Catching Jordan (15 page)

“’Cause people were talking about me in the hal way.”

“So?”

“So that’s never happened to me before.”

Henry pul s me in closer and rubs my arm as I go on. “I don’t want to lose the team’s respect. If I lose my confidence, I’m going to play like shit, and shitty players don’t get offered spots on Division I teams like Alabama.”

His eyes focus on mine and we stare at each other for a while. With his tan skin and emerald eyes, Henry is an extremely cute guy, and it occurs to me how many girls at school would love to find themselves in a potting shed with him. Then he says, “Want to play the hand-slap game?”

I sit Indian-style and Henry mimics me. He puts his hands out toward me, palms up. I place my hands on top of his. A second later, he yanks his hands out from beneath mine and tries to smack the tops of my hands, but I jerk away.

“Winner gets the footbal charm, right?” I ask, nodding at his chest.

“Hel no,” Henry replies, not missing a beat. He puts his hands back out, and we play several more times before he speaks again. “Today, in music appreciation class, Mr. Majors said we al have to choose an instrument and write a five-page paper about its origins. We also have to discuss the instrument’s relevance in today’s society. But don’t worry, I signed you up for a great instrument.”

“What?”

“The harpsichord.”

“What the hel is a harpsichord?” I exclaim.

“I dunno,” he says, smiling. “I saw it on a poster in the classroom.”

“You must be kidding. How could an instrument I’ve never heard of have any relevance in today’s society?”

“These things wouldn’t happen if you didn’t skip school.”

“What the hel , man? What instrument did you pick?”

He shrugs. “An instrument that has a lot of relevance in today’s society. The guitar.”

I grin, slapping his hands hard. We play several more times, and I win more often than he does, which makes me happier.

“Woods, it’s okay to get involved with someone. You can date, you know.” Instead of smacking Henry’s hands again, I smack him upside the head. “Damn it,” he exclaims, laughing. “Stop beating me up. Look, I’m gonna tel you something, because you’re my best friend. Underneath that crazy knot you cal hair, al us guys know you’re real y a girl, and we want you to be happy.”

I knock him in the shoulder.

“I’m being serious, Jordan. I don’t know what you’re so scared of. I know you like Ty, and it’s obvious he likes you, and you’re al pushing him away…you’re final y acting like a girl.”

I glare at Henry.

“And it’s not a bad thing,” he adds.

“Ty and I are on the same team, Sam.”

“I don’t care.”

“Dating him wil cause drama.”

“It seems to me that
not
dating him is what’s causing the drama…you not showing up for practice, my ass…Coach was worried and pissed, to be honest—he tried cal ing, but got your voice mail.” Henry stretches his palms back out for another round of the hand-slap game. I put my hands beneath his and two seconds later, I swiftly jerk my hands out and slap his hands hard.

“So what do you think?” Henry asks.

“Sam…if I date him, no one’s going to think I’m, like, a slut or anything, are they?”

“Of course not…because I think you have to sleep with more than one person, possibly several, to be considered a slut.”

“You would know,” I reply with a laugh.

He clutches at his chest, but then says, “I’m proud to be a man-slut.”

“Why do you guys have to sleep around al the time? Why can’t you just stay with one person?”

Henry slaps my hands, then runs his hands through his hair and stares at a bag of mulch. “I dunno…maybe I just haven’t gotten with the right person yet. It’s kind of hard to stop.”

“To stop sleeping around?”

He nods.

“I just don’t get that, Henry.”

He keeps focusing on the mulch. “Why would you ever think you’re a slut?”

I grab his hands and hold them tightly. Biting my lip, I find his eyes. “I, um, heard Lacey and Kristen talking bad about me in the bathroom today.

They wondered if I’m a slut…”

“They’re just jealous of you, Woods. Why would you care what those girls think?”

I take a deep breath. “They also said the only reason Ty’s interested in me is ’cause he wants to take my virginity, and that scares me…’cause I almost gave it to him the other night.”

Henry shuts his eyes for a sec. “That’s a lie. He cares a lot about you.”

“How do you know?”

“You don’t think JJ, Carter, and I had a talk with him?”

“You didn’t.”

“Did.”

“Oh Jesus…”

“Woods, answer me…are you going to give Ty a chance?”

