Every Last Promise (7 page)

The teams begin to fill out. Jen picks Selena first. My team huddles before we all take our places on the field. Arms drape over every shoulder but mine.

Mrs. Armstrong, our PE teacher, waits, her silver whistle dangling from her mouth.

“Okay, ladies,” Maria says into our small circle of girls, her breathing picking up. “I'm QBing. Hannah, Riley, Fiona, Sarah, and Mel, you're my lineswomen. Patsy, I want you as running back. Kayla, you're going wide. Everyone else . . . just find something useful to do. Let's do this thing.”

We clap and emerge from our huddle. Take our positions at the 50-yard line as Hannah is handed the football and drops into a high crouch. We don't do kickoffs in powder-puff. I pick a spot on the far left of our line and look at the player assigned to cover me.

It's Jen.

My mouth goes dry. I press my weight into the balls of my feet and tear my eyes away from the hard challenge on her face.

Mrs. Armstrong blows the whistle and the stands erupt in cheers. My pulse throbs in my neck, rushes through my limbs. Static and words of some sort blare out over the PA system. Sounds are muddied as I trace the route I'll take on the field with my eyes.

“Hike!” Maria yells, and I sprint straight at Jen, fake inside, then blow by on her left-hand side, watching over my shoulder as Maria launches the football in my direction. I'm wide open. I make the catch, tuck the ball under my arm, and face the end zone, just as a pair of hands grabs my ankle.
Pain shoots up my leg and my vision dazzles black and spotty white. I slam, whole-body, into the ground, my breath flying out of me, but hang on to the ball.

Mrs. Armstrong blasts her whistle.

“Sorry, Mrs. Armstrong,” Jen says, getting up from her dive. “I was aiming for the flag. Just missed.”

“Are you okay, Kayla?” Mrs. Armstrong asks me.

I stand and brush myself off, moving my ankle in a slow circle until I'm sure I can put my weight on it without limping. A few yards away, Maria watches me, a hard line formed by her mouth, and I get it. She picked me because she knows I'll do whatever it takes to win. To belong again.

I nod and suck in a quick breath between my teeth. “I'm fine.”

“Kayla Martin with a gain of eighteen yards.” A voice comes over the PA system. “First down at the thirty-two.”

I wipe my hands on my shorts and take my place on my team's side of scrimmage again. The grass is thick but trimmed short. I stare at it until I catch my breath, then I raise my gaze and lock eyes with Jen.

Bring it.

The afternoon marches on in a blurring series of plays that leave Jen and me both on the ground. Mrs. Armstrong's whistle hardly takes a rest. The spectators have caught on to something happening and the loudest cheers come when Jen or I have added another injury to our bodies. A bruise in her
ribs from my elbow. A scrape across my chin from a well-timed trip that sends me flying across the grass.

But neither of us asks for a truce. We're settling a score and I'm hell-bent on coming out on top.

My team is behind by one touchdown at the eight yard line with four minutes to go in the last quarter, and I'm ready to tie it up. Maria's been running the ball the last few plays, but as we huddle, she says, “Get open, Kayla. And don't you
dare
drop the ball.”

“No problem.”

I line up across from Jen. She looks tired. Her knees are an angry shade of pink. Raw. I've stopped feeling pain—anything—in my bad ankle.

“Hike!”

I dash by the girls battling at the line of scrimmage, then shoot across them on the diagonal, throwing everything I have into this burst of speed. I see Maria pull her arm back and ready myself for the pass. As the ball soars through the air, someone tugs on my braid. My head snaps backward. I spin, keeping my feet under my body, my hands still clamoring for the football. The flash of Jen's ponytail whipping toward me hides her fist.

Five hard knuckles connect with my cheek with a cracking sound. Finally, I go down. The football lands harmlessly in the end zone and rolls away.

Mrs. Armstrong's whistle goes ballistic. My teammates
yell and gesture angrily. The crowd is wild, stomping in the stands. My face throbs. Blood trickles from my nose to my mouth. I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

“What is going on here?” Mrs. Armstrong yells, running over.

Jen holds her arm out to me. Her brown eyes are hard but a little glassy, too. I'm not the only one smarting. “This field is really slick.”

I clasp my fingers around her wrist and she hauls me to my feet.

“We keep slipping,” I agree breathlessly. Because that's the way things are done. I accept this beating, and it's proof of my dedication to her. To her brother. To this town.

“You have to go off the field until the bleeding stops,” Mrs. Armstrong instructs me. I can tell she wants to say something else, but before she can, the crowd's noise rises to a height we haven't heard yet.

