Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

S ince I missed school Monday for my suspension, and we had gym time all week to practice for our next competition, Coach decided to push our team meeting for the fall fundraiser to today. She says she wanted my input and ideas, but I think she wanted to orchestrate this moment, where we are all forced to sit on the gym floor in a circle and stare at one another.

Thursdays are now my least favorite day of the week. At least, this Thursday is.

I’ve been able to skip over all the awkwardness and confrontation thanks to getting right to work every time I stepped foot in this gym. But now, I’m sitting directly across from Stephanie, our circle seemingly divided into two sides. The younger members are all around her, while the seniors and a few of the juniors are near me. I’m tempted to say something about being divided by maturity, but that really wouldn’t be very mature of me.

“Okay, ladies . . . and Jordan. I mentioned this in my text to you all, but it looks like our usual candy products are off the table this year. A Vista club already contracted with the vendor, so we are going to have to come up with a new idea, preferably one as profitable since those sales have easily pulled in a few thousand for us in the past. Anyone want to go first?”

Coach scans the circle, her gaze pausing on me for a few seconds before moving on to Tasha, then Lexi.

“I know this isn’t really the topic we’re on, Coach, but now that we aren’t selling the candy, can’t Peyton take over on the float again?” Lexi suggests.

My chest tightens, and my stomach feels like it’s full of rocks.

“We’ll be selling something, so no, I should stay with the booth,” I say, meeting my friend’s eyes with a brief warning in my gaze.

“Actually, I’m glad you brought this up, Lexi. And thank you, Peyton, for your willingness to put the team first. I know that was hard for you,” our coach says.

I nod and give her a tight-lipped smile, but given she’s sitting closer to Stephanie, it’s impossible not to see her reaction to our conversation. Her gaze up and to the side, she shakes her head and huffs audibly.

“And Stephanie,” I say, deciding I can’t let this fester. Coach is right. I need to put the team first. And if Stephanie’s opinion truly doesn’t matter to me, then I shouldn’t give it weight.

“Yeah,” she says, her tone flat.

“I’m sorry I took my hurt ego out on you. That wasn’t fair.” The bullshit coming out of my mouth makes me a little sick, but I swallow it down.

“Gee, thank you, Peyton . . . for being so selfless.”

I lock on to Stephanie’s stare, my mouth fighting to stay shut while everything I probably should say boils up my throat. Finally, I end it, and simply say, “You’re welcome.”

A few of the younger girls snicker, maybe understanding the sarcastic undertone in my response. It seems to be enough to end this war for now as my new nemesis has nothing else to say. There won’t be any love lost between me and Stephanie. But I can share a mat with her for six more weeks. If she thinks I’m putting her on the squad for basketball games, she’s delusional.

Coach urges us to focus on our fundraiser, and after a few product sales ideas that get lukewarm receptions, I throw the idea of hosting a dunk tank into the mix.

“Look, I bet I can get my dad to take a turn, and if we all take turns sitting in the hot seat, I think we could raise a ton of money,” I argue.

“Yeah, people would pay huge money to dunk your ass,” Tasha teases, nudging me and glancing toward Stephanie. I level her with the same warning look I gave Lexi, but Tasha is immune to my scolding.

“We could sell it as dunking daddy’s girl, ” she says, laughing out hard and fast.

“Tasha . . .” Coach admonishes her, but then I decide she might be on to something, and wave my hand in the air to cut her off.

“No, wait. Actually, that’s a really good idea. I know Tasha is joking, but seriously, why not? I don’t care what people say about me. At least, not for this. And if it taps into some itch people need to scratch, and we can sell them three softball tosses for twenty bucks? Call me daddy’s girl all you want. I am. I’m a daddy’s girl. Kinda proud of it.” I meet Stephanie’s eyes again, a renewed confidence lifting me up, making me sit a little taller.

“Yeah, and Stephanie can be the bi?—”

“No,” I stop Tasha, squinting my eyes and holding my breath.

But suddenly, the strangest thing happens. Stephanie’s lip inches up, and her gaze moves to the center of our circle while she seems to be playing that concept out in her head.

“I’ll be the bitch,” she finally says.

“Really?” I ask.

She lifts her gaze, and for a blip, I think maybe there’s an apology buried in there.

“Yeah, I can play that role.” She shrugs.

“Great!” I say, clapping my hands together, holding in my urge to snarkily add, It’s not a role as much as a character trait.

“I guess I’m the bully,” Tasha laughs out.

“Yeah, you are,” Lexi teases, and the entire squad laughs.

“This is good,” Coach says, building on the idea with ways we can spin it to talk about ditching those stereotypes and embracing positivity. It’s a stretch, but I get that she needs the school board to sign off on it. I say we go for it and ask for forgiveness after. It’s not like the school board has given a damn about bullying in the past, so why give them credit now.

After an hour of planning, Coach manages to make a few calls to secure two donated dunking booths for us, and we’ve managed to make up nicknames for every member of our team, saving Lexi, the Queen, for last. The coldness between Stephanie and me is still there, but it’s definitely melted a tad. I don’t expect much more.

