Chapter 6 | Zoey

Chapter 6

Zoey

A s I sit parked outside the high school, halfway between the building and the track, a million memories come back to me. All good, mostly happy, but no longer rose-colored. Too many feature Andrew, even more Claire. I try to separate how it ended from the rest because I was happy in high school. The Zoey Reid I was at Ardena High had it all figured out. She’d found her place and her people. She had plans and dreams and hopes. That’s what I miss most, what I thought my life would be. The Zoey Reid I am now is treading water, if only to keep from drowning. My legs are getting tired.

Would it be this hard if I was still at Bellewood University rather than in this small town? Andrew and I going to college together was a natural decision. And when Claire’s top-choice school was across town from Bellewood, college life was looking up. I would have my boyfriend with me and my best friend close enough. Security and room to grow. It was more than I could’ve hoped for. Except now, there isn’t a single place in my life that doesn’t have an attachment to Andrew. Memories of him are everywhere, big and small and in between. A ripple of fear rips through me. What will happen when we go back at the end of summer? There’s no way I’m leaving Bellewood. It’s my favorite place to be, and I have friends and sorority sisters and a life there outside of Andrew. I won’t be alone. I’ll have all the support I need. But I’ll also never be truly free of him—or her. Will our summer activities extend into the semester? Or will all the reasons that led Andrew to stray push him further away than ever?

I stare at the track, pushing back the panic. I know better than to spiral like this, particularly before work. I blink back a few tears and survey the small-but-growing crowd. Ardena Heat Summer Camp is where you hone your skills, and once they are honed, it’s where you work for the summer, training the next batch of Ardena Eagles. Volleyball, football, track, field hockey, swim—whatever you’re good at, we’ll make you better, whether you’re ten years old and hoping to get into a sport before modified teams start in middle school or sixteen and vying for an early call-up to varsity.

As I get closer to the field, my eyes take in this summer’s staff. It’s a good bunch, though I’m the only graduate among the group. I spot the guy with the clipboard. He’s young and athletic and immensely good-looking. Interesting . I hadn’t expected Coach Evans to be in charge. He started my senior year as the assistant varsity football coach. He also taught a freshman course, but I’m not sure what. His arrival was the talk of the school. We didn’t often get teachers fresh out of college and not ones who had jawlines to rival Ryan Gosling’s.

“Hi, Coach Evans.” I push my sunglasses on top of my head. He might not recognize me either way. We didn’t interact much before I graduated.

He eyes me for a moment but does not consult his list. “Reid, right? Singer’s girlfriend?”

Correction. We didn’t interact much outside of football events. I force a smile to my lips. “Ex, now.”

“Ah, sorry.”

I shrug. It’s not the first time that has happened, and in a town like Ardena, it won’t be the last. “It’s fine, Coach.”

“Just Max now.” He smiles, and his beautiful face becomes even more beautiful.

I blink a few times, and I feel the corners of my lips quirk up though I made no conscious decision to smile. A buzz runs through my body, and I want to shake it out, but that would be weird.

“Okay, Max,” I say, still off-kilter.

Max definitely notices. He drops the smile and focuses on the clipboard. He points toward the far end of the field. “Track and field is over on the ten-yard line. I’ll be there once I check in the rest of the staff.”

I do a double take and stop midstride, literally snapping back out of motion. “You’re heading up track and field?”

He looks up, and whatever passed through me is already quelled. I’m not sure if I’m happy about that or immensely disappointed. Maybe both.

“Yes,” he says. “It made the most sense after Coach McCloughan went over to Mansfield.”

“He did not!” I can’t help the louder-than-necessary volume or the shock and betrayal in my voice. Some things are ingrained in you when you go to Ardena, and a hearty dislike of Mansfield Prep, the private school on the other side of town, is one of them. Not to mention I’m completely aghast that this piece of AHS athletics gossip hasn’t found its way to me. It totally trumps my triangle with Andrew and Claire.

Max laughs, and an inkling of the attraction returns. He’s never had this effect on me before. I mean, I noticed him—I was off the market, not dead—but not in a legs-quaking sort of way.

“I can’t say I mind too much,” he says.

“Oh?”

Before he can answer, he’s hailed by the group of new arrivals—the junior football staff and his former team. They bellow his name and crowd us, pulling him in for those man-hug things. I step back. I know these guys. They were sophomores when I graduated, all vying to replace Andrew as quarterback, but I’m not part of this moment. They barely notice me.

With a last look at Max, I slip away to the quiet side of the field and the junior staffers who were my campers only the summer before.

N o one tells stories about the thirty-yard line. The end zone, the fifty, sure, but the thirty is any other marker. Close enough for a good kicker to score but far enough away that nothing is guaranteed. No one tells stories about the thirty-yard line except me.

