His phone rings, and he holds up a finger. “Could be a recruiter. Can’t keep those guys waiting.”
Yeah, yeah. Because a recruiter holds the future of an athlete in his palm. I’ve heard the spiel a million times before.
“Yes, this is Coach Santos.”
This call might take a while. I unwrap my sandwich and flick off a black olive that suddenly seems repulsive. I was ravenous a minute ago, but now the smell of food turns my stomach.
When I realize how quiet my father is, I look up and freeze when I find his eyes trained on me as he listens to whatever is being said on the other end of the call.
“That has to be a mistake,” he says slowly. “She’s on a cheer scholarship. Or maybe she’s exempt because I’m staff. I can’t remember the details, but I do recall that my contract specifically states her tuition is covered.”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
Fuck my life. That had better not be about tuition.
“Hold on. Let me put you on speakerphone. She’s right here.” He motions to me. “Rox, tell Mrs. Connor in the bursar’s office that you’re still doing cheer. They must’ve gotten their wires crossed. She said you quit the squad.” He chuckles like that’s crazy.
A few months ago, I would’ve agreed.
My eyes flood.Damn hormones.I never cried before I got pregnant. Like, maybe once in a blue moon, or if I landed a stunt wrong sometimes my eyes watered. Nothing like this. I’m a damn watering pot now.
“Well, you see,Dad—”
“Oh, hell no. Mrs. Connor, I’ll have to call you back.”
Click.
Now my father’s attention is one hundred percent lasered on me.
His nostrils flare. “I’m listening, Roxanne.”
I swallow. “I quit cheer.”
Silence.
A minute ticks by.
I clear my throat. “Dad, I quit the squad,” I say a little louder.
“I heard you the first time,” he says in that deadly soft voice that scares the crap out of me. It’s the same one he used in high school when I stayed out past curfew after prom, and he caught me drinking beer with friends. He literally grounded me until college started. “I’m just wondering why you would do such a thing.”
I almost forgot that quitting cheer isn’t my biggest news. But one step at a time. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
That’s true. Not the whole truth, but it’s a kernel of what’s going on. Ugh, this is not how I rehearsed what I was going to say.
His bushy brows furrow. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you say anything? Did you see a doctor?”
He picks up his can of soda, pops it open, and takes a sip. I nod slowly and swallow past the giant boulder residing in my throat. I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
He tilts his head slightly. “Well, what did he say?”
“She. It was a she.”Do it. Just say it. Just blurt it out. “She… said… I’m pregnant.”
The Diet Coke drops out of his hand and splatters all over his desk. All over his charts and meticulously labeled file folders. All over his lunch.
But he doesn’t move a muscle. Just stares at me like he has no idea who I am.
Truthfully, I don’t recognize myself either.
