimactic.
None of this felt right. He should’ve been at the game, cheering me on.
He should be the one celebrating with me now.
Instead, I drove home to an empty house while Claire and Mom ate ice cream with Mr. Siebold.
My father didn’t call back until the next morning when I was getting ready to go to work at the drugstore.
After he congratulated me and had me repeat the entire conversation I had with the scout, he said, “I bet you’ll get a full-ride scholar-ship.
After that, you’ll have the pros after you.
Although remember, nothing is certain in sports.
” He went on to give me a list of majors he thought would be good, all of them high paying, should an injury put an end to my football career.
He was always trying to save me from the problems he’d had. People say money doesn’t buy happiness, but having it sure makes life easier.
When he was done with that, he asked, “How is your mom doing? Did she go out with the lawyer again?”
“Yeah. More than once.”
“It would be a lawyer,” Dad mumbled. “They charge you an arm and a leg to process your divorce and then hit on your ex.”
“Mr. Seibold wasn’t her divorce lawyer,” I said.
“Doesn’t matter. They’re all the same. She’ll probably find out the hard way what he’s like, and then . . .”
I wondered if the call had dropped. “Dad?”
“Yeah. I’m here.” His voice sounded ragged. “I’m right here in Alaska, working my tail off to have a career that pays the bills like she wanted.”
More silence.
“You should talk to Mom,” I said.
“I do talk to her. She sent me footage of the game. You looked great.”
“You should talk to her about things besides me and Claire.”
There was another long pause. “Yeah, I need to do that.”
That was progress, however small. I left my room and went out into the hallway. “She’s here. I can find her and give her the phone.”
“No,” he said quickly. “I’ll talk to her later. I’ve got to think about it.”
Meaning what?
It didn’t occur to me until I hung up that he hadn’t asked about Madeline or told me I shouldn’t get too serious about a girl when I was young—and that had been his standard advice every time I started dating anyone.
Which meant Mom hadn’t told him about Madeline. I wasn’t sure whether that was because she didn’t think Madeline and I would last more than a few days or whether she didn’t want to admit she was dating my girlfriend’s father.
Or as Madeline would say in her lawyer talk: one didn’t preclude the other.
That was the stage we’d reached in our relationship. Her phrases were now part of my brain.
The rest of the weekend was way too quiet and boring. Work and homework.
Every time I got a text notification, I expected it to be something from Madeline.
It never was.
Dahlia messaged me often enough, and that was after I told her not to in case my mother had a way to read my messages. Dahlia never said anything about the homecoming dance and seemed to think that was enough stealth. She even sent me a selfie of her watching the game, lips pouting.
I’d figured that Madeline’s father might be spying on her phone since she’d brought up the possibility, but I hadn’t been all that worried that my mom was reading things on mine until Saturday night.
It was my turn to help Mom with dinner. While I chopped tomatoes for the salad, she looked at me casually. “Has Dahlia given you any more trouble?”
“Dahlia?” I repeated, knife frozen above the cutting board.
“Isn’t that the name of the girl who keeps throwing herself at you?”
Every single message Dahlia sent me that day flashed through my mind. “Yeah.” I resumed chopping. The knife clacked against the cutting board a little too fast and sent bits of tomatoes sliding across the counter like they were trying to escape. “She talks to me, but it’s not, you know, a problem.”
“It’s not a problem because you don’t mind talking to her?”
Crap. Had Mom seen Dahlia’s messages?
I avoided eye contact. “I talk to lots of people. If someone talks to you, it’s rude not to respond.”
Mom started setting the table, her movements methodical and calm as though she had all the time in the world to wait for me to slip up. “Yes, but you can encourage or discourage a girl.”
How long had she been able to snoop on my phone? What else had she read? I couldn’t even accuse her of it. I might be wrong, and then I’d have to admit I’d responded to Dahlia a bunch today and not in a discouraging way.
Madeline would never let me live it down if I blew our cover because I’d texted with Dahlia. I tossed the tomatoes in the bowl and shrugged. “I guess I should be more careful about talking to her.”
Mom nodded and eyed me. I couldn’t tell what her expression meant.