I feel scared. I don’t want the whole school talking about me and Ty. I don’t want anyone cal ing me a slut. As captain of the footbal team, I can’t lose the respect of the guys I lead. But my brother and Henry are also right—a vision of me as a thirty-year-old virgin has-been quarterback flashes in my mind. I shudder.

There must be a way for me to be both Ty’s girlfriend
and
the star of the footbal team. Can’t I have both?

I mean, the guys watched me do that ridiculous photo shoot and stil respected me afterward.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I’l give him a chance.”

“That’s al I needed to know,” Henry says. He kisses my forehead, jumps to his feet, and stretches out a hand. “Come on.”

We walk outside the potting shed, into a warm pink dusk, and I see Ty standing over next to the tire swing that hangs from an old ash tree. A breeze whips through the grass as I start making my way over to him.

“See you, Woods,” Henry says, pul ing his keys from his pocket.

“You’re not staying for dinner?”

“No, I have a
study
date
with Savannah Bailey. But Ty wil stay.”

Henry disappears around the side of the house to the driveway, and I head over to Ty.

Smiling, he pushes the tire swing toward me, and I catch it and force it away from us. Then I hurl myself at him and he pul s me into his arms beneath the dripping green leaves.

I let him kiss me.

I’m losing myself again, losing track of everything that’s important to me. And the thought of that scares me too. I don’t want to become one of those girls who loses al control and perspective because of a guy, but even this thought, this warning to myself, is being pushed out of my mind by Ty and his hands and his lips.

He whispers, “Let’s go to your room.”

•••

Our clothes are starting to come off.

Mom’s volunteering at the hospital, and Dad’s stil at practice, but I’m not taking any chances. “Ty, hold up,” I say, hopping out of bed.

“What’s wrong?”

Not answering, I shuffle across the room in my underwear, lock the door, and then rejoin him in my bed.

Things start getting even more intense, so intense we just know it’s going to happen, so I say, “Do you have something?”

“Yeah.”

He leans over the side of my bed, reaches down to the floor, and grabs a condom from his jeans pocket. I’m a bit scared, but this feels so right.

He actual y likes me for me. And I just have to have him. Every bit of him. Now.

A little while later, we’re stil clinging to each other under the covers.

“Want to make this official?” he asks.

“What? Like be a couple?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure,” I say, smiling.

He brushes the hair out of my face with his pinky finger and cups my chin with his hand. I can’t believe we just did it.
It!
It did hurt some, but it wasn’t scary…it was…fun and sweet.

Now we’re staring at each other and he keeps giving me little kisses. “I’ve never felt like this before,” he says.

“Me either. So why me?”

“You’re strong and in control and different and mature. Why me?”

Al I can think about is how hot he is, but then I say, “You’re smart and cute.”

“That’s it?” he replies, tickling my stomach. “
That’s it?
”

“What more do you want?” I reply, laughing as I squirm.

“Wel , Kristen Markum gave me a long handwritten note saying how much she wants me. Along with a picture.” He raises his eyebrows at me and laughs.

“Ugh. I hate that girl.”

“Why?”

I take a deep breath. “Wel , besides the fact that she cal ed me a dyke and a slut and accused me of sleeping with JJ and Henry…”

“What else?”

“Kristen and I were okay friends growing up…and then in seventh grade, we were real y excited about going to the Christmas Dance.”

I couldn’t wait—I had these cool, red New Balances I was going to wear, and Kristen and I bought these matching red cashmere sweaters. I thought I might get to dance with this eighth grader who was kinda cute. Maybe even get my first kiss.

I go on, “And then Carter asked Kristen to the dance, and she sort of laughed in his face.”

“Yikes.”

“I know. He felt awful, so I got al the guys on my footbal team to boycott the dance, and I threw this awesome party in my basement instead. We had, like, a slasher movie marathon, and Dad made chili dogs and gave us root beer and told al the guys these epic footbal stories from when he played with Emmitt Smith and Michael Irvin…and, wel , al the guys went back to school on Monday saying my party was better than any dance could ever be.”

Ty laughs. “You’re hilarious.”

“And al the girls at school were real y pissed at me ’cause I’d ruined the dance for them, and Kristen told
everyone
that I’d boycotted the dance because no guy would ever want to dance with me.”

