The new guy on the scene grabs Tucker and tears him away from Garrett, simultaneously clamping his other hand around the jerk’s neck.
“What the—” Garrett can’t get the words out.
The mystery guy tightens his grip on Garrett’s throat. “If you want to start shit with someone, let’s see how well you do against somebody your own size.” He shoves Garrett away from him. “Only a punk would pick on a freshman.”
Garrett coughs and rubs his throat. “You’d better watch it, Owen.”
“Or what?” Owen laughs and shakes his head like he thinks Garrett is pathetic. “I’m right here. But you’d better bring your friends, because you’re going to need help.”
The other two guys take a step back to make it clear they aren’t accepting Owen’s challenge. Garrett puffs out his chest, but he keeps his mouth shut.
“That’s what I thought.” Owen points at Tucker’s broken skateboard. “And you’re paying to replace his board.”
“The hell I am.”
Owen walks up to Garrett and looks him in the eyes. “Those tires on your truck look expensive. How much would it cost if you had to replace one of them? A lot more than a skateboard, I bet.”
It takes Garrett a second to catch on. “Stay away from my truck, Owen.”
“Like I said, you’re paying to replace his board.” Owen steers Tucker toward the stadium. “Let’s go. We’re done here.”
Tucker looks back at my mom and nods—a silent thank-you, as if he knew she would’ve stepped in.
Owen turns in our direction.
He looks right at me. His expression is a complicated tangle of emotions I can’t unravel. There was a time when I would’ve wanted to try to do some untangling, after watching a good-looking guy swoop in and rescue someone. But I’m done with complicated.
CHAPTER 9
Friday Night Lights
MOM BREATHES A sigh of relief when Garrett and his friends take off. “I guess Black Water isn’t as boring as I remember.”
“I’ve had enough drama in the last three weeks. Boring might be good. Maybe they have boring hot dogs inside.” I walk toward the stadium. That’s when I see the entrance.
It’s a tunnel.
I don’t do tunnels.
Mom notices it, too. “I’m sure there’s another way in.”
We circle around to the side of the building and find another entrance.
Inside the stadium, the field spreads out before us.
A commentator’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker. “Another interception by number seven, Cameron Carter!”
The crowd’s approval thunders through the stands that rise up above us.
The loudspeaker crackles again. “Touchdown! The Black Water Warriors are giving the Spring Hill Stallions an education tonight, ladies and gentlemen!”
“This is a high school stadium?” I ask Mom over the noise. “This place looks big enough for the NFL.”
“Not quite. But people in Tennessee take their football seriously.” Mom cranes her neck in search of my uncle. “All the stores in town close on Friday nights.”
“Sissy!” Hawk calls out. He’s the only person who calls my mom Sissy instead of Sarah—or, if we’re in Black Water, Sarah Ann.
My uncle waves from where he’s standing several rows up. At over six feet tall and built like a tank, he’s hard to miss—gray buzz cut, neat beard, and a kind face. Grandma used to call it a face you could trust. Mom waves back, beaming at her older brother. They don’t see each other often, but you would never know it when they get together.
I look around and take stock. The stands are packed with friendly faces—parents and grandparents wearing Black Water Warriors scarves and wool jackets, a German shepherd sitting on the bleachers next to its owner, and lots of people sporting blue-and-white face paint to support their team.
There are more letterman jackets and school colors in the crowd than I’m used to seeing back home. But, otherwise, the people my age aren’t dressed much different from the students at my school.
At least I won’t be the girl from out of town, who dresses weird.
Unless something has changed since I visited two years ago, I’ll probably be the only half-white, half-Cuban girl in Black Water. This place isn’t exactly a melting pot. But it’s nice to see some brown and Asian faces.
Mom and I weave between people carrying cardboard boxes full of hot dogs, fries, and six-packs. When we reach the narrow steps that slope up to the top of the stands, Mom lets me go first. “Are you sure you don’t want any—”
I glare at her and she stops talking.
