Better than Perfect (9 page)

“What's going on with you and Landon, anyway?” Monika asks. She's got a sympathetic look on her face as if she expects me to break down and cry any second. I feel more like screaming at the top of my lungs. “For a minute I thought you two were breaking up on Friday night.”

I ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach, because I'm not sure what's going on with us. I know he likes his space when he's stressed out, so I've left him alone, but every day we don't talk I feel more distant and disconnected.

“Landon and I will be fine. We've just hit a rough patch.”

Monika tilts her head to the side. She gets that look when she's overanalyzing something. “Do you and
Derek
have something going on?”

I can feel my face getting hot just thinking about it. “No way. Why would you say that?”

“I don't know.” She shrugs. “I just sense a strange vibe between you two, and it's weird that you're hating on him so much.” She looks back at Bree and Derek, talking to each other. “Looks like Bree is staking her claim on him already. Look, did you see that? She touches his arm every time she talks.”

“She's perfected the art of flirting,” I mumble. “And he's totally falling for it, although maybe she's the one being sucked into his fake charm. I have a feeling that nothing that guy does is sincere.”

“Yo, Bree!” Monika yells. “Get back here so we can show Ashtyn the routine.”

A car pulls into my driveway and honks, delaying the cheerleading show once again. Monika squeals in delight when Vic parks his big SUV in my driveway and she sees Jet and Trey are in the car with him.

“Epic,” Jet says, completely amused as he steps out. He's wearing a baseball cap backward and he's got cutoff sweats he probably cut himself. “That's all I gotta say.”

“What's epic?” I ask.

He looks confused as he brushes his perfectly styled hair to the side. “You mean you had nothing to do with it?”

“Do with what?”

“I told you it wasn't her,” Vic says. “She doesn't have the balls to do it.”

That is so insulting. “I have balls, Vic!”

“I
knew
it!” Jet wags his eyebrows and reaches for my waistband. “Let's see 'em, Ash.”

I roll my eyes and slap his arm away.

“You need to stop having a life and go online more.” Trey pulls out his phone. “Someone created this bogus profile named Payton Walters and posted pics of Bonk and his teammates holding up signs.”

Oh, no. I'm almost afraid to ask. “Pictures of what?”

Jet holds out his phone. “Here, take a look.”

In one picture, Bonk and a bunch of his football buddies are leaning on the back of a Jeep. They're holding a napkin that says FAIRFIELD SUCKS in big bold letters and the license plate on the car spells out DMBASS. When I take a look at the second picture, I gasp. Bonk is in Rick's Subs in Fairfield holding up a napkin that reads I WANT TO BE FREMONT'S BITCH. It's signed MATTHEW BONK #7.

“Who did this?” I ask the guys.

None of them fess up. This is crazy. The guys from Fairfield are going to freak when they see the pictures that look professionally Photoshopped. It's impressive. I wish I'd thought of it.

“Maybe it was Landon.” After I suggest it, the guys eye each other as if they have big doubts.

“Yeah, right,” Jet says. “Your boyfriend's such a hero.”

“Have you talked to him?” Vic asks me.

I shake my head.

“Hmm,” Trey says. “McKnight's been MIA since Friday night.”

I don't tell them that he's been MIA in our relationship, too.

On Monday morning I wake up late and realize everyone else is already out of the house. As I eat breakfast, I look out at the neglected backyard. This house sits on a big piece of land, but nobody cares enough to make the backyard look decent. It's as if they're making the front look good to put on a facade for everyone who passes by.

The mower I found yesterday is in crap condition, but at least I got the engine to start up. It's not gonna be easy to cut the grass since the entire backyard is a haven for overgrown weeds, but I need to busy myself or I'll go insane.

I turn on the mower and put on my headphones so I can zone out like I did yesterday when the girls were over and Ashtyn's teammates came by. My mom used to tell me that music always helped her escape to another place. She used to make me listen to Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, especially when she was in
the hospital going through chemo. At first I hated it, but then those singers became a symbol of her.

