Secrets & Surrender: Part One (6 page)

Strange. Since moving to Koppe, it was like I was just beginning to notice things that were always there. I mean, I knew Mother always took great care when it came to her appearance. I just thought it was a chick thing. But now watching her, it seemed like she was playing a role that was expected of her. Everything about Mother was soft: her voice; her smooth blond hair pulled back, showing flawless porcelain features; and manicured hands. She sat with her back straight, perfect posture as if a book was on top of her head. Even when it was only the family around the dinner table, she always dressed impeccably.

“I don’t know.” Bianca sounded skeptical.

“We all have to make an effort, dear.”

I blocked out their voices, not caring about my sister’s social life. All I could think about was how Mandi hadn’t looked at me once this week. I knew tricking Mandi into a date was probably not the best move, but I was desperate. I’d thought maybe if she had some time for the idea to sink in that she’d relax. Instead, she was even more closed off than before. In class, whenever I’d lean in to whisper something in her ear, which really was an excuse to smell the sexy perfume she wore, she’d find some reason to bend down or even go up to Mr. Boney’s desk to ask him a question. Then there were the moments right before class when I’d catch her standing in the doorway, looking at me. Or when she’d jolt out of her desk right when the bell rang, and then she’d turn and glance at me before dashing off to her next class. Maybe it was a mistake asking her for a date, especially since it was my first game in a new town. Everyone would be watching. And if I screwed this up, I’d probably also mess up any chance I would’ve had with Mandi.

“Nic, answer your mother when she asks you a question.”

“What?”

Father’s stern eyes peeked over the newspaper at me. You’d think I would be used to it by now, but he always had way of intimidating me. He gave me the same expression that he gave to his subordinates. He was a powerful man, and he looked every bit of it, sitting at the head of the twelve seat dining table, his broad shoulders filling out his fitted suit, and a five o’clock shadow on his tanned face, compliments of a recent business trip to Costa Rica. He appeared ageless, and he was determined to stay that way, even flying in his personal hairdresser to keep his brown hair, dark, except for the gray at his temple. It gave him a distinguished look. It was the perfect touch for a man wanting to look like he could lead a high-class university and maybe, someday, the state.

“Sorry, Mom.”

Father cleared his throat, throwing me a glare. He was all about formality, even in the so-called comfort of our own home.

“I mean, sorry, Mother. What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you were feeling ill. You’ve been poking at the steak and haven’t taken a bite. You need your energy for the big game tomorrow.”

I looked into my mother’s green eyes. Her smooth skin crinkling slightly around the edges of her eyes was the only indication that she was concerned. Unlike Father, who, with one narrowed look from his icy brown eyes, could make even congressmen quiver and fall over themselves to please him, Mother was soft spoken, never raising her voice, even when she was angry.

“I’m fine. I guess I’m just a bit nervous about tomorrow.”

“Nonsense,” Father barked. “You come from a long line of accomplished athletes, Dominic. I expect that you’ll continue the tradition here.”

“It’s just football,” I mumbled, feeling the weight of his words.

The room turned silent. I glanced over at the wait staff, a middle aged couple named Maria and Roberto Lopez. Mother had hired them when we first moved to Koppe. Going from a house staff of five to two was a hardship, and she kept reminding my father about it. I guess she considered it her sacrifice to his career ambitions.

Maria and Roberto hung back, hidden in the corners of the massive dining room, waiting to remove our plates as soon as we were done so they could serve us the next course. Maria gave me a small smile of support. It was an unspoken rule that we were never to interact with them on a social basis. It was one of those “rules” that didn’t make sense to me. Since I’d moved to Koppe, they were the most supportive friends I had. Roberto had told me who was who in the community and who to watch out for. Sheriff Baker and his sons were at the top of that list.

And, of course, the first people my parents invited for dinner were the sheriff and his family, some judge named Levi, and Tricia’s uncle. Other than the “esteemed members of Koppe,” as my mother liked to call them, she refused to be seen or have us be seen with anyone else.