Because
I
was
taller
than
all
the
guys…and huge.

Ugly.

“Ouch,” he says, turning to look at the ceiling.

“And I’ve stil never been to a dance.”

I don’t tel Ty about how after Kristen said that, I decided being a guy was better, because none of my teammates would ever say anything so horrible to me. And none of them ever have.

“Wel , I would’ve gone to your slasher-movie chili-dog party, ’cause you’re beautiful,” Ty says, smiling.

A knock sounds on the door, and I hear someone fiddling with the knob. Shit! I didn’t think my parents would be home for another half hour! Then I rol over and look at the clock—I total y lost track of time. I quickly start pul ing my clothes back on. Ty does the same and we’re laughing at each other as we struggle with shirts and jeans and underwear.

I hear Mom say, “Jordan, what are you doing in there?”

“Nothing…hanging out with Ty.”

I don’t hear her say anything else for a few seconds, but then she says, “Wel , come on down for dinner. Ty? Can you stay? Mr. Woods wants to meet you.”

Crap. I bite my fist and shake my head furiously at Ty, which doesn’t deter him at al because he says, “I would love that, Mrs. Woods. Thanks for inviting me.” He has this shit-eating grin on his face, so I punch him hard on the shoulder, and he fal s back onto my bed. “Damn it, Woods. That hurt!”

I smile at him as he puts his jeans on. After pul ing my hair back into a knot, we head downstairs, and I pray that Mom doesn’t question why Ty and I were in my room with the door locked.

Sure enough, when she sees us come into the kitchen, she gives me a knowing look, but doesn’t say a thing. I’l be in for it later, though. She tel s me to carry the roast to the table and asks Ty to grab the gravy, which takes just about everything we’ve got because we’re giggling so hard.

But Ty stops giggling when we walk into the dining room, where Dad is already sitting with his signature bottle of Gatorade. Ty straightens up, seeming to grow by several inches, and wipes the smile off his face. After setting the gravy down on the table, Ty stretches out his hand to Dad and says, “I’m Tyler Green, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”

Dad smiles and returns the handshake. “Donovan Woods. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Dad gestures at the seat to his immediate right, then points at Ty to sit in it. I sit down to Ty’s right, poised to butcher the roast.

“So,” Dad says to Ty, “my son tel s me you’ve got a cannon for an arm.”

Ty smiles slightly. “Oh, I’m nothing compared to you and Mike.”

What? No mention of me? Believe it or not, I can throw just as far and as hard as Mike. Doesn’t Ty know that? Between me, Mike, and Ty, Ty’s the obvious footbal prodigy. Maybe I shouldn’t be so proud, but it would’ve been nice to get some recognition from my new boyfriend.

Mom final y brings the corn and bread to the table, and we dig in.

“What are your plans for col ege?” Dad asks Ty as he grabs some roast.

“No plans yet,” Ty replies.

“What col eges are you looking at? Which schools have contacted you so far?”

“None so far, sir.”

Dad bites into a piece of bread, chews, and narrows his eyes. “I find that hard to believe.”

Ty glances at me and takes a deep breath, so I say, “Just drop it, Dad.”

Dad glares at me. “Jordan, just because you have some competition for your position doesn’t mean you should be selfish and ruin Ty’s col ege aspirations. If he’s better than you, like everyone’s saying, you should be helping your teammate to get a good scholarship. Maybe you should tel Coach Mil er to give him more of your playing time.”

Dad says these horrific things as easily as if he’s buying a book of stamps at the post office.

I choke on my lemonade. Tears rush to my eyes as Ty pats me on the back.

“Donovan, please,” Mom says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Jordan has earned her spot on that team. She deserves every second of playing time she gets.”

Dad keeps chewing his bread. “Doesn’t Ty deserve a chance to play too?”

“Dad, you have no idea what you’re even talking about. You don’t even know Ty. And you never come to our games anyway.” I turn to face my mother. “Mom, thank you for dinner. May I be excused?”

Mom seems on the verge of tears. She nods slowly. Before I leave the room, I steal a peek at Dad, who is chewing on his roast. Does he even have a clue how much he just hurt me? He just embarrassed me in front of my brand new boyfriend. When I find Ty’s face, it’s impassive. Blank as a bed of snow. Is blank how he real y feels about me?