Holding the handrail, I take the steps one at a time. If my knee gives out, I’m not falling on my ass in front of half the town—maybe the whole town, judging by the number of people here.
A pair of hiking boots stops on the step above me, and before I have time to look up, an arm swings around my waist. Adrenaline surges through my bloodstream.
Hawk lifts me up, and my feet dangle in the air. “At the rate you were going, the game would be over by the time you get a seat.”
I’m not that lucky.
Instead of using the steps, Hawk walks up the middle of the bleachers, dodging the people seated on them.
“Put me down.”
He ignores me. “Almost there.”
“Is she all right?” a woman calls after us.
My cheeks burn.
Before I protest again, Hawk lowers me to the ground. “Door-to-door service.”
I sit on the cold metal bench without a word, watching Mom walk up the steps like a normal person.
My uncle takes a seat beside me. “Everybody needs a little help once in a while.”
Once in a while, I could handle. But people think I need help all the time now. They take one look at the RoboCop brace, and they rush to open doors and pull out chairs.
And I hate it.
On the soccer field, my mind was always in control of my body. I decided if I was too tired to keep running. I decided whether or not to quit. Now my body is in control. I have a knee that gives out with no warning, and I couldn’t run the length of a soccer field if my life depended on it. Dr. Kao claims it will just take time.
But what if she’s wrong?
Hawk leans forward, with his elbows propped on his knees, studying the field.
I spot Mom at the end of our row. The people in the first few seats stand to let her scoot past them. She sits beside me and puts her arm around my shoulders. “What did I miss?”
“Not much.” I lower my voice. “It’s just football.”
“Fourth and ten. Stallions’ ball.” A flurry of activity takes place on the field. “Interception by the Warriors!” the commentator shouts.
People around us leap to their feet, cheering madly, and the sudden movement makes me jump. Mom notices and squeezes my shoulder. Hawk puts two fingers in his mouth and whistles.
A man who is way too old for blue-and-white face paint turns to my uncle. “Your boys are tearing up the field tonight. Think they can keep it up until the championships?”
Hawk smiles proudly. “That’s the plan.”
Two huge guys on the field bump chests and yank on each other’s helmets. When they turn around, CARTER is printed on the backs of their jerseys.
“Wait. Those giants are the Twins?” I ask. Not possible. The last time I saw them was a year and a half ago, at Dad’s funeral, and they were stocky, but they look taller and even bigger now.
Hawk nods. “Yep. Right there. Number seven and number eleven.”
The cheerleaders break into a routine. I give them credit. They make backflips and handsprings look easy. The rest of the game passes with more backflips and the Twins mowing down players from the other team.
After the Warriors slaughter the Stallions, Hawk waits until the stands empty out before he gets up and walks in front of me as we make our way down the steps. At the bottom, the Twins stand off to the side, patiently shaking hands with adults w
aiting in line to congratulate them. They’re definitely taller and their features are more defined. A few cheerleaders hang out next to my cousins, smiling as if they personally contributed to the win.
One of the Twins notices Hawk and waves. “Over here, Pop.”
I have no idea if he’s Christian or Cameron. Most identical twins don’t look exactly alike. Subtle differences, like the curve of a jawline or the slant of an eyebrow, help people tell them apart. But Christian and Cameron are mirror reflections of each other—the same broad shoulders and square jaws, blue eyes and dirty-blond hair, and milky white skin and boyish smiles.
“That was one hell of a game, boys.” Hawk clamps a hand on each son’s shoulder.
“Did you see me take down their receiver?” one of my cousins asks, sweaty blond hair flattened against his skull.
His brother elbows him out of the way. “Yeah, yeah. That was after I sacked the quarterback.”
“You both did your part.” Hawk sounds as if he’s used to the Twins competing for his approval. “How about you both try not to embarrass yourselves in front of Aunt Sissy and your cousin?”
“Which one is which?” I whisper to Mom.