After dinner, I tried to remedy the situation by ignoring Dahlia’s last message and texting Madeline. I asked how her day had been.
She never wrote back. I checked often enough to see.
On Sunday, I texted her a few more times. I threatened to take her to McDonald’s on our first date. She didn’t even answer that message.
Honestly, I was beginning to feel some solidarity with Needy Cookie Boy.
On Monday morning, while I got ready for school, I wrote her.
Me: So sugar cookies this time? I’m partial to red hots on the frosting.
Madeline: Seriously?
I didn’t know whether she was protesting my demand for more cookies or questioning my taste for red hots and frosting.
Me: A devoted girlfriend would do it.
Madeline: You’re confusing girlfriends with bakers.
Her message brought a chuckle to my lips. That’s what I’d missed over the weekend, I realized. Madeline always made me laugh.
Madeline: I silenced my phone and forgot to turn notifications back on. Also, I think I need to ignore more than a few texts to merit sugar cookies.
Me: I have a longer list of things a devoted girlfriend would do. Can’t wait to see you and discuss them.
That response came far too quickly to my mind, and ought to worry my mother.
I really did want to discuss strategy with Madeline. We needed to up our game, and I had an idea of how to do it. She might veto my plan, but I was at least going to make a case for it.
Me: Meet me after school at the refreshment shack to talk about the list.
Madeline: The refreshment shack? Why there?
Because this wasn’t the sort of conversation we could have at her locker.
Me: It’s away from crowds, close to practice, and the football coach makes us do bleacher runs if we’re late. I’m guessing the drama teacher is more forgiving.
Madeline: Fair point. See you then.
Even though I’d set up a meeting with Madeline, I still found myself looking for her between classes. Some part of my brain hadn’t gotten the memo and constantly kept an eye out for her. I kept wondering how she would react to my suggestion. Because my suggestion involved kissing.
She kissed guys onstage for her roles. That’s all this was. A part. Maybe Madeline wouldn’t mind so much. Maybe she’d even think it was a good idea.
I hung out with Dahlia after lunch in the hallway by the stairs, listening to her chatter about the party she’d gone to over the weekend. She listed who’d been there with whom, and who’d been fighting, and who’d been shamelessly making out.
I nodded and occasionally commented, pretending I was paying attention. My attention had not only drifted off, it prowled the corridors and peeked into classroom doors. It paced around by the refreshment shack, impatiently waiting for school to end.
What was wrong with me?
Dahlia was gorgeous and nice. Most of the guys at school would cheerfully push me down a manhole if it meant they could spend time with her, and I kept thinking about what it would be like to kiss Madeline.
Madeline had no interest in me. But at the same time, when I had spelled out my financial situation, she’d looked so stricken. She hadn’t known what to say, and Madeline was never at a loss for words.
Dahlia put her hand on my arm, and my eyes snapped back to her. “But that one will be even better because you’ll be there, right?”
Wait, had she given me a time and place for an event? Were we still talking about parties? If I said, “Right,” would I be agreeing to something?
Best to go for noncommittal. “I don’t know. I’ll have to check my calendar.”
She cocked her head in confusion. “You have to check your calendar to see if you can go to the homecoming game?”
“Just joking,” I said. “Of course, I’m going. The coach would kill me if I didn’t.”
She poked me in the side playfully. “Everyone would kill you. And I’d kill you if you missed the dance. I already bought my dress.” Her lips went pouty. “Don’t make me get violent.” She was about to poke me again. I grabbed her hand to stop her.
Dahlia wrapped her fingers around mine and smiled, self-satisfied. This was what she had intended, a teasing PDA in the school corridor.
That’s when my girl-radar kicked in and I looked across the corridor. Madeline walked by, and the press of her mouth said she’d been watching me. Our eyes locked. She rolled hers and continued down the hallway.
I dropped Dahlia’s hand and pushed away from the wall. “We should go to class.” I headed down the hall with her, scratching the back of my neck to give my hand an excuse to stay away from hers.
Flirting with Dahlia seemed wrong when I was about to tell Madeline that we should add a kissing session to our fake relationship.
When the last bell rang, and I made my way to the bleachers, I’d nearly talked myself out of the idea.