I knock down two more pins on my second try, leaving one. Bollocks.
“My turn,” Ezra says and proceeds to knock nine down on his first try. Damn.
I cup my hands around my mouth to shout at him. “Show-off.”
When he retrieves his ball from the return, I let him catch me staring at his butt. That makes him laugh, but then his gaze grows more heated, and I know he’s thinking about what we did last night.
I can’t believe how lucky I am. Sophomore year, Steph had a crush on this guy Gordon. She talked about him constantly and went out of her way to run into him in the hallway. This went on for months until he finally caught wind that she wanted him. The next weekend at a mixer in Harvey House, Steph and Gordon finally made out.
Later that night when we were getting ready for bed, I asked her how it was.
She stuck out her tongue and proclaimed in her fancy British accent, “It was like kissing white bread. Boring and limp!”
Madison and I giggled with her, but I remember freaking out inside. If I ever got to kiss Ezra, would it be like white bread?
Now I know. He’s like mint chocolate truffles: succulent and rich. And I want another helping already.
Right as I’m about to go steal a kiss, I hear, “Taylor, hey!”
I twirl around to find Chloe approaching our lane.
Ezra sets his chin on my shoulder, hugging me from behind. His large masculine hands grip my waist. “I changed my mind,” he says in a low rumble. “Let’s forget bowling and go find a bed.”
Chloe walks up right in time to hear Ezra’s colorful suggestion. Her eyes flash with amusement.
“Hi, Chloe,” I choke out. “Um, this is my, um, my Ezra.”
Over my shoulder, he stretches out a hand to Chloe. “I’m Tee’s boyfriend.”
Chloe laughs. “Does she know that?”
He holds me tighter. “I hope so. Otherwise, I just struck out.”
I pat his hand that’s on my hip. “Chlo, this is my boyfriend, Ezra. Ez, I know Chloe from Hundred Oaks. Who’re you here with?” I ask her.
She points at three people bowling a couple lanes down from us—Alyson and two guys from the basketball team. I wave at them, and they wave back.
“How are you?” Chloe asks, studying my eyes.
“It’s been a long couple of days. I’m glad it’s Friday night.”
“I’m sorry about what happened with the team yesterday. It really sucks. We need you.”
I nod. There’s nothing else to say, so I just stand here in an awkward silence. Ezra kneads my shoulder.
“Do y’all want to join us?” Alyson calls out.
Ezra bends down and whispers in my ear. “It’s up to you.”
“Yeah,” I tell her, excited about the prospect of hanging out with them. “That’d be great.”
Ezra and I retrieve our balls from the ball return and move down two lanes, where we meet Alyson, Thomas, and John. Thomas adds our names to their computer.
Ezra has always been competitive, so he gets a little too into the game with Thomas. “I bet twenty bucks I’ll beat your score,” Ezra tells Thomas.
“You’re on.”
According to Chloe, Alyson and John are on the verge of getting together, so they spend most of the game flirting and chasing each other around. That leaves me to chat with Chloe, which is a little nerve-racking, because she hasn’t been totally welcoming so far, but I’ve also missed being around girls. I haven’t seen Madison and Steph in forever.
“I was surprised to see you here,” I tell Chloe. “And without Nicole.”
“Honestly? Lately, Alyson and I feel like Nicole is acting really immature.” She shrugs. “And a bunch of our friends graduated last year.”
“But you still have friends on the soccer team, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m not really enjoying this season. What’s the point in playing if Nicole doesn’t pass me the ball?”
I nod in understanding. “I try to pass it to you whenever I can.”
She grins at that. “I know. It pisses Nicole off when you do that. I love it though.”
We laugh together.
I change the subject. “So are you here with Thomas?”
Chloe bites her lower lip and musses her short hair. “We’ve hooked up a few times, but it’s not serious. I kind of like it that way.”
“Yeah?”