We all look to the sidelines. Jay Brewster strides onto the field, followed by half the football team's starting lineup. He's giving everyone his signature
aw-shucks
grin, running a hand through his blond hair, tossing a football casually up and down. People start descending out of the stands to crowd around and cheer on the football heroes. The guys give each other friendly punches in the shoulders, clasp fists, and chest-bump. They start to spread out across the field. And even though we have the field until seven, we know
they're here to claim their territory.

Jen and I are the first to look away from the boys. Our expressions, I know, are mirror images of annoyance.

The story of Jen's life.

But Jen recovers in the blink of an eye.

“I guess game's over,” she announces with a forced laugh. “We win!”

Her team jumps into a big shrieking pile while the rest of us stand around, wishing this was a more fair game. Maria and the rest of my team are all pissed but not at me, at least. They don't say anything to me. While they plan to go for after-game pizza, I walk back to my bike to head home.

But the bike isn't where I left it.

A girl about six or seven years old playing on the ground notices I'm looking for something and points to the Dumpsters before going back to her dirt castle. My rear tire sticks out the top of the huge metal bin. I sigh.

“I don't know why you played.” Noah Michaelson comes up behind me, holding out an old T-shirt.

I take it and wipe my face slowly. I don't owe him an explanation.

He shrugs. “I'll help you get your bike out. Actually . . . want a ride home?”

I drop his shirt back in his outstretched hand and nod.

MY EGG SALAD SANDWICH
had fallen apart in my backpack before I made it to our table in the cafeteria on Monday.

Jen squeezed her eyes together and stuck her tongue out as I peeled the plastic baggie from its squished contents with a frown. “If you ate normal sandwiches,” she said, “you wouldn't have that problem.”

I watched her nonchalantly until she took a huge bite of her peanut butter and jelly, then said, “Sorry, what? Didn't hear you.”

“I thaid . . .” Her tongue caught on the glob of bread stuck to the roof of her mouth and she grabbed her water bottle, washing her food down in between laughs. “You suck.”

“You love me.” My shoulders shaking, I got up to grab a spork.

As I searched for a utensil near the bottom of the pile, a finger tapped me on the shoulder.

“Hey, Kayla.” Steven McInnis looked over my head instead of at me. He could do that. He was the tallest boy in the school. The thickest, too, probably. The best offensive lineman on the football team. He protected Jay from everything. “You have Olson for physics, right?”

“Yeah.”

He pulled an orange plastic lunch tray from the middle of the stack, knocking the top two on the floor. As he bent to pick them up, he said, “I know this is last-minute, but do you think I could get your help with the test this week?”

“I'm not taking it.” I grabbed a small pile of napkins from the dispenser. Steven's eyes flickered back and forth and his fingers drummed on the tray. “I have an A so I get to drop the last test. A policy that made Olson my new favorite teacher this year.”

“Yeah, she's cool. But I have to take it.” He moved into the lunch line, herding me along with him.

I glanced over at my table. Selena was telling a story and using big hand gestures. Her hand gesture stories were always good. I was getting impatient.

But Steven pushed on. “Do you still think you could help me pass this test? Please? You have an A and I have to pass it to—”

“Dude.” Jay Brewster caught up with us. Steven adjusted his angle so I could slip out from between him and the lunch counter as Jay slapped Steven's shoulder. “We have already been over this. No one's going to fail you. I'll make sure of it.”

Steven stared at the cafeteria worker as she piled noodles on his plate, paused to glance up at him, then piled some
more. “I know, man, but like I said before, I actually want to learn this stuff.”

“You had all semester to learn it,” Jay said. “Should have done it then. I don't need my guys coming up for ineligibility.”

“I should have.” Steven slammed his plate on his tray and scooted down to grab two chocolate milks. “But I didn't. I have to get a ninety-five on this test just to pass the class. Kayla said she'll help me out with it.”

“Um, what? No, I didn't. I don't have time for that.” The spork in my hand snapped. I frowned and moved away to grab another one.

But Jay's voice rose above the din in the cafeteria. “Neither do you, man. Spring training after school all week. Can't risk missing it. There's something like six guys who want your spot. I told you. I'll take care of it.”

I didn't want to know how Jay was going to take care of Steven's failing physics grade, and really, I didn't care. Even with the way Steven was giving me helpless eyes while Jay fussed with the bags of chips, looking for his favorite.

New spork in hand, I went back to my table and poked at my egg salad mash.

“Steven's failing physics,” I said between mouthfuls. “Wants me to tutor him for the test this week. Do we know anyone who would actually do that?”

“No,” Selena immediately said. “People have lives.” She
brushed her ponytail over her shoulder and speared a piece of lettuce. “I hate salads.”

