Page 83 of Trick Play
Dinner is largely made up of separate conversations. My parents and Gray have a conversation. Then Mom turns to me and asks a question, and she and I talk for a few minutes. But Gray and I don’t talk to each other.
He makes an effort once, asking how finals went. But when all I say is, “Fine,” he takes the hint and stops, though the wounded look that flashes across his face gives me a pang of guilt. Just a little, though. Because I’m not over what he said and how he’s acted or the voicemails spent justifying his behavior instead of apologizing. Asking about finals isn’t enough to make up for any of that.
Yes, we have to get through at least another twenty-four hours of this, because he’ll be here through Christmas Day, but I’m content with this arrangement for that amount of time.
The tone of conversation changes, however, when Mom sets down her fork and starts talking about the flights they’ve booked. I’d been zoning out because they’d been talking to Gray about something, but when she mentions my name in conjunction with a plane ticket, I perk up.
“Wait, what? Where am I going?”
Dad sighs loudly, but I ignore him. Mom presses her lips together and looks at me. “Haven’t you been listening, Piper? I was talking to both of you. Gray’s playing in the Poppy Bowl. We’re going to support him. I bought you a ticket too. I told you about it the other day, and you said it was fine.”
I did? I think back over our conversations this last week. I don’t remember anything about that, but my dad has clearly reached the end of his patience with my disconnection from Gray and the family at large, so I clear my throat and duck my head. “Right. Sorry. I was just … thinking about something else and I missed what you were talking about.”
Shit. It’s too late to back out now. Mom and Dad have already bought tickets. But the thought of being stuck in a hotel with them for days is … unappealing. The game will be fine, because I don’t mind cheering for my school’s team even if I am mad at two of the players. The team is bigger than the two of them, after all. Plus, I have other football player friends. I can cheer forthem.
Maybe Ellie will be going. If not, maybe I can convince her to come …
That makes me feel better.
Clearing my throat, I wait for Mom to turn back to me. “Sorry. I know you’ve said already, but I forgot. Where is the game again?”
“Estrando.” Gray supplies the answer, meeting my eyes.
Great. The home of SCU. The city where my life blew up the first time. And now I get to drag the shrapnel of my current life back there for a tour.
This should be fun.
I really hope Ellie’s planning on coming, because I need someone to distract me and keep me sane.
Maybe I can get in touch with Shelby. If the three of us went out one night, that would be a lot of fun.
The deeper that thought takes hold, the more I can’t help thinking it’s a great idea. Maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.
CHAPTER FORTY
Cal
“Alright, men,” Coach Reese says from his spot at the center of the unfamiliar locker room. “Tomorrow’s a light day before our game the following day. I know it’s New Year’s, so the urge to celebrate is strong. But take it easy tonight. Save the celebration for after the game.”
A murmur of assent goes up from the guys, and we start moving around, stripping out of sweaty gear after today’s practice. We have the visitor’s locker room since we’re the lower seeded team for this game, which means it’s not as nice as ours back home, and I’m sure the home team locker room here is way better than this too. Old, dented metal lockers bearing flaking blue paint, scarred wooden benches full of semipornographic graffiti, showers with shower heads so crusted over with lime scale that the water does little more than dribble out, the ripe smell of sweaty socks permeating everything.
I’ve been in worse locker rooms, for sure. But not in a while.
We at least make an effort to make our visitor’s room clean, if basic.
Even our home lockers were not much fancier than this for the first few years. Over the summer the athletics department gave it a facelift in honor of our first season as a Division I team, replacing the basic metal lockers with much nicer wooden ones, our benches replaced and upgraded, the showers power washed and repainted, brand new shower heads installed, the works.
While this might feel like a slap in the face to some, the fact that we’ve made it this far our first season as a Division I team is a victory in its own right, and Coach is right that the urge to celebrate is strong.
Guys are already debating the best place to go once we’re all cleaned up, and what time we should head out. I catch Simon’s eye, and he shakes his head at the loud-mouthed antics of some of our younger teammates. As one of the captains, it’s his job to deal with their nonsense.
I grin at him. “Better you than me, man.”
He flips me off and wraps a towel around his hips. “You heard Coach,” he barks at the underclassmen. “No clubs. You’re underage anyway.”
“Psssh. Like that matters. I have a—” His buddy smacks him in the chest, and Alvarez looks around and lowers his voice before continuing. “I have a fake ID. So does Hunter. We can go clubbing if we want.”
“No you can’t,” Simon barks. “Not if you want to still be on the team tomorrow.”