“Cameron is number seven and Christian is number eleven,” Hawk says. He must have dog hearing.
Cameron sees me and grins. “You look so much older.”
“So do you guys.”
Christian looks at me and elbows his brother. “This is gonna be a problem.”
Cam nods. “I was thinking the same thing.”
I cross my arms. “Why would I be a problem?”
“Not you,” Christian says. “This.” He moves his hand up and down in front of me, like he’s referring to what I’m wearing—or he thinks I’m such a mess that they need to hide me in the house. “We don’t want the guys at school—”
“Talking about me?” I finish for him.
Cam gives me a weird look. “He was going to say looking at you.”
“I think the Twins are giving you a compliment,” Mom says.
“Oh.” I feel like a jerk, but I’m relieved my cousins aren’t embarrassed to be seen with me. “Don’t worry. I’ll be able to handle your friends.”
Christian looks unsure. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“You can’t bet on anything because you don’t have enough money to buy a pack of gum, loser,” Cameron fires back. Within seconds, the Twins are shoving each other like ten-year-olds.
“That’s enough, boys,” Hawk says, and the Twins stop.
“There’s a party at Titan’s,” Cameron tells Hawk. “We’ll take Peyton with us and introduce her to everyone.”
I have zero interest in meeting people tonight. I’d rather sit through another football game. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m worn out from the drive.” I yawn for effect.
Cameron’s eyes dart to my brace. “You’re probably not ready to go to a party after what happened at the last one.”
“But things wouldn’t have gone down like that if we’d been there. Your ex would’ve been the one who ‘fell’”—Christian makes air quotes—“down the stairs.”
My stomach lurches.
The Twins know what really happened to my knee. The one thing I don’t want anyone in Black Water to find out.
“I think you embarrassed her,” Cam whispers to Christian loudly. “Change the subject.”
I glare at the Twins.
A crease forms between Christian’s eyebrows as he tries to come up with something. Cam elbows him. Christian shoves him back. “I’m working on it.”
What are the odds these two can keep a secret?
Suddenly, Christian blurts out, “Buck Richards kissed a hot girl after the game in Knoxville last week and it turns out she’s his cousin—twice removed, whatever that means.”
The secret-keeping odds don’t look good.
CHAPTER 10
Treading Water
I LOOK OVER at Mom, but she’s too busy staring down my uncle to notice. She obviously didn’t know Hawk told the Twins the truth about my knee.
Hawk rubs the space between his eyebrows and clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Peyton. I should’ve checked with you or Sissy before I said anything.”
So much for Mom making sure Hawk didn’t tell anyone.
“But they won’t say a word about it. Right, boys?”
“No, sir,” Cam says.
Hawk looks at Christian, who says, “I won’t even breathe.”
My uncle nods. “All right, then. Why don’t you do everybody at the party a favor and hit the showers.”
The Twins jog off, and I’m stuck with Mom and Hawk and I sense a heart-to-heart conversation coming. I’m tired of answering the same depressing questions. Am I in any pain? Am I having a hard time getting around? Am I worried about losing my scholarship?
All of the above.
“Where’s the restroom?” It’s the only place they won’t follow me.
Hawk points toward the main entrance. “Straight down on the left. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.” I take off, determined to get out of earshot before they start talking about me.
In the restroom, a faucet drips below a huge mirror decorated with BLACK WATER WARRIORS bumper stickers. I lean against the wall and let the cold seep through the back of my jacket.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Wow. Mom waited a whole five minutes before checking on me.
But it’s not Mom.
Tess’ name glows in green letters.
Did she figure out I’ve been telling the truth? Maybe Lucia got through to her. I answer on the second ring. “I’m so glad you called.”
“The last time we were alone together you said you had nothing left to say to me.” Reed’s voice taunts me from the other end of the line. “I’m hoping that’s not true.”
