Chapter 6
Six
CHLOE
By lunchtime Friday, Coach Perry and her never-ending list of leg exercises have squashed the excitement of the first few days.
I’m only taking Individual Fitness this semester so I can skip the weight room in the afternoons and not endure Coach Dixon’s wrath for being a “slacker upperclassman.” But second-period squats added to already toasted legs have me second-guessing that decision.
Morning practice will end next week, though, and then I’ll be glad to end early every other afternoon. I need that time for studying and for picking up shifts at Coffee Jungle. My car insurance sure isn’t going to pay itself.
I limp to the table, slide in next to Anita, and rest my face on the gray plastic surface, which somehow already smells like three-day-old French fries. “Everything hurts.”
Anita pats my shoulder. “I thought they didn’t have gym classes during lunch blocks.”
“They don’t,” I say to the table. “I came from AP English. It’s been an hour since I left the weight room, and I think my legs have gained a pound each minute.”
“Here, have a Pop-Tart.” A crinkly silver wrapper enters my field of vision.
“Bless you, Anita Rodriguez.” I lift my head, say a silent prayer of thanks that it isn’t arm day, and rip open the foil. “Strawberry?” Disappointment tinges my voice.
“You’re training. Brown sugar and s’mores are reserved strictly for the off-season. You know that.” Anita shakes her finger in mock scolding, her dark brown eyes laughing. She takes a bite of her own brown sugar treat.
“But you’re eating it in front of me. How is that fair?” I break the first Pop-Tart in half and take a bite from the center. Sugary goodness fills my mouth. “This is delicious, though. Thanks.”
“Eat some real food, too.”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll get a salad.” I take another bite. Pure bliss.
“And some protein,” says Charlotte, setting her tray down and tossing a wrapped chicken sandwich in front of me. “You’re cranky when you don’t eat enough protein.”
I hold up the sandwich and gawk. “You know, I was about to go up there. I can feed myself.”
“Chloe,” Charlotte says, “just let us love you.”
Anita snorts. “Please. And you’re easier to love when you’re well-nourished.”
Unwrapping the sandwich, I sigh. “I know, I know. Did you remember to grab—”
Three packets of ketchup hit the table with a thwack. “Thanks.”
“As if I could forget,” Charlotte says. She rips open her salad dressing with her teeth and squeezes it over her plate of greens. “I still can’t believe he didn’t ask you out officially, like on a date. Coward.”
“I didn’t want him to.” I squeeze all three packets of ketchup onto my sandwich, then take a big bite, hoping the food will somehow make my words true.
“Then why do you look so glum?” Anita says.
“I’m not glum. Everyone knows Rhoads Simpson doesn’t date. Not seriously, anyway.” The mumbling does not help my case. I take another bite to cover it.
“Who says you have to get into a serious relationship?” Charlotte asks. “Just have fun for once. Go to a party, hold hands, kiss. Not everything has to be serious.”
“We just want you to be happy.” Anita shrugs.
Heat flares in my cheeks. “Soccer makes me happy.”
Anita holds up her hands in surrender. “Alright. I acquiesce. I won’t say another word.”
“I will.” Charlotte puts her hands on her hips. “He’s interested, Chloe. Take advantage of it. Oh, maybe at the soccer teams’ bonfire!”
My heart softens a little. Though just because Charlotte really wants a boyfriend doesn’t mean I have to. “I might skip that, actually.”
“What? Why?”
I shrug. “It’s not really my scene, you know? I don’t drink, and I’m not interested in playing dumb party games.”
Anita nods. “What are you going to do instead?”
“Probably run drills. Or maybe watch game tape if Coach Dixon will send me the files.”
Charlotte scoffs. “You’re going to waste away your prime high school moments in a dark room, alone, analyzing your stepsy-thingies?”
Anita and I both say, “Step-overs.”
“Whatever. Not the point.”
“I want a soccer scholarship, Char. I need to spend this time making sure I’m ready for the next Big Moment on the field, not watching soccer boys play flip-cup next to a cornfield.”
“Fine.” Charlotte’s gaze flicks to the back of the cafeteria, then immediately return to her plate. She stabs her lettuce with extra force.
I crane my neck to see what’s affected her mood, but I can’t figure it out.
