The Kissing Deadline (13 page)

A woman called out, “Cassie.”

Cassie glanced over. The caller was Ryan’s
mom. She wore the same red
Go Dragons
t-shirt as Cassie.
Thank you, Ryan. His mom waved and pointed to the spot beside her.
Cassie sat and smiled. Sitting with a mom was still a step up from
sitting alone.

Her knees rested an inch from the guy in
front of her, but she couldn’t scoot back, the stands were filling
fast. To their far left a pack of freshman girls sat together, and
according to their shirts, they called themselves the
Ryan
Brigade
. Cassie felt her eyebrows lift and she rolled her
eyes.

When the game started, the Ryan Brigade
served as a personal cheer squad for Ryan. Cassie stared at them a
moment then flashed her widened eyes at Ryan’s mom. His mom
shrugged and snapped a photo. Once Cassie realized Ryan had his own
cheering section, she was annoyed she’d let him talk her into
coming. Her shoulders dropped. He was probably just tired of
explaining sports to her.

She shifted, using her palms to shift her
weight off the hard, rapidly heating metal. His mom sat on a red
stadium seat with a padded back and armrests. Cassie envied her the
luxury, and curled one leg up to sit on top of it.

Guys ran up and down the length of the field,
kicking or trying to kick a white ball. Ryan was right. They didn’t
use their hands. Except the guy guarding the goal, he used his
hands, but he still couldn’t block Ryan’s kicks.

His mom explained some stuff about aim, power
and the crossbar that Cassie didn’t want to know, but she listened
politely.

Both teams wore shorts. That part amused her.
White legs, tan legs, skinny legs. “Ooh, his legs are
fluorescent.”

Ryan’s mom nodded. And the first half went
fairly smooth. The Dragons headed to an easy victory.

At halftime, the trouble started. His mom
sucked in a breath and stared at the other end of the aisle. Ryan’s
dad was climbing the steps and he wasn’t alone. His hand rode low
on the back of his date. Not just any date, he escorted Ms.
Dobrucki. Just out of university, she taught social studies and
coached the pep squad. Ryan’s dad brought a teacher as his date--a
pretty teacher who taught pep squad.

Cassie’s mouth dropped open, and she looked
toward the field. Kick and a miss. Yep. Ryan definitely saw his
dad. It was the first point he’d missed all day.

Ryan mom’s head dropped, and she whipped out
her cell phone. “How dare you,” his mom said as she typed. She
paused then she typed more.

His mom didn’t read his dad’s replies aloud,
so Cassie could only guess at their content from his mom’s half of
the communications. She didn’t hold anything back.

Ryan looked up at his dad while kicking the
ball down the field. The other team intercepted. Coach switched
Ryan out with another player. He yelled, “Keep your head in the
game,” as Ryan stomped to the sidelines.

The towel girl caught up to him and handed
Ryan a Gatorade and a fresh towel. Ryan took both. He swiped at his
sweaty face and stared up at the stands instead of the field.
Cassie glanced at the towel girl. Her job was to stand out there
all day passing out drinks and towels to sweaty guys? There was
something wrong with that dynamic. She wished she was down their
talking to him.

His mom’s phone chirped again. She didn’t
read her reply aloud, but if the force of her fingers against the
keyboard indicated her mood, his dad was in for it.

The brigade leader called out, “Give me a
R.”

“R,” the brigade responded.

Cassie looked over to her left.

“Give me a Y.”

“Y.”

Ryan wasn’t even on the field. She sent the
Ryan Brigade a disgusted look. Ryan’s mom nodded in agreement with
Cassie’s expression.

“Give me an A.”

“A.”

“Give me an N.”

“N.”

The chant went on for quite a while,
considering that Ryan had such a short name.

“Ryan, get back in there,” Coach yelled.

The brigade cheered.

This time, the team ran in the other
direction, which was good because she and his mom sat by this net
and could see the action better. Ryan’s leg swung back for a kick.
Cassie crossed her fingers. The ball curved, the black and white
sphere spun from the edge of his foot flying toward the stands.

The people in front of her knew to duck.

At the sharp smack and stinging sensation,
Cassie jerked back and grabbed for the ball, catching it as it
rebounded off her face. She hoped no one had their cell phone
cameras out, she thought as she opened her eyes to numerous
stares.