I break us down, just as I have every day except for Monday when Tasha took the lead. Everyone piles into the locker room to change out from our spankies and into our Coolidge Bears sweats and hoodies. I’m thankful for the shift to a real, actual fall. But I’m more thankful for these new team sweats now that I’ll be sticking around for football practice to end so I can ride home with my dad.

We should get the Jeep back this weekend. My dad opted to have his restoration guy do some extra work on it to make it safer for me to take to whatever school I decide on for next year. It’s pretty clear, though, where his hopes lie as he keeps mentioning how tuning up the rear-wheel differential and replacing the shocks will make it easy for me to navigate some of the off-road trails in Tucson. Where he went.

Where Wyatt is probably going to go.

I wait for Tasha and Lexi to finish changing, and the three of us walk out together. I hug my friends good-bye near Tasha’s car, then shuffle my way toward the stadium, the lights humming as the sun sets and they warm up. My backpack slung around to my front, I’m digging inside, attempting to fish out my headphones so I can wrap up some homework during the final hour of practice, when Bryce stops me behind the concession building on his way to the field.

“You know I didn’t do that to your tires, right?”

He isn’t dressed in pads. Only the guys taking the field wear pads for Thursday practice, and my dad benched him. I never influenced my dad either way, and I’m still not sure that all of this—the elevated rivalry, the fire, my tires—is totally on his shoulders and his alone. But my dad has a point. Leaders should lead. And Bryce isn’t exactly trying to stop any of it.

“I never thought you did,” I say, sighing as he has me stopped in my tracks. He’s not blocking my way completely, but his stance is dominating. And it makes me uneasy, the way his body is just a little too close.

“You did. You blame me. Your dad does, too.”

“Whatever my dad’s issue is with you is between coach and player. I have homework to do, so if you don’t mind,” I say, taking a wide berth to walk around him.

He trails just behind my left shoulder, and I consider throwing a fist back to catch him in the nuts.

“Your dad have the same kind of talk with your new boyfriend? Because this is as much his fault as mine.”

I don’t stop, but my eyes flutter as I walk and chuckle to myself.

“Wyatt is nothing like you, Bryce. Nothing.”

His footsteps mirror mine, and by the time I reach the bleachers, we’re shoulder to shoulder. I’m thankful that I’m in everyone’s view. I don’t think Bryce would be physical with me, but his actions lately have been so erratic. And when I look back at his pattern of behavior from the moment we met, he’s never actually been nice. He’s been calculated. And selfish. A good time.

I climb up a few rows and plop my bag in front of me so I can pull my laptop out to finish working on a paper I need to write. When I open the screen, though, Bryce gently shuts it.

“Okay, Bryce. You have my attention. What else do you have to say? Say it so we can be done with this and I can get back to what I need to do.”

I flatten my palms on top of my computer and breathe in deeply, trying to keep myself calm. I catch my dad’s gaze from the field, and he takes a few steps in our direction. I shake my head, alerting him that I don’t need rescuing, and Bryce follows my sightline.

“See, that’s what I mean, Peyton. Your dad thinks he needs to rescue you from me. What the hell? Why would he think I’m that kind of person? Wyatt poisoned him against me. And he has you thinking I’m some sort of?—”

“Selfish prick?” I finish for him. I can’t take it anymore, and my words stun him.

“What? Peyt, I have always put you first; you are literally the girl of my dreams. I?—”

I laugh out hard, breaking up his string of lies. God, I used to think he was so smooth.

“I know what you do when you go to camp, Bryce. And no, Whiskey never had to tell on you. You were bad at hiding things. And honestly? By the end, I didn’t even care. I think I was just looking for a reason to let myself fall out of love with you. And it turns out, I never really was. I was infatuated. I was a freshman when we met. And I grew up. You? You’re still picking fights at bonfires and whining that some other quarterback is better than you.”

“Wyatt Stone is not better than me. He got lucky. He’s played shit teams for most of his high school career. When we get to college and he’s fighting not to get cut, I’m going to have people talking Heisman. That’s not whining, Peyton. That’s fact.”

He stands and steps down two rows before turning to face me. I shake my head, the corners of my mouth pinched into a pity grin.

“He’s the one with the record, Bryce. You’re chasing him .”

“Not for long,” he says.

I breathe in and will myself to just let him have those last words. They’re meaningless anyway. But Bryce, he can’t stop himself. He leans forward, sliding my bag out of his way so he can rest one foot in front of me to break into my personal space.

“When we lose tomorrow night, that’s on you, Peyton.”

He hovers a few inches from my face, and I swear I get a whiff of alcohol. He puckers his lips and blows an air kiss at me that turns my stomach, but he steps back and turns to head back to the sidelines. I wait until his feet hit the track.

“You’re wrong, Bryce!” I make sure he can hear me, and though he keeps walking, I know he can. “If we lose, that’s on you. Because you’re the one who got yourself benched. Guess that means Wyatt will be one more game up on you, too. Good luck chasing.”

His stride slows for a few steps, and his left hand draws into a tight fist at his side, but he keeps going. And he never looks my way again.