Better than Perfect (24 page)

I shake his hand. “I'm glad to be here, Coach. Thanks for the opportunity.”

“In case you didn't know, you're the only female in the program. Since there are no showers designated for women, the showers for the rest of the players will be closed from five to five forty-five a.m. and seven to seven forty-five p.m. so you can have privacy.”

“Got it.”

“One more thing,” he says. “We won't tolerate sexual harassment of any kind. If you feel harassed at any time, inform me or anyone else on staff. That being said, I hope you have a thick skin. Boys will be boys. Don't jump the gun, if you know what I mean.”

After the harassment talk, I head to the dorm and find my room at the end of the hall. All the guys have roommates, but I've
got a single. I drop my bags on the floor and sit on the edge of my bed. There's a small closet, a window, a twin bed, and a desk. It's basic, but it's clean and spider-free. And no Derek. I've gotten used to having him around and hearing his voice. Even now, I miss him.

It doesn't take long for me to put my stuff away. If I were a different girl, I'd sit in my room and hide until tomorrow, when the program officially starts. Instead, I head for the lounge to meet the guys I'm going to be playing with for the next week. I catch sight of Landon sitting with a couple of guys on one of the couches. I don't have any emotion besides a desire to show him and everyone else here that I'm competitive and I'm here to prove it.

No way I'm letting Landon think I'm intimidated. I'm captain of my team back home and represent them as well. This isn't just about me. I stand right in front of him. “Hi, Landon.”

He glances at me, gives me a pathetic mumbling “Hi,” then goes back to talking to the guys without introducing me. It's obvious he doesn't want me sitting with him, so I find an empty chair on the other side of the lounge. I try to start a conversation with a couple of the guys sitting around me. They give short answers, then walk away like I'm contagious or something.

I'm walking back to my room when I overhear a bunch of guys talking with their door open. If they were my teammates, I'd be sitting with them. I'm an outsider in unfamiliar territory. Why be timid now, when I know being a loner won't do me any good on the field tomorrow?

I straighten and am about to walk in the room to introduce
myself when I hear a guy say, “Did you see that chick in line this morning?”

Another guy gives a short laugh. “That dude McKnight told me she got in the program so they can have a token female. The girl is delusional enough to think she belongs here.”

“She better not be on my team,” one guy says.

The other guys express similar opinions and suddenly I'm not in the mood to make friends.

I rush to my room and throw myself on my bed. Normally I'd be ready to challenge the guys, to show I'm not intimidated by their lack of enthusiasm of having to play with a girl. Right now I don't feeling like proving myself and feel totally defeated.

For the first time since I got voted captain, I don't feel like one.

I look up at the motorized gate that slowly opens after I announce my arrival over the intercom. Some people would be impressed by my grandmother's massive estate, but I'm not into flaunting money or status. This house does both.

I park my car in the circular drive and look up at the tall pillars flanking the oversize front door. I'm sweating, and it's not from the morning sun beating down on me. Meeting my grandmother on her own turf is like facing an unknown team in a playoff game. You can't really prepare effectively for the game and you're anxious until it's over.

A guy wearing a black suit and a serious expression is at the entrance waiting for me. “You with the Secret Service?” I ask, trying to lighten the situation.

He doesn't seem amused. “Follow me.”

I'm led into the house. The place is filled with high ceilings
and large corridors, reminding me of those fancy cribs showcased on television. The staircase is polished metal, and the furniture is overstuffed and likely overpriced, too. The guy in the suit stops in front of a room overlooking the swimming pool in the backyard. It's filled with white furniture and purple cushions. It's completely feminine and over-the-top. I wonder if Ashtyn would like it or prefer her lived-in, old furniture back home.

I wanted to stay with her this morning until she was settled in the dorm. That was before I saw a few guys who would have definitely recognized me. I wanted to tell her about my past, but what good would it do? Saying nothing and booking out of there before anyone recognized me was the easy way out and I took it.