“You’re going to have to get back out there sometime.” A spark flashes in Charlotte’s eyes. “Show yourself that Graham doesn’t have power over you anymore.”
“You’re not known for your temerity, but you can do it.” Anita adjusts her pink headband in her dark brown curls. She gives Charlotte a pointed look, even though her words are for me. “Whenever you’re ready, of course.”
When lunch ends, I’m still mulling Charlotte’s challenge over in my mind. I thought I was over Graham, that I’d sprinted and trained him out of my system, but am I making excuses because my heart is still broken?
* * *
“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this now. Halloween is still weeks away.” I flop onto Charlotte’s bed that night and cocoon myself in her plush white throw blanket. Our sleepover has been totally consumed by costume planning for Dionne Jenkins’ Halloween party.
“It’s never too early. Finding the right pieces takes time and effort.
Plus, this party will be a good chance to solidify a Winter Formal date,” Charlotte says.
“This is important to me, even if you two couldn’t care less.
I can’t decide between librarian and schoolgirl.
” She holds up the two costumes she pulled out of her massive closet.
I sigh, scrutinizing the outfits. “This feels like one of those Spot the Differences photo games, only it’s a trick because they’re exactly the same.”
“No. One has a plaid skirt, and the other doesn’t. Plus, for the librarian, I can wear these fab faux glasses.” She slips on a pair of black plastic frames.
“Right. Because schoolgirls definitely never wear glasses,” I say.
“They’re both great, Char. Whichever you choose will be exquisite.
” Anita glances up from her phone, where she’s reading NFL highlights.
“I can’t believe the Rockets traded their best tight end.
” She grimaces as her hands work the rainbow yarn she’s crocheting.
“That throws off my whole fantasy league plan. Well, Plan A, anyway.”
“I need something that drops jaws. If I’m going to snag a boyfriend before Winter Formal, I need to get in the game now.”
“I didn’t realize a boyfriend was mandatory to go to Winter Formal,” I say.
“You wouldn’t realize the sheer agony it is going alone.” Charlotte stands in front of the full-length mirror and holds each outfit up to her body. “You had a date last year and for Spring Formal, too.”
My stomach clenches. The vanilla candle burning on Charlotte’s white desk suddenly smells too strong. “Yeah. And remember how that turned out?”
Charlotte looks at me, horrified. “Oh, Chloe, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s fine. I’m just saying that having a date might not live up to the hype.” She isn’t completely wrong, though. Formal dances do have a way of solidifying couples for at least a semester and sometimes into summer.
That, or dissolving them. I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth. “So, you think your soul mate will be at Dionne’s party?”
“I hope so.” Charlotte digs through her closet again. “Which is why I’m having such a hard time figuring out what to wear. It’s important to make the right impression.”
“Got anyone particular in mind?” Anita asks. “One of the options from your list?”
Charlotte tucks her hair behind her ears. “Maybe.” She sighs. “I don’t know.”
I unravel from the blanket and sit up, hugging a pillow to my chest. “Who’s your top contender? You’ve been surprisingly tight-lipped about it so far.”
“To be honest, the options are a bit underwhelming.” She takes much longer than necessary riffling through the shoes in the back of her walk-in closet.
“That’s probably why I’ve been so focused on you and Rhoads.
I’m sorry I’ve been pushing. It just seems so unfair that the three of us, as amazing as we are, are single. ”
Anita sets down her crochet project and moves to the floor near Charlotte’s closet and looks through her shoe cast-outs. “What size are these?” She holds up a pair of red cowboy boots.
Charlotte assesses them. “I think they’d fit you. Try them on.”
“These would be great Scarecrow boots.” Anita slips off her black leather ankle booties and pulls on the red ones. “Chloe, want to go as my Dorothy? I know you still have the costume hanging in your closet from a few years ago.”
“If Charlotte goes as the lion, I’m in.” I flick the question to Charlotte with my eyes.
“What’s more jaw-dropping than a golden leotard, cat ears, and teased hair?” Anita asks. “That’s straight boy Kryptonite.”
Charlotte pauses, weighing her options. “Alright, fine. But we don’t have a Tin Man.”
“Eh, he’s nobody’s favorite anyway,” I say.
“Harsh.” Charlotte restocks her closet.
I smirk. “He’ll be fine. He doesn’t have a heart, remember?”