Father placed his knife and fork down slowly, his eyes holding onto mine. “It’s more that just football. It’s about winning. Do not,” he pointed a thick finger at me,” throw away this opportunity. There were a number of places we could’ve moved. I settled for Texas for you.”

“I know that, Father. Big fish, little pond.” I pushed the plate away as he continued to remind me of the real reason we moved to Koppe. I couldn’t stomach it anymore. He was never going to let me forget how much of a failure I was to him. Average. That’s all I was. Average grades. Average athlete—even though I was starting quarterback at my old high school. We lost almost every single game. And of course, Father blamed me for it. It was his idea that if I competed on smaller level, that I’d at least appear more successful. It was all about appearances, he once told me.

“Don’t. He’s going to wipe that plate clean.” He waved Maria away when she approached to take the plate away. I smiled at her apologetically.

“That’s right, Dominic. Big fish, little pond, and don’t forget that. My plan will work if you keep your focus. I had to pull a lot of strings to get us here and even more to get you into late tryouts. And let me remind you that Sheriff Baker was not happy at all about the coach replacing his son with you. Fortunately, our promise to make a generous donation for his next re-election campaign helped to quiet him down. We’ve all made sacrifices.”

The Frank Marcelli Plan. My stomached rolled at the sound of it. Not a day went by that he didn’t remind me of his plan for his only son: Ivy League college, marriage to a well selected debutante, two point one kids, and everyone standing in front of a Christmas tree to go on the Governor’s family Christmas photo. And if he had his way, someday, it would be the presidential holiday greeting card.

“He knows that, Frank,” Mother said. “Dominic is doing his best. You’ll see. He’ll do fine tomorrow.”

“We’ve talked about this before, Veronica. You’re much too soft on the boy.” He picked up his glass of wine, sipping it.

“Well, he is making an effort. He’s been working with that calculus tutor you hired.”

I had the best calculus tutor money could buy. That was probably the most fatherly thing the old man had ever done for me. Every day during my lunch break, I drove to the Texas University campus to meet my tutor. It was a hassle inhaling my lunch every day after each session, but it was worth it. So was the twenty bucks I’d given to Bianca for not telling everyone where I was going. She made up some story about me going home for lunch every day to take care of Mother because she had some kind of chronic illness. At the rate I was going, by the time Mandi finally gave in and agreed to go out with me, I would be too broke to take her anywhere. I’d probably have to ask Bianca for a loan. Knowing her, she’d charge interest.

“I guess we’ll see when his report card comes in. For now, you keep your head in the game. All I want to see tomorrow is a winning score. You got that?”

My stomach clenched as three pairs of eyes locked onto me. That’s all it was about for him: winning. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, Bianca, you were saying something about a party?”

“Yes, Father. Lynette Baker, you know, the sheriff’s niece, told me that there’s always a big party after a win. They only had a few last year because they kept losing. But since Nic’s playing, I just know there’s going to be one. All the cheerleaders are supposed to be there. It’s tradition. Can I go?”

“No way.” I’d heard about the tradition too. If by some luck I managed to help the team win tomorrow night, I wanted to take Mandi to the party. I didn’t need Bianca tagging along.

“Aww, come on, Nic. Father, make him let me go.” She pouted and gave Father her best puppy dog eyes. Father doted on Bianca. In his eyes, all she had to do to be a winner was be popular and pretty. She willingly played that role. And when she really wanted to butter him up, she called him “Daddy.” It never failed to melt that icy heart of his when she did that. Too bad he couldn’t see that she was smart. There were times when she’d help me with my homework, and she was only a sophomore!

“That’s not a good idea. I think I might be able to keep my head in the game better if I wasn’t so worried about Bianca,” I pointed out nonchalantly, knowing that Father would do anything to make sure our team won tomorrow.

“Good to see you’re finally getting your head back in the game.” Father smiled, and then turning to Bianca, he said, “You heard Dominic.”

“But, Daddy—”

“That’s enough. I’m leaving it up to your brother.”

“It’s so not fair,” she grumbled.

“Perhaps we can throw a little party for you and your friends? Or maybe we could fly in Blair and Kristie,” Mother said, throwing me a glance.