I'm looking out the window at the big pool in the backyard, wishing Ashtyn were here with me, when I hear someone come into the room. I turn around and recognize my grandmother right away. She's wearing a stark white suit, her hair is all poofed up, and her makeup is overdone. I'm taken aback that she's tan and looks like she just came from a vacation instead of the hospital.

She holds her head high like a queen when approaching her subjects as she walks up to me with her arms outstretched. “Aren't you going to say hello to your grandmother?”

“Hello, Grandmother,” I say with a deadpan expression. I don't mask the fact that I'm not her biggest fan, but at least I don't flinch when she walks closer and gives me one of those fake air kisses.

She holds me at arm's length. I feel like a bull being assessed, and I'm almost surprised she doesn't open my mouth to inspect
my teeth. “You need a haircut. And new clothes. You look like a pauper in those ripped jeans and T-shirt that I'd no more use as a dishrag than wear on my body.”

“Lucky for you it's my clothes and not yours.”

She makes a
harrumph
sound. A lady in a maid's uniform walks into the room with a silver tray filled with little sandwiches and tea. After she leaves, my grandmother points to one of the wicker couches. “Have a seat and some refreshments.”

I stay standing. “Listen, I hate to state the obvious, but you don't look like someone on her deathbed. You said you were dyin'.”

She sits on the edge of a chair and takes her time pouring tea into a fancy cup. “Bless your heart. I didn't
exactly
say I was dying.”

“You said you were havin' treatments. You have cancer?”

“No. Sit down. The tea is getting cold.”

“Diabetes?”

“No. The sandwiches are made with cheese imported from the south of France. Try one.”

“Parkinson's? Lou Gehrig's disease? A stroke?”

She waves her hand in the air, dismissing all the ailments I listed. “If you must know, I was resting.”

“Resting? You said you were
diagnosed
. You said seein' me was your last
dyin'
wish.”

“We are all dying, Derek. Every day we're alive is one day closer to our death. Now sit down before my blood pressure rises.”

“You have a blood pressure problem?”

“You're about to give me one.” When I don't move, she sighs
heavily. “If you must know, I had a little procedure. I spent some time recovering at a spa in Arizona until the twentieth.”

Procedure? I've fallen into a trap and was manipulated into coming here. As she reveals little bits, the truth suddenly dawns on me. I'm a fool. “You had plastic surgery.”

“I'd like to call it going in for a tune-up. You should be familiar with that term, seeing as your father always did like to fiddle with his own cars instead of bring them to a professional.”

“If that's supposed to be an insult, you're off the mark.”

“Yes, well . . .” My grandmother looks up at me without an ounce of shame. “What I'm getting at is that it's not easy to see yourself getting older. You're my grandson, and the only family I have left. I've been a widow for ten years and your mother is gone. You're the last Worthington.”

“I'm not a Worthington. I'm a Fitzpatrick.”

“Yes, well, that
is
unfortunate.”

Truth is, she's so used to acting like Texas royalty I don't think she realizes how arrogant she sounds. “I don't think my dad would agree with you.”

She clears her throat as if she's got something stuck in it. “How is that Army man doing these days?”

“He's in the Navy.”

“Whatever.”

“I'm sure he'd send his regards, but he's on a submarine for the next five months.”

“He abandoned his new bride so soon after the wedding? Pity,” she says in a monotone voice. “Derek, sit down. You're
making me nervous. It's bad enough you won't cash your trust fund allowance checks and I have to resort to sending you cash.”

“I didn't ask for a trust fund, or an allowance.” My grandparents set it up when I was born. I think it was their way of luring me to Texas with the hope I'd work for Worthington Industries one day. “By the way, Sunnyside Nursing Home says thank you for your generous donation.”

My grandmother sighs. “I got the thank-you card. I am already a benefactor to many charities. The money is for
you
, Derek. You might dress like one, but I don't want you living like a pauper. Now sit down and eat.”