“I like that he isn’t looking for forever. I want to travel after graduation, and I don’t want to be tied down by a boyfriend.”
That’s different. Most girls I know want relationships.
“My brother and Ezra traveled after they graduated,” I say. “They bought Eurail passes and spent three months getting lost in Europe. I was so jealous—they went to a bunch of museums I can’t wait to see one day.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I’d love to backpack around Nicaragua and Guatemala. I want to take a year off before going to college. My parents aren’t wild about that idea, but I feel like I need to do it. What about you? What are you doing after you graduate?”
“Going to college…I hope.” I trace a line on my palm to avoid looking at her.
Her voice drops to a whisper. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want, but are the rumors true?”
I lower my head. “It’s not as bad as people are saying.”
“I didn’t figure it was. I mean, I don’t know you very well, but you seem so…normal.”
I give her an amused smile. “Thanks, I think.”
Alyson and John are staring deep into each other’s eyes and whispering God knows what, and Ezra and Thomas want to play one-on-one, because the rest of us are not serious bowlers, so Chloe and I decide to get some nachos from the concession stand.
While waiting on the fry cook to serve them up, we sit on bar stools and swirl in circles like we’re little girls. Chloe cracks up when I nearly fall off my stool. I catch myself on the counter, giggling.
The fry cook rolls his eyes at me, flipping his spatula up in the air and catching it as if he’s in the Chef Olympics.
Chloe twirls around again, then suddenly grunts and grabs her knee. She stretches her leg out in front of her and bends it carefully.
“You all right?” I ask.
“Yeah. Sometimes when I accidentally move my knee in an awkward way, I get scared.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
“Between sophomore and junior year, I went to soccer camp at Western Kentucky.”
“Oh! I’ve been there. It’s a great program.”
Chloe nods. “I was playing in a scrimmage, running really fast, when I heard a pop. Then I fell on the ground.” She shakes her head, lost in the memory. “I’d never felt pain like that before. The emergency room said I needed to see a specialist. An orthopedist. Dr. C., I mean Dr. Carpenter—he said I had to have surgery.”
“Was it scary?”
“Before I got the anesthesia, I freaked out that I wouldn’t wake up, but when I did wake up, I wanted to go back to sleep because my leg hurt so much. I had to take this pill, Percocet, for a month to help with the pain. It made me drowsy all the time and messed up my stomach. But the worst part was when I had to give it up. I wanted it all the time. I’d wake up in the morning thinking about it.”
After using Adderall, I often felt twitchy and nervous. Sometimes I couldn’t fall asleep, even when I wanted to. I’m lucky I never started to crave them. Was staying awake to study really worth the risk of becoming addicted? It makes me think of Caleb, the boy at school who’s desperate for Ritalin.
I rest a hand on Chloe’s forearm. “What happened next?”
She gives me a weak smile and takes a deep breath, then continues her story.
“Last year, I was in thera
py the entire season, so I didn’t get to play at all. I could barely walk. I just sat on the bench and watched. I couldn’t wait to play again this year, but without Lilian as captain—she was in charge last year—Nicole’s just taken over, and she obviously has no clue how to lead.”
“That sucks,” I say quietly.
“The worst part is I was actually pretty good before I got hurt. Now I’m too scared to take any risks on the field. Don’t get me wrong, I love it when you pass me the ball, but I also sort of panic. What if I step in a hole or plant my foot the wrong way and I hear that awful pop again? I can’t handle the thought of needing more surgery.”
“I think you’re brave for playing,” I reply, remembering what Ezra said about risks not necessarily being a negative. Chloe playing soccer again is a positive.
The cook passes us our nachos, and we take them back to our lane, where Ezra and Thomas are still trying to one-up each other. Thomas is leading 220 to Ezra’s 212. Close match.
Chloe dips a chip into the melted cheese and pops it in her mouth. “This has been fun.”
I take a deep breath, gathering my courage to open up to her. “Do you want to hang out again sometime?”