Moving on is fucking tough.

An hour later I'm sweating my ass off. Little pieces of grass stick to my back, arms, and legs. I look back at my progress, proud that I've made a sizable dent. The shed, the place where Ashtyn and I first met, has seen better days. I spotted some old paint in there and figure it's long overdue for a new paint job.

As I soap my body in the shower, thoughts of Ashtyn invade my mind, and my body starts reacting. I reach down and fantasize for the moment, glad nobody can read my mind. Afterward, I rinse off and am about to just chill in my bedroom, but Falkor bolts to the front door panting like crazy. The poor guy wants to go out. I put the leash on him and jog toward the football field. The place is like a magnet to me.

It doesn't take long to get to the school. The football team is having practice. I watch some players do drills. Immediately I'm thinking like one of them again. I haven't been on a team in almost two years, but those plays and drills are still so familiar I could run them with my eyes closed.

Ashtyn is doing sprints. She doesn't notice me, but when she does I fully expect her to ream me out for taking her dog without permission.

I watch as she grabs a few footballs and jogs to the opposite end of the field. She moves with grace as she sets up a ball and positions herself. A couple of guys on the sidelines watch her and nod, impressed. I can tell she's so focused she isn't aware of
anything but the ball and the white goalposts. She kicks the first ball through the posts with ease.

As she gets into position for another kick, she spots me in the stands. She misses her next two attempts, but keeps trying. She makes six out of ten. Not bad, but nothing to write home about.

I size up the team, something I used to do to my rivals. It's easy to spot the head coach—he's sporting a black-and-gold golf shirt and Rebels cap as he calls out plays. The guy has been ripping into the offensive linemen since I've been here, although I'm impressed with their execution. Without solid linemen, the quarterback is vulnerable and the team is weak.

I turn my attention to the current QB, a lanky guy wearing the number three on his jersey. Number three doesn't look confident even though he's got good form. He makes a few plays, but can't connect with his receivers when the defensive line rushes him.

Number three buckles under pressure. The problem is that he knows it. He's stuck in his head. He's got to stop thinking when he's in the game and let instinct take over.

After he repeats the same mistake three plays in a row, the coach grabs the QB's face mask and gives him hell. I'm too far away to hear his exact words, but I know he's getting an earful.

“Yo, Derek!” Ashtyn calls out. She throws a perfect spiral into the stands toward me, but I duck and let it fly past. It bounces onto the benches behind me and Falkor sniffs it. I haven't touched a football since the day my mom died. While instinct tells me to catch it, I'm conflicted.

“Yeah?”

“Who said you could take my dog for a walk?”

“He begged me to take him out. He obviously thinks I'm the alpha. You know dogs have a hierarchy.” I shrug. “I'm just sayin'.”

“Toss the ball back, will ya?”

I look at the football, lying there waiting to be put back on the field. I never thought I'd pick one up again. It's not like I'm committing to play again.
It's just a football
.

I slowly pick up the ball and toss it underhand to her, the familiar feeling of the smooth leather rolling off my fingers a reminder of the past. Most girls I know would be afraid they'd break a nail when a football comes flying at them, but Ashtyn reaches out and catches it without hesitation.

“You're not the alpha. I am.” She tucks the ball under her arm and starts walking back to the field. “I'm just sayin'.”

I told Derek I was the alpha, but right now I don't feel like one. I was totally off my game today. Seeing him sitting in the bleachers watching me practice only made it worse because I was self-conscious and too self-aware.

Fremont's bitch.

It's been two days and those words are still swirling in my head. This morning Dieter called me into his office to tell me he'd heard the rumor about the pictures. He told me to forget about any rivalry and just concentrate on winning.

Landon didn't show up to practice. He hasn't answered my calls or texts, either. Last year he never missed a practice or game. I called him before I left the house this morning, but his phone was off. I assume he received the e-mail showcasing the dreaded pictures of my yard. Why didn't he stop by my house like the other guys, or at least call or text me to see how I was dealing with it?