“I'm not hungry. Listen,
Grandma
, in your letter you said you had somethin' important to tell me. Why don't you just spill it and get it over with, because truthfully this grandson-grandma bonding thing ain't workin' for me.”

“You want the truth?”

Duh. I hold up my hands, urging her to come out with it already. I'm ready to leave here and book a hotel for the week.

“I want you to come live with me.” She doesn't blink and she doesn't have a smirk on her face. I think the woman is serious. She might not be deathly ill, but she's obviously delusional.

“Not gonna happen. You're wastin' your time.”

“I have a week to change your mind.” She takes a calculated sip of tea, then sets the cup on the table. “You will give me a week, Derek. Won't you?”

“Give me one reason I shouldn't walk out that door right now.”

“Because it's what your mother would have wanted.”

It's the first day of practice, where we'll be assessed and placed onto teams for scrimmages. I wake up when my alarm rings at five and head to the showers. There's a big sign on the door of the bathroom:

Someone crossed out FEMALES ONLY and wrote FREMONT'S BITCH instead. The words cut deep.

I stand under the hot shower. I want to go home. Maybe Landon was right, that I got accepted to Elite because I'm a girl and they wanted to fill some sort of quota.

What am I doing here?

I leave the bathroom and pull off the sign. I'm not about to
tattle for a stupid sign calling me Fremont's bitch. I'd lose respect for not being able to take a joke. Five guys are already standing in line with towels around their waists, waiting to enter. One of them is Landon. He snickers when I walk past him and says something to the guy standing next to him.

Back in my room, I glance at my cell phone and notice I've got five texts.

Jet: Find us a new QB who'll transfer to Fremont, even if you have to sleep with him! Take one for the team. JK (kind of)

Vic: Don't fuck up! jk (kind of)

Trey: Don't listen to Jet or Vic. (Monika told me to write that. She's sitting next to me.)

Monika: Good luck! XOXO

Bree: R cute guys there? Txt me pics!

They remind me that I have a job to do now that Landon turned out to be a jerk and abandoned our team. If I can get scouts to come to Fremont and watch me play, every player will get a chance to be seen. I can't give up or back down.

My phone rings right before I head outside for practice. It's Derek. I ignore the call. I have so much to say to him, but I can't say it now. I need to focus on football this week, nothing else.

On the field, the head coach blows his whistle. While the
players gather around, he gives a lecture on sexual harassment. Way to make the guys resent me even more . . . All eyes are on me and I just want to disappear until it's over. I don't even hear the pep talk before we do calisthenics and drills, because I'm still aware of all the stares. It's a closed practice, so parents and scouts are not allowed to attend today. None of the guys stand near me or talk to me.

The kicking coach, Coach Bennett, has the kickers work on technique for a long time, then in the afternoon has us kick the ball starting from the goal line. He increases the distance by a yard after every successful kick. I'm the best of the group, until Coach Bennett assigns the quarterbacks as holders so we can practice kicking and they can practice a trick play in a fake field goal situation.

Landon is assigned as my holder. He saunters over to me with an arrogant smirk on his face. I would ask Coach Bennett to assign me another holder, but nobody likes a player who complains. What would I tell him, that Landon is my ex-boyfriend and I don't want to play nice with him? He'd probably laugh in my face, then send me packing.

Football isn't for the weak, physically or mentally.

I can do this. I look around at the other kickers who are called on first. They're all at the top of their game, like specially trained machines who know what to do and when to do it. A bunch of guys I've only heard about but never met are on the field, mini celebrities with big egos to match their talent. I can imagine everyone here playing at the college level and beyond.

When Bennett calls me and Landon up for our turn, I get ready for the snap and attempt to execute a perfect kick right through the middle of the goalposts, but Landon tilts the ball at the last second and the ball tumbles on the ground after I kick the tip of it instead of the sweet spot. He does it so subtly that nobody else besides me can tell, unless you had a video camera and could replay it in slow motion.