“Are you okay?” Ryan’s mom asked.

Cassie nodded and dropped the ball by her
feet. Her nose burned a little, and she had to wipe field grass off
her face, but for the most part the stinging had stopped. Plus, she
caught the ball. She could have Ryan autograph it, and she could
put it on a shelf as a memento of her first soccer game.

The play continued without Ryan. He walked
over to the fence separating the stands from the field. Ryan called
up to her, “Sorry about that, Cass. Throw it back.”

Cassie shook her head. She’d caught the ball.
So it was hers, right?

A fan a few rows up yelled, “Throw it
back.”

On TV, they always quoted the price of an
autographed ball and showed clips of the kid who caught it. From
Ryan’s expectant look, she derived that soccer was not like
baseball. Sports were so inconsistent. She picked up the ball and
measured the distance between her seat and Ryan. There was no way
she could make that throw. No way. She sighed and scooted out of
the row and made her way down the steps. “Excuse me, pardon
me.”

Ryan’s face stayed expressionless, but his
fists had to unclench in order to open his hands for her prize.

Cassie kneeled on the concrete and spoke
under the bottom rail. “Hey. You didn’t tell me you had groupies. I
am so not ordering a Ryan Brigade t-shirt.”

His eyes flickered upward. “Did you see
him?”

Nodding, she shoved the ball under the bottom
rail and held it out.

Ryan took the ball and stepped closer. He
forced the words out between his teeth. “He brought Ms.
Dobrucki.”

“Look at me,” Cassie said.

His head turned from his dad, and she met his
angry green eyes.

“Your parents are both here. That’s what
matters.
Both.
Even when my brother acts badly, he’s family.
So you have to love them too, even when they’re bad.”

He looked back toward his dad.

“Focus, we’ll worry about this later, okay?
Now eye on the prize. Go score a…, um, net a ball.”

“Goal. In soccer, it’s a goal.”

“Is it really necessary to have so many
names? Basket, touchdown, run? Can’t you guys just pick one term?
And, if this were baseball, you know I’d get to keep that ball.”
Cassie gave the sphere a regretful look.

Ryan didn’t smile, but his lips twitched, and
his posture eased.

“Ryan,” Coach yelled. “Leave the girls alone
and get back over here.”

Cassie rose and turned, and met the full
force of a glowering Ryan Brigade. She ignored them and turned to
go back up. His mom stood waiting, at the bottom step. She didn’t
say anything, just led the way back to their spot. When her phone
beeped again, she didn’t open it.

“Hey, Cass,” Megan called out to her while
climbing the steps. She wore her game-day cheerleading uniform, and
maneuvered down the row until she reached Cassie. “Yay,” Megan
said. “We’re winning. My brother’s goalie. He’ll be in such a
better mood if we win.” She sank down beside Cassie and Cassie
introduced Megan to Ryan’s mom.

“Hi.” Megan rubbed her shoulder. “I was at
the JV away-game. Amber decided to climb up a level from the base
of our pyramid. I think she cracked something.” She leaned close
and whispered, “After the game, she left with some guy I didn’t
recognize.”

Sierra hopped up the front steps and rang
Ryan’s doorbell. Cassie stayed slightly behind her, hoping Amber
wouldn’t answer. She was here to swim and have a good time with her
friends, and above all stay off Amber’s radar.

Trevor opened the door, holding a big bowl of
keys mixed with potpourri. “Keys?” He held the jar out. Sierra dug
out her charm-laden key chain. The puffy pink dragon mascot bounced
into the red potpourri flakes, sending out a puff of strawberry
fragrance. Trevor sniffed. “Go round back. Ring the bell when you
want your keys.” He shut the door on their giggles.

Cassie and Sierra stepped onto the flagstone
path leading around the house. Pop music got louder with each step
toward the backyard and by the time they reached the gate they had
to raise their voices to hear each other. Sierra went through
first.

Cassie maneuvered around the
disgruntled-looking Poseidon statue who propped the gate open.

A guy she didn’t recognize stumbled through
from the other side. “I need my keys.” He rammed into Poseidon’s
trident, and fell forward into Cassie. His weight knocked her back
a step and his heavy hand dug into her shoulder to steady his
balance. With his other hand, he clutched a red plastic cup. The
force of his possessive grip caused a crack to appear in the thin
plastic.
Snap. Crackle.
His beverage burst free and
splattered across her shirt in a wet spray accompanied a strong
sour smell. She squealed and tried to pull out of his hops-tainted
grip.