“Then prepare to be disappointed. If I wanted to talk to you, I wouldn’t have blocked your number.” My heart pounds. “Why do you have Tess’ phone? Let me talk to her.”
“She went inside to get something and left her phone in the car. Like you said, my number is blocked.”
“It hasn’t stopped you from calling.”
“I miss you, Peyton.” The regret in his voice feels like spiders crawling over my skin.
“Put Tess on,” I manage.
Reed takes a shallow breath, as if the conversation is hard for him. “I doubt she’ll talk to you.”
“And who do I have to thank for that?”
“I begged you to give me another chance. That’s all I wanted.” He sounds sincere, like the boy he was when we started dating. “I’d never hurt you.”
“Are you delusional?” I fire back. “You did hurt me.” Why am I still talking to him? I should hang up, but it feels good to unleash some of my anger. He deserves it.
“It was an accident.”
Something inside me snaps. “Was lying about pushing me down the stairs an accident, too?”
“I never wanted any of this to happen, Peyton. But you backed me into a corner. If you’d just given me another chance, I could’ve fixed everything. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I love you.”
A bitter laugh escapes my lips. “Keep telling yourself that, but don’t try to sell it to me. I was there.”
“I get it. You’re not ready to forgive me. But I know you still love me, and I’m not giving up on us.”
The sound of Reed’s voice—a voice I used to love hearing—sickens me now. “I don’t care what you do as long as it doesn’t involve me.”
I hang up just as the door to the girls’ bathroom squeaks open. I duck into the nearest stall. Blue-and-white cheerleading skirts pass by the space between the stall door and the wall.
“Christian is totally playing games again,” a girl says in a slow Southern drawl. “A week ago he said he wanted to ‘get serious about our relationship.’ Then last night we got in this huge fight and he said we needed a break.”
Her friend gasps. “Oh my god, Apri
l! He broke up with you?”
“Taking a break isn’t the same as breaking up.” April sounds annoyed.
“They both have the word break in them.”
I try not to laugh.
“Don’t be so literal, Madison. It doesn’t matter. I was about to tell Christian it was over anyway. I’m sick of waiting for him to grow up. He isn’t the only hot guy in Black Water.”
“But he is the hottest,” Madison says. “And y’all will get back together. You always do.”
“That’s the problem. Christian thinks I’ll wait around forever. So I’m gonna show him I won’t.”
The restroom door squeaks open again, and the sound of lipsticks and compacts clattering in makeup bags instantly stops, along with the gossip.
“Hey.” Another girl wearing a blue-and-white skirt enters the mix. “Are y’all going to the party?”
“Why? Are you?” April asks in the bitchiest way possible.
“I’m not sure.” The girl rifles through her purse “Your double pike looked great tonight, Madison.”
Madison ignores the compliment. “I had that down freshman year.”
“FYI, Grace,” April says. “I dumped Christian, so feel free to follow him around like a puppy tonight, like you always do.”
I don’t know much about cheerleading, but these girls are on the same squad, which makes them a team. You don’t gang up on a teammate.
“I don’t follow him around,” Grace says quietly. “We’re just friends.”
“Give it up,” April snaps. “Everyone knows you’re into him. It’s embarrassing. Even before I broke up with him, you were always lurking around. I never said anything because I felt bad for you.”
Okay … she’s definitely a bitch.
“You should go for it,” Madison says. “Maybe Christian will take pity on you.”
The bitches burst out laughing.
Come on, Grace. Tell them to go screw themselves.
Grace stays quiet. All the pent-up emotions I held back during my conversation with Reed suddenly resurface. I slam my palm against the stall door, and it swings around and bangs against the next stall.
The three girls jump.
A quick assessment and I’m ninety-nine percent sure I have all the players pegged. The chesty brunette with freckles wearing too much eyeliner is the ex, April. The tall girl with a ponytail next to her—who looks like she lost a battle with a bottle of self-tanner—is Madison. And the petite girl fidgeting with the ends of her long, straight black hair must be Grace.