Chapter 8 Luca #2
As we all cheer again, Coach hands the microphone to an assistant, at which point he’s immediately pulled into conversation with Ms. Williams. I turn to resume my earlier conversation with Chelsea, but she’s not next to me any longer.
In fact, she’s a few feet away, marching across the field like her hair’s on fire.
“Chelsea! Wait up.”
She stops and exhales.
“Not now, Luca. Wait till we’re alone.”
“So you remember me?”
“Of course I do. But given the current situation, can’t we please pretend Bloomington never happened?
Nobody here will ever take me seriously if they find out what I did with you, and I’m already fighting an uphill battle to be taken seriously.
Plus, my father would cut you if he found out, so it wouldn’t be in your best interest to say a word. ”
I roll my eyes. “Your secret’s safe with me. I’m just dying to know why you lied and pretended not to know anything about football. Just tell me that one thing now. Were you just fucking with me and pretending to like me? Were you making fun of me, and I didn’t realize it?”
“No. That wasn’t it at all.” She exhales.
“I’ll tell you everything later, I promise.
But until then, pretend you don’t know me.
Please.” With that, she runs off, leaving me buzzing and confused.
Coming here, I didn’t think anything could make me even think about sticking it out with the Mastodons beyond today, but now I’m thinking maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it took Cameron a few days to find me a new team.
Speaking of Cameron …
I covertly pull my contraband phone out my shorts and take a peek and discover I’ve got a text from him telling me to call him ASAP.
As I try to figure out where to go to call my agent so nobody sees the phone I’m not supposed to have with me, a deep male voice calls out my name from my left. When I turn to look, it’s Coach Parker. To my shock, he’s striding toward me with his daughter at his side.
Quickly, I shove my phone into my pocket and greet them. As Chelsea so urgently requested a moment ago, I act like I’ve never met her when Coach Parker introduces her.
“So, listen, Luca,” Coach Parker says. “That stunt you pulled on the uprights really pissed me off. You put yourself in danger, and you also set a terrible example for all the rookies who look up to you. And so, as the punishment for that crime, I’ve asked Chelsea to babysit you and keep you out of trouble for the duration of training camp. ”
“Babysit me?” I look between Chelsea and her father. “I don’t understand.”
Coach Parker shrugs like the term speaks for itself.
“For the duration of your stay here, however long or short that might be, Chelsea is going to be stuck to you like glue.” Coach smirks like he’s amused by the look of indignation on my face.
“And if you’re smart, during that time, you’ll take advantage of her enormous talents as a linebacker coach and get some extra work in with her. But that part is up to you.”
I shake my head scornfully, feeling far too outraged by the man’s insult to realize the situation he’s suggesting would incidentally allow me to spend more time with Chelsea the Mathlete.
“Suit yourself,” Coach Parker says with a shrug.
“Either way, if you choose to stay here, Chelsea’s going to shadow you in order to keep you out of trouble and out of my hair, whether you like it or not.
That’s what happens when you pull a stupid stunt like that and force me to make an example out of you, son.
Enjoy your camp. If you choose to leave, best of luck to you. ”
With that, he marches away, not looking back, which then prompts Chelsea to flash me an apologetic look and follow suit.
When they’re gone, I pull out my phone and tap out a text to Cameron.
Me: Can’t call right now. Not supposed to have my phone. Did you find me a new team, hopefully?
After pressing send on my text, I look for Chelsea and find her chatting animatedly with the linebacker coach about thirty yards away.
She looks excited. Ebullient, I’d even say, and he’s patting her shoulder like she’s just thanked him for something.
If I had to guess, my earlier hunch was right: Chelsea was surprised and thrilled when Coach Martinez introduced her as one of his staff members, and now she’s thanking him for it.
As I’m still watching Chelsea, my phone buzzes with Cameron’s reply text.
Cameron: The Thunderbolts. Roman pulled some strings for you.
Fuck.
As I read Cameron’s disheartening text, I feel like my spirit is thunking onto the turf beneath my feet.
Me: Please tell me you’re joking.
Cameron: Sorry, no. It’s the best I could do.
I close my eyes as a lump rises in my throat. I’m not sure which is worse: scratching and clawing to get onto the lowly Mastodons—the literal worst team in the league—or being invited to training camp for my big brother’s new team, solely as a favor to him.
When I open my eyes, Chelsea is still talking excitedly with Coach Martinez.
And I can’t help it: Seeing her here, after all these years, and knowing she’s going to be working closely with my squad—and hey, specifically following me around as my own personal babysitter, too—suddenly makes my presence here feel more like fate than a bad break.
Maybe I’m here for a reason. Maybe this is where I was always meant to end up.
True, it’s offensive as fuck Coach Parker assigned me a babysitter. But maybe he’s testing me. Seeing if he can break me. If so, I should probably at least pretend to take the whole thing in stride, right?
I mean, hell, even if Chelsea tries to tell me what to do all the time, I don’t have to actually listen to her.
I can just let her yap at me and pretend to listen like a good little boy while actually ignoring everything she says.
And while I do that, I’ll have the perfect opportunity to figure out what the hell happened in Bloomington and, more importantly, how to make her forgive me for taking things too fast so we can press the reset button and pick up where we left off back then.
Cameron: I need an answer, Luca. Yes or no?
I glance up from my screen just in time to witness Chelsea throwing her head back and laughing at something Coach Martinez has said.
When she catches me looking at her, she’s still smiling.
Not at me. I’m catching the tail end of her reaction to whatever Coach Martinez said.
But the smile melts me anyway, the same way it did all those years ago.
In fact, I’m suddenly feeling a certain kind of tingles, a rush I haven’t felt in years.
Welp. I guess I know which devil I’m going to choose now. In the end, I’ve really got no choice. And so, without replying to Cameron, I shove my phone into my pocket and stride toward my newly appointed babysitter with an unexpected skip in my step and tingles skating across my skin.