Blocked (11 page)

Nausea stirred in my gut as I thought about my first college match.
If
I got any playing time, would I make a complete fool of myself out there?

“I’d like to get to know you better.” Whitney had picked up her notepad again. “Are you having regular menses?”

What the heck are menses?

When I didn’t answer, she chuckled. “Sorry to confuse you with the medical jargon. Are you having regular periods?”

¡Hijole!
She didn’t beat around the bush. “Uh, yes?”

“Good. That’s a sign you’re eating enough to support all the exercise you do.”

I was pretty sure one look at me would tell her I ate enough.

“What are some of your favorite foods?”

“Um, salads, and bananas, and apples, and…” I trailed off when she glared at me. “What?”

“
Nobody
lists those as their favorite foods. Stop telling me what you think I want to hear, and start answering my questions honestly.”

She was half my size, but the fierceness in her eyes made me realize her pixie power. I sat up a bit. “But the foods I like are fattening.”

“Fat makes food taste better, but it doesn’t mean the food itself will make you gain weight. What do you like to eat?”

“Fajitas.” My mouth watered just thinking about my favorite Houston restaurant’s sizzling chicken and steak.

“Fajitas are a well-balanced choice with all three macronutrients. Tortillas and rice have carbohydrates, meat and beans have protein, and cheese and guacamole have fat. Plus, there are vegetables. What else do you like?”

She was saying fajitas were
healthy?
My head spun, and I said the first thing that came to mind: “Sopaipillas.” When she tilted her head, I cringed.
Way to tell a nutritionist that you like to eat the most fattening food ever.

“I’ve never had those before.” She turned to her computer and pulled up a link. “Oh! Fried Mexican dough. Yeah, I’ve heard of these.”

I waited for her to tell me I could never eat them again.

“So, this is a nutrient-dense food that the average person should eat sparingly. Athletes might get by with eating sopapillas more frequently. How often do you eat them?”

“I don’t think I’ve had any since my birthday.”

“And when was that?”

“September twentieth.”

“Almost a
year
ago?” Whitney shook her head. “But it’s one of your favorite foods.”

I shrugged. “My mom said I shouldn’t eat it.”

Whitney kept writing, and I wondered how hopeless she thought I was. She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Let’s see, it’s one fifteen. What have you eaten today?”

Ah
. This was an easier question, since all morning I had calmed myself by repeating the small number of calories I’d consumed: eighty. “I had a banana.”

“What size banana?”

“Medium.”
Eighty calories, eighty calories
.

“Okay, what else?” She smiled at me.

“That’s it.” If I could’ve gotten by with eating nothing, I would have, but Allison and had been in the kitchen this morning and had shoved a banana at me when I’d gotten my coffee. “Oh! I had coffee too.”

“Any cream and sugar?”

“Black.”
Disgusting
. I missed my favorite flavored creamer.

Whitney frowned. “Lucia. That’s not enough. You need to eat more.”

I pulled back, deeper into my chair. She was
mad
at me? I’d thought she’d be pleased with my self-restraint!

“If you like bananas, then add some peanut butter, maybe some milk. You need more to keep you going for a three-hour practice.”

Peanut butter?
That would go straight to my butt. No way I’d eat peanut butter.

“Did you drink any water today?”

“Of course.”

“How much?”

“Uh, about one and a half water bottles.”

She jotted that down.

“Part of my assessment is to take your height and weight.” Whitney stood and stepped toward the evil scale.

Here it comes
. As my heart raced, I wished I hadn’t consumed any water at practice. “Can I go to the bathroom real quick?”

She studied me. “No need. We’re almost done here, once I take your weight.”

I slowly got to my feet and approached the gallows.

She extended a bar on the back of the scale toward the ceiling. “Let’s measure your height first.”

“I’m six-two.”

She laughed as she looked up at me. “I can see that. Just want to get the most accurate measurement. Please back onto the scale.”

I. Hate. This
. I turned around and stepped backward onto the instrument of doom.

“Yep, seventy-four inches. Okay, stay right there, and I’ll get your weight.”

My chest squeezed around my galloping heart. “I don’t get to
see
it?”

“It’s just a number, Lucia. It doesn’t define you.”

Right. If only it didn’t define me
. I heard the slide of metal across the scale, and when the sound continued, ticking up the pounds, I stopped breathing.

“Okay, you can step off.”

I whipped around as I stepped down, but she’d zoomed the metal piece back to the left before I could see the massive number.