“Then don't eat them,” Jen said.

“Maria is on the warpath about the cheer uniforms for next year. She wants to go back to pleats. And this ass? Is not flattered by pleats.”

“You look great in
everything
,” Bean cut in. Then she said to me, “I would help Steven out if I was taking physics. Maybe Leo Marshall?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I'll mention Leo next time I see Steven, but I'm not hunting someone down for him. Like Jay said, he had all year to pass this class.”

Jen's stack of bangles jangled when she raised her arm to eat her yogurt. The weather was warm enough for bare shoulders, if only the school dress code allowed it. We both wore cap sleeves. As close to tank tops as we could get and still slide by the rules.

“What else did Jay say?” she said.

“He said he'd take care of it.”

“Jesus.” She slammed her spoon on the table and someone down the line jumped. “Seriously? He really thinks he can get Steven out of this just by being Jay fucking Brewster? He just has no concept of reality. I can't even.”

“Calm down,” Selena said, raising her eyebrows at Jen's sudden outburst. “It's just talk.”

“Yup. Steven knows it. That's why he's looking for a
tutor.” I nudged Jen's shoulder with mine and she gave me a halfhearted smile. Most of the time, even she realized when she overreacted to her brother. But he did get away with a lot more than she did. I'd be frustrated, too, if I were her. “Anyway, I think you'll look cute in pleats, Selena. Don't worry about it.”

Selena tossed her fork into the plastic salad container and stood. “Good. Because nothing is worth eating this crap.”

Bean shook her head as Selena took her lunch to the garbage bins. “I like vegetables.”

“Do vegetables silently cry when you pick them?” Jen teased.

Bean was the only vegetarian we knew. Also the only one who came from a family that raised their own cows for meat. I knew those things were linked.
They're so cute
, she'd tell us about her family's shaggy Highland cows.
Their big eyes and floppy hair. I just can't eat them.

“Ha-ha,” Bean said.

Steven slid into an empty seat next to Bean from his end of the table. Most people towered over Bean, but Steven and his long chunky limbs did especially.

“About helping with my test, Kayla,” he began, but I cut him off.

“Have you asked Leo Marshall?”

“He said no. I think he's still mad about the bus incident.”

“You mean the way you harassed him on the bus all last year? I remember some name you called him . . . Marshall Mincemeat?”

Steven snorted and rubbed his neck. “Yeah. Okay, whatever. T. J. came up with that one. That's his thing.
And
it's history. We've moved on.”

“Sounds like
he
hasn't.”

Steven closed his eyes and took a calming breath. “Kayla, come on. Help me out, please. I'm begging you.”

I gathered the remnants of my lunch and stuffed them back in my paper bag. “I don't really have time for that. I have chores and riding practice all week, then helping Jen get ready for her party.”

“You're coming, right?” Jen said.

“If I'm not grounded forever,” Steven said. He pressed his palms against the table for a second. His letter jacket hung on his shoulders like he'd actually lost weight over the winter. I knew he had started working after school to help out at home after his mom went on disability. I didn't know how he was going to juggle a job plus football this year. A pang of guilt squeezed my chest. He really wanted to pass this class.

I sighed. “Look, I can't do anything until Wednesday, but if you can come over and help me finish my chores, I'll help you with the test.”

His one crooked tooth pressed on the side of his lip when
he grinned. He pushed himself to his feet with a little hop. “I will get you through those chores faster than lightning. And I'll totally study as much as I can before then. You have saved my life, Kayla. I owe you.”

“I'll just give you the grossest chores,” I said to his retreating back.

“That was nice,” Bean said, looking at me with a small smile on her face.

“
Too
nice.” Selena towered over the table, her hands on her hips. “Like you said, he had his chance already. But whatever. I have to run to a cheer meeting. Someone has to try to vote down the pleats.”

“I'll walk with you.” Bean flung her leg over the bench. “Ms. Norris is giving feedback on our portfolios if we go in during lunch.”

“Me too,” Jen said, slurping the last of her yogurt. “I found those library books I checked out at the beginning of the year. Nice timing, right? I can check more out just in time for the year to be over. Coming, Kayla?”

I shook my head. “I'm sitting my butt right here for the next twenty minutes, then out on the lawn after because I have free period next. Getting As in physics, after all.” I couldn't hide my smug smile.

“Lazy,” Selena said.

“Jealous,” I retorted.

My three best friends laughed as they wove around
cafeteria tables and into the school halls. I pulled out a book and tried to concentrate. After reading the same paragraph five times in a row, I realized the only voice in my head belonged to Jay Brewster.

I'll take care of it.