“Sure,” she says with a smile.
“Great,” I reply, feeling a rush of happiness.
Thomas barely beats Ezra. Grumbling, my boyfriend takes twenty bucks out of his wallet and passes it to Thomas. In the next game, I bowl an all-time low of 85, but I don’t care. I’m having too nice of a time lounging on my boyfriend’s lap and hanging out with Chloe and Alyson. Then I glance down at my phone and see it’s nearly eleven. At first I panic because I have to wake up early, but then I remember that I don’t. Coach asked me to skip the game tomorrow. Which makes me sad and a little ashamed.
Until I realize…I can sleep in!
• • •
When Ezra drives me home, it’s nearly midnight, and my parents still aren’t back from Nashville.
“Want to come in for a while?” I ask.
“Is that a real question?” he jokes, sweeping me into his arms for a kiss. “Of course I want to come inside.”
He nervously jingles his keys as we go in through the back door; he leaves them on the counter. The lights are turned down throughout most of the house. Marina’s probably either already in bed or holed up with a novel in her room.
I lead him up the stairs. I can tell it’s an effort for him to control his breathing. For me too. Sneaking him in makes me nervous. So does anticipating what will happen once we’re in my room.
Then we’re in each other’s arms. Unlike last night, tonight we’re not rushed. We’re not as impatient. We take our time, gently kissing and hugging and getting to know each other again. I don’t make any moves to take his clothes off, but we do lie down on my bed.
“You are terrible at bowling,” he says, kissing my lips.
“Next time, we’re doing something I’m good at.”
“Oh yeah?” I can feel him smiling against my teeth. “Like what?”
“Trivia night at Freddie’s Oyster Bar.”
“Oh good God,” he mutters.
He crawls on top of me, moving his hips against mine. I grip his bottom, pulling him closer. He groans at the sensation. I can’t believe he’s mine. All mine. I grin, but it fades when I remember.
“Can I ask a question? Who is Svetlana? To you, I mean?”
Ezra sets his elbows to either side of my head, propping himself up, and looks down at me. “A friend.”
“Were you ever more than friends?”
He shrugs a little. “We fooled around some, but we never dated.”
“Why not?”
“She wanted to, but I stopped hooking up with her when she said she wanted more.”
“But you didn’t?”
A long pause. “I guess by then I had given up on you and me… I wasn’t unwilling to date somebody. I just hadn’t met anyone I liked as much as you, Tease.”
Smiling broadly, I trace the freckles on his tan nose. “I was worried you might like Svetlana more than me. She’s a Russian gymnast, right? I bet she does it in fancy Kama Sutra positions. How can I compete with that?”
Ezra laughs hard. “She’s from Russia, yes, but you’re more of a gymnast than she is.”
“A spy then?”
“No.”
“Dominatrix?”
With a laugh, he pins me down by the wrists. “If you’re so jealous, why don’t you show me your gymnastics skills?”
I take the challenge.
Dodging his tickles, I fight to get on top. I press my hips to his and rock, loving the intimate feel of him. Closing my eyes, I get so into our grinding, I’ll die without another kiss. I lean down to take his mouth at the same moment as he pops up to wrap his arms around me. I lose my balance, and with an unsexy “Eeeeee!” I fall from his lap, topple off my bed, and land spread-eagle.
Ezra peeks over the edge of the bed. “Seriously great gymnastics, Tease.”
Name-Dropping
Saturday morning, I’m eating cereal in the kitchen and reading a book about the Vatican Museums when Dad appears. Dark circles rim his eyes.
I glance at my phone. It’s nearly 10:00 a.m., and he’s just coming downstairs? He must’ve had a late night. He wasn’t home when I kicked Ezra out around 1:00 a.m.
Dad startles when he notices me. “Tee. What are you doing here?”
I swallow my bite of raisin bran and set down my spoon. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you have a game? It’s Saturday.”