“Schedule with me in two weeks,” she said, handing me one of her business cards. “We’ll review the results of the bone scan.”

Yippee
. “Thanks.” I bolted from her office, and for once I was actually happy to see Allison.

Nina’s wilting set floated far to my right, and I had to sprint from the left corner of the net to reach the ball in time. There was no way I could make it to spike that ball with my left hand, so I made a split-second decision to dink it over the net with my right. Rolling off my fingertips with a light touch, the ball dribbled to the gym floor before Kaitlyn could dig it on the opposite side of the net. In a game, that would be our point. In a practice drill in which I was supposed to spike the ball down the line, it was our undoing.

“So many screw-ups with that play, I don’t know where to begin,” Coach Holter said in a tight voice.

I didn’t want to look at him, but I knew he’d get on my case if I didn’t make eye contact. The veins on his neck bulged, and I braced myself for his tirade.

“Nina, is Lucia right-handed?”

Once I saw her fearful expression, I actually felt sympathy for our team setter. Holding the most important position on the team, Nina had been forced to absorb much of our coach’s wrath. “No,” she finally said.

“Then why aren’t you pushing the ball out to her left side?”

She looked down. I chewed on my lip as I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead. It had taken my high-school setter a couple of years to perfect setting to a left-hander, and Nina had only been working on it for a week. Not that those details mattered to Coach.

“And Ramirez,” he said, his stony face turning toward me. “This is exactly what I mean about your weight holding you back. A faster hitter would’ve made it to that ball. But you—you lumber over to the set…” He made a big show of stomping one heavy foot in front of another, waddling forward as he puffed his cheeks out.

Oh my God
. Did I actually look like that when I spiked the ball? I wanted to melt into the floor like a massive marshmallow.
Eighty calories, eighty calories, eighty calories.

“And
Kaitlyn!”

Phew
. He’d moved on to his next prey. I clasped my hands together to stop their shaking.

“You asked me why you’re on the practice team? Why you’re not a starter?” He flung his arms in the air. “It’s not such a damn mystery, is it?” He paced the sideline. “I thought you were a defensive specialist! Play some actual
defense
then.”

I peeked at Kaitlyn, whose brown eyes blazed. She was a feisty one, and I bet she’d fly all over the court to get the next ball, just to prove Coach wrong. I wished I felt some of her fire inside. Right now all I felt was exhaustion.

“We’ll get the next one.” Maddie stood next to me as the middle blocker and smiled when I looked at her. How did she stay so positive in this hellish environment?

“Again.” Coach crossed his arms over his chest. “Turn your brains on this time, you airheads.”

I wanted to kill him. On the opposite side of the net, a sophomore teammate tossed up the ball to execute her jump serve, but the ball careened into the net.
Uh-oh
. I stole a glance at Coach, who appeared ready to stroke out.

“
Jesus!
You’re so undependable, Murphy—no wonder you’re not a starter. Serve the damn ball
in play
. Again.”

I exhaled when her next serve made it over the net, and thankfully my teammate in the back row passed the ball perfectly to Nina. Maddie made a fast approach toward Nina, pretending she would execute a quick-hit to fake out the defense, while I waited for Nina to set the ball to me. Her set sailed to the left corner of the net—just where I liked it—and I took two steps then leaped up to snap the heel of my hand through the ball, slamming it down the line.

I heard Maddie’s voice. “Good job, Lucia!”

I shook my head. That spike was nowhere near as powerful as it could’ve been. I tried to blink away the dizziness I felt.

“Madison—get over to block,” Coach ordered, and Maddie hustled to face me from the opposing side of the net. Coach nodded at me. “Let’s see you try that same hit through our best blocker.”

Mierda
.

Chapter 8

I W
AS
J
UST
A
BOUT
T
O
S
LURP
the leftover milk from my second bowl of cereal when Lucia entered the kitchen. With my bowl suspended in midair, I watched her stop in place once she saw me.

Shit
. So much for avoiding her after my beer-goggle kiss a week ago. The girl confused the hell out of me. I’d hoped some time away from her would clarify things, but given the uptick of my heartbeat when she strolled in the room, that obviously hadn’t happened.

As I set my bowl back on the table, my eyes floated from her flushed face to the slogan on her hot-pink T-shirt:

Volleyball is my passion
and
Spandex is my fashion

I grinned.
Thank God guys don’t have to wear Spandex
. When she turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of the luscious curve of her bottom.
And thank God girl players do
.