I cringed at the thought of bringing Bianca’s friends in from New York. I had dated Kristie in junior high. Dating her wasn’t anything special to me, but it had meant everything to Mother. She couldn’t let go of the fact that we weren’t an item anymore. In her eyes, we were the perfect match with the Stanton wealth from Texas oil and my father’s connections in politics.

Bianca stuck her tongue out at me, and I threw one back at her. She stabbed her fork into the salad, and I chuckled. She could be a brat sometimes, but, somehow, she always managed to make me laugh.

I
placed myself behind the fifteen-foot banner, bouncing on my feet and twisting my neck nervously. The rest of the team stood behind me, guys I’d only met a few weeks ago. Some of them thought I didn’t deserve to be the one to lead them out on the field. I could hear them grumbling under their breath, wishing that they had Dillon Baker instead of me. They didn’t trust me. Even after I gave it my all in practice and they saw what I could do, they thought I’d break under pressure.

Maybe they were right.

They were saying the same things that I’ve heard a thousand times from my father. I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t have what it took to be a leader. I was going to screw up this season worse than last season. At least with Dillon they were able to win some games. With me, they had no clue what to expect.

And on the other side of the banner, Father was sitting on the bleachers, probably thinking the same thing.

The band started to play the Koppe High fight song, and my heart went into overdrive pounding against my chest. This was it. I closed my eyes and thought of Mandi, hoping that when I broke through the banner that I’d see her in the crowd. She’d said she would be here. For some reason, just the thought of her smile put me at ease.

The crowd roared as we tore through the banner. I jogged down the field with the rest of the team following. The cheerleaders tumbled across the field. Bianca dashed past me, giving me a nudge of encouragement and then a wink before she did a series of backflips.

Showoff!

It was hard to stay mad at her. I knew she had my back when I needed it.

When I neared the sideline with the other players, I spotted my parents sitting with the high school principal and Mr. Fletcher. My stomach flipped nervously as piercing eyes watched me with expectation. Mother smiled, wearing a proud expression on her face. I didn’t know which was worse: her confidence that I’d take the team to victory or Father’s concern that I wouldn’t.

I scanned the crowds sitting in the bleachers, hoping to spot Mandi. That’s when I heard the booing.

“We want Baker!”

“Go back home to your momma, boy!”

“Ain’t no place for Yankees ’round here.”

Bile climbed up my throat. And for one split second, I seriously considered running back into the gym. Maybe I could fake an injury in the first play. It could happen. Just a little twist of my foot in the wrong direction and I’d be out for the season.

Then I heard her voice above the crowd, that exquisite, opinionated, demanding voice, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“They’re booing. Our own fans are booing him. What’s wrong with you people?” Mandi stood up, her hair waving in the wind. She turned to face the crowd of people sitting behind her, yelling at them. Her friend, Cassie, sat crouched down, her face pink with embarrassment.

People threw popcorn and empty paper cups. I was about to climb into the bleachers myself when she yelled, “Up yours!” and did a series of hand and arm gestures before she sat back down.

I chuckled. I should’ve known that Mandi could take care of herself. She wasn’t afraid of anything, and she definitely wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. I turned back to face the football field, grinning. She didn’t have to defend me like that. She liked me. I was sure of it.

I took a deep breath and walked to the middle of the football field. A mixture of boos and cheers followed me as I approached the referee for the coin toss. I blocked them all out by narrowing in on Mandi’s voice. And when I couldn’t hear her above the crowd, I listened to the voice that was ingrained in my memory, the voice that would soon say, “Yes, Nic,” when I asked her out after the game.

As the game went on, I surprised even myself. The first pass I threw got us from the 20-yard line near our team’s end zone to the 10-yard line at the Rebels’ end zone. It was then that the team actually started to believe in me. Their pats on my back and the crowd chanting my name was great, but even after all that, Father sat with the same blank expression on his face. He was waiting for the big win, waiting to see if I’d choke and disappoint him...again

No matter what I did out on the field, he kept that same expression. Even when I did some fancy footwork to avoid being tackled and made a touchdown myself with the crowd roaring my name even louder, it still didn’t impress him. Though I don’t know why I thought it would.