Brandon Butter, a sophomore and our backup QB, had a hard time filling Landon's shoes. When he got rushed, his passes were all over the place. I didn't want him to be discouraged, though, so I gave him a pat on the back after practice and told him he showed a great effort. I don't think he believed me, but it did make him smile and hopefully boosted his confidence. Even a little bit will help.

Even though early summer practices are optional, I know Dieter is disappointed his star QB hasn't been on the field. Truth is, we don't have a competitive backup QB and we're screwed if Landon gets hurt. He's such a solid player, nobody's been too worried about that. Until now.

After I wash up in the girls' locker room, I call Landon again. Still no answer. I text him for the fourth time today, but he doesn't text back. My heart sinks a little and I get a ping of anxiety. Is he not answering on purpose? Did he call back his old girlfriend Lily instead of me? Ugh, I'm never insecure about our relationship. I refuse to start being insecure now.

In the parking lot, Derek is leaning against my car with his feet crossed at the ankles.

Falkor barks a greeting and drools the second he sees me. “Can I have my dog back?” I ask, annoyed my dog seems to think he has a new owner. I grab the leash from Derek and kneel down to pet Falkor behind his left ear, his favorite spot. “If you want a ride home, my dog's riding shotgun.” I open the door and let Falkor in the front seat.

“I don't think so.” Derek leans into the car. “Falkor, get in the back.”

My usually stubborn dog obediently jumps into the backseat as if Derek is a dog whisperer.

I turn on the radio as I drive home.

“You might be used to bossin' people around, but it ain't workin' for me,” Derek says.

“I can't hear you,” I lie, then cup a hand over my ear.

He turns the radio off. “Why the attitude? Don't act as if I asked to be here, 'cause I didn't.” I wonder if he can turn that accent on and off at will. “Hell, if I didn't get expelled and Brandi wasn't knocked up, I'd have found a way to stay in Cali.”

Wait a minute. Did I hear him right?

“My sister's p-pregnant?” I ask. “Pregnant, as in having a baby pregnant?”

“That's what bein' knocked up usually means.”

I look at him sideways, then keep driving. When I pull into my driveway, I turn to him. “Be honest for once. You're joking about my sister having a baby, right?”

He sighs and rolls his eyes as he opens his door. Falkor jumps out after him.

I stare at the dashboard. My sister, pregnant again? She hasn't said anything, but I never heard from her once in the last seven years. Since she's been home, I've tried avoiding her like I've avoided Derek.

Brandi is just like Mom. It took me a long time to come to the realization that my mom was never coming back. Brandi's back, but it's no use getting close to her when I know she's leaving again.

It really irks me that Derek knows more about my sister than I
do. And that my nephew prefers Derek over me. And that Falkor follows Derek around like he's the alpha.

I glance toward the garage and am shocked to see Landon sitting in his convertible with his sunglasses on. When did he drive up, and how long has he been there?

“Where were you today?” I walk toward him as he steps out of his car. I don't even know what to say after our fight on Friday night. I don't mention our relationship problems or Lily. “You ditched practice.”

“My parents made me go to some family brunch thing,” he says. “I couldn't get out of it.”

“Oh.” In the past, Landon's dad would never make him go to a family brunch instead of practice. Landon doesn't seem to want to elaborate. “Did you see the pictures of my house online? And the ones of Bonk?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, I saw 'em.”

“Did you post the ones of Bonk? Nobody else fessed up.”

He nods. “Yeah, but keep it on the down low.”

“How'd you get them to pose like that? I mean, I can't imagine Bonk posing willingly.”

“I got my ways. So how was practice?”

“Butter is doing drills,” I inform him. “But the guys are getting frustrated that his throws aren't accurate and his handoffs are sloppy. You know the team needs you.”

There's a long, uncomfortable silence. I feel a pang of sadness as he reaches out and fingers the bracelet with a heart and football charm he got me for my birthday last year.

“Sorry about Friday night,” he says. “My old man was on my case about being a leader of the team my senior year and wearing the coveted
C
like he did when he played.”