He looked into his empty beer cup, wearing an
expression of loss, then up at Cassie with an expression of blame.
“Party foul.”

Cassie didn’t bother to respond. She shoved
around him and through the gate, hoping things would get better on
the other side. Before coming, Cassie had tried to imagine what a
party at Ryan’s house would be like. Ryan always seemed hungry, so
she thought there’d be good snacks, but above all Ryan was sporty,
so she anticipated some type of competition, like pool volleyball.
No matter what, she knew she’d get to swim. The scene on the other
side of the fence was straight out of every raucous teen movie
she’d ever seen. She refused to dive into a pool beside a floating
beer keg.

Her next step landed on a giant Foster’s beer
can.
Crunch.
The force of her weight molded the tin can
around her shoe—the teen beer party version of a Jell-O mold.
Cassie balanced on one foot and yanked the can free, dropping it on
the ground. There were a few trash bags around. But if the number
of beer cans strewn around the yard and floating in the pool were
any indication, the basketball team could expect a bad year.

“Do you see Mike?” Sierra scanned the
crowd.

Cassie didn’t recognize half the teens. Some
were upperclassmen, but others she knew didn’t go to their school.
“No.” They closed in on the shouts, laughter, and music. Every
lounge chair was occupied by couples practicing
Fifty Shades of
Grey
with complete indifference to the other guests.

Sierra sniffed. “You reek.”

Cassie attempted to wring out the hem of her
soaked shirt, and Mike and Ryan joined them mid-wring. Ryan’s gaze
was glued to her bare skin. She let the shirt drop back.

“Hey, babe,” Mike put his arm around Sierra
in greeting. He nodded to Cassie.

Ryan’s arm landed around Cassie’s shoulders.
“Cassie came to my game,” he told Mike.

“Cool.”

Cassie looked up at Ryan. “Do you have a
bathroom?” Her greeting wasn’t on the list of Ms. Manner’s ‘ways to
greet your host’, but she hated smelling like a brewery worker.

“Nope, I just wash up in the ditch each
morning.” The plastic cup in Ryan’s hand rested against the one dry
spot on her shirt. Beer threatened to spill from the top as Ryan
turned her in the direction of the pool house.

Cassie looked over his arm at Sierra. “Uh,
catch up with you later.”

“Okay.” Sierra didn’t take her eyes off
Mike.

Ryan’s arm slid from around her shoulders to
her waist. Cold crept through the thin plastic as if conducted by
her wet t-shirt. “Where are your parents?”

“After the game, they decided to go out of
town for the rest of the weekend. Then Amber said we should crack
open the bar.” He shrugged. “I don’t know where she went.” He
didn’t seem like he cared.

Up ahead, teens spilled from the doorway of
his glass-walled pool house so inside had to be crowded. She hoped
it held more than one bathroom.

Ryan’s arm tightened her waist.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not yet. Want a drink?”

“No.”

“Don’t drink?”

“Not somewhere like this. You guys are so
going to end up on the internet.”

“Like my parents would notice. They’re too
caught up in their own crap.” Ryan led her to the door and Cassie
dodged several guys to get inside. He left her there and went
toward the kitchen nook where three guys argued about the physics
of a beer funnel.

The over-stuffed couch was occupied by a
couple lying flat on top. She hoped they were just planking, but
doubted it. Two jocks holding video game controllers leaned against
the front of the couch. The gamers yelled at a large screen TV.
Their encouragement praised the animated action figures as they
blew each other up in warfare-infested alleys. She joined the queue
to the bathroom, wondering who to call to come and get her. This
wasn’t her thing, but she didn’t want to make Sierra leave early
because she wanted out. She also couldn’t go home while she smelled
like beer.

The bathroom line wasn’t that long, just four
teens in front of her: three girls and one guy. The girl in front
seemed antsy, which was a good sign in terms of her likely speed.
The second girl repeatedly layered on lipstick. And the couple
might not even truly be in line. They might just be using the wall
as a convenient surface. They slouched into each other kissing, and
every now and then, a groping hand would swing outward. Cassie
leaned out of range.