I bite my bottom lip. I can’t stop my eyes from watering. “Coach told me to sit this one out.”
“What? Why?”
“Your press release…when my teammates’ parents found out about me, they called the coach to complain.”
“Shit,” Dad murmurs, running a hand over his head. For a moment, he looks apologetic, but that quickly turns to rage. He makes a fist and slams it down on the island. I’ve never seen him mad enough to punch anything. Then he barricades himself up in his office all day, only opening his door to accept lunch and dinner on a tray from Marina.
On Monday morning, Dad accompanies me to school, because he wants to speak to the principal about my “soccer situation.” I direct Dad to the office, where he yanks open the door and strides in, suit jacket thrown over his arm.
“May I speak with Dr. Salter, please?” he asks with a patient smile.
“Your name?”
“Senator Edward Lukens,” his voice booms.
Damn. Dad’s name-dropping himself. He must be angry.
The admin assistant sits up straight. She reaches to use her intercom, but she misses the on button on the first attempt. Dad must be making her nervous. She hits the button on her second try.
“Dr. Salter. Senator Lukens is here to see you.”
Several seconds go by before the principal responds. “Please send him in.” I distinctly hear him clearing his throat before he shuts off the intercom.
The assistant ushers us into Dr. Salter’s office. The principal is straightening his bow tie when Dad charges forward to shake his hand. Dr. Salter smiles warmly and gestures for us to have a seat.
“What can I do for you, Senator?”
“My daughter wasn’t allowed to play in Saturday’s game against Hendersonville, and I’d like to know why. Before she enrolled here, you assured me that any activities she chose to pursue would be open to her, that the reasons for her leaving St. Andrew’s wouldn’t be held against her. You told me she could be happy here.”
I gasp. Gaze over at my father. He talked to Dr. Salter before my first day?
“Senator, I’m sorry you had to come down here,” Dr. Salter says, folding his hands in front of him. “I’ll be speaking with the school board today about my decision to let Taylor keep p
laying. Coach Walker made a unilateral decision without clearing it with me first. The situation is under control now.”
“So my daughter will get to stay on the team?”
“Yes, Senator. So long as she wants to play. I don’t withhold opportunities from our students if they haven’t done anything wrong at Hundred Oaks.”
“Thank you,” Dad says in an annoyed tone, checking his watch. “I need to get to work.”
After shaking Dr. Salter’s hand, Dad vamooses as quickly as he arrived, leaving me alone with the principal.
“Are you okay, Taylor?” he asks.
I shrug. I keep causing more and more problems for my parents. Dad’s usually at work by now or at least on his way to his office in Nashville, but he had to come deal with me again.
“Listen,” Dr. Salter starts, “if anyone, and that includes Coach Walker, gives you any problems, you come straight to me, okay?”
“Are you saying that because of who my dad is?”
“I’m saying that because you deserve every chance to succeed.”
The way he says that makes me feel like an at-risk student or something, but it’s nice to have someone looking out for me. Also, it was pretty badass how Dad came down here and took care of business.
That afternoon when I get to practice, I find Dr. Salter sitting on the bleachers. He waves at me. I let out a deep breath and wave back, glad he’s here. Coach Walker, however, is another story.
For once, the coach isn’t obsessed with his phone. He actually directs practice. He makes us do drills! Amazing what the presence of a school principal will do for productivity, eh?
• • •
The next evening, we have a home game against St. Andrew’s.
My old team.
Dressed in my red-and-black Raiders uniform, I’m pumped to play, but my old friends are about to see me playing with a team that isn’t a team at all. That deflates me a little.
I pull my hair back into a ponytail, nod once at my reflection in the locker-room mirror, then head out onto the field, where four mothers and a father are surrounding Coach Walker, giving him the third degree.
“I don’t understand,” one says. “You told us Taylor Lukens wouldn’t be playing. I don’t feel comfortable with Nicole being around a drug user.”