I lie there now, my knees bent, my arm slung across my face shielding the sun. Orientation ended a while ago, but several staffers are still on the other side of the field. I remember being one of them last summer—loitering in the parking lot, goofing off, making plans. There are girls I know over there, but I’m not sure I can handle any more side-eye and whispers. The sound of feet on the track calms me. Coach Evans—Max—and some of the football guys are running laps. I’m tempted to join in, if only because I’m faster than all of them, but the thirty-yard line is undeniable. I’m pulled from the hot June day to the brisk chill of an October night. Homecoming confetti dots the length of the cleat-torn field, and the smell of concession-stand cookies mingles with the salty scent of sweat. Andrew and I walk the yard markers like balance beams until we round the corner on the far-side thirty-yard line, and then he kisses me for the very first time.

The memory is so vivid I can almost smell the cookies and sweat, feel the brisk air on my arms. But it’s not that night. We’re not at the beginning. We’re well past the end. I pull out my phone as a distraction. I know what awaits me—a missed call from Becca, a bucket of texts from Haley begging me to save her from the tedium of Ohio, and zero communication from Andrew. He’s all sweet words and naked rendezvous and then deafening silence until his libido kicks back in. I’m such an idiot.

I open Haley’s novel of messages and read through the texts, her distress and humor brightening my mood. Thank god for roommates who understand. I’m about to respond to one of her many pleas when a shadow falls over me.

Max stands above me, an amused smile playing across his face. “Comfortable down there, Reid?”

I roll my eyes even though they’re covered by sunglasses. It helps me vanquish the uncontrollable urge that cuts across my body whenever Max graces me with a smile, which happens a lot. Because apparently, he’s a happy guy.

“Quite, actually.” I’m pleased to find my voice sounds normal.

He reaches a hand down to help me up. I really don’t want to get up, but I grab his hand and let him pull me to my feet.

“What’s up, Coach?”

“Max,” he says firmly.

“Right. How can I help you, Max?” It’s still weird, but there could be benefits to being on a first-name basis with the hottest guy in town.

He shifts his weight and runs a hand through his hair. Is he nervous? Do I make him nervous? Or am I misreading this and I’m about to be fired? No, that can’t be. I’m literally the only senior staff for all of track and field.

“Do you want to get lunch?” His voice is steady but tentative.

Did he... No, he couldn’t be asking me out on a date. Not directly after Camp Director Larry spent ten minutes talking about the no-dating “suggestion” that no one enforces, specifically because half the staff is already dating. Not to mention Max mistakenly identified me as Andrew’s girlfriend only an hour ago. And he has yet to use my actual name.

“To talk strategy and such,” he adds quickly, and I wonder what my face is doing.

“Strategy,” I repeat wryly.

He nods. “You’re the only senior coach for track. I’m going to need you, Reid.”

Reid. So not a date. A weird feeling washes over me. I’m disappointed. It might’ve been nice to give Andrew some competition. But more than that, I’m overwhelmingly relieved it’s not a date. I really don’t want to explain the Andrew situation. Sorry, I’m currently in a sex-ship with my ex—your former player—so my treacherous best friend can’t get back into his bed, and maybe he’ll realize he does indeed love me. So while I’m single, I’m really not available. How is this my life?

“Can we do this tomorrow?” I ask, thinking of the missed call from Becca. “Or the next day? Or in, like, the thirty minutes before the campers arrive on the first day?”

“Heading out of town until right before camp starts,” he says with a shrug.

“The thirty minutes before the campers arrive on the first day, then?”

He laughs. “Come on. Pizza’s on me.”

Well, that makes it a simple choice. To a poor college student, time is pizza.

“Fine,” I say, starting across the field. “But we’re going to Nonna’s.”

Max stops in front of an older-model, two-door Audi. It’s in impeccable condition and bright red.

“Didn’t see you as a red person,” I tease. It’s clear that what I really mean is how is this your car ?

“It was my dad’s midlife crisis car,” he says, getting in. When I’m secured in the seat next to him, he faces me. “He gave it to me when he knocked up his new wife with twins.”

Can you knock up your wife? I refrain from asking but barely. “His loss is your gain.”

“That it is, Reid.”

“Zoey,” I say. “If I have to call you Max, then you have to call me Zoey.”

“That’s fair,” he says, and I think, though I can’t be sure considering we’ve been outside for over an hour, that his cheeks turn a brighter shade of red. “I’m excited to work with you this summer, Zoey . I really couldn’t believe it when I saw your name on the list.”

My cheeks burn. Why is he excited to work with me?

“Wasn’t aware you knew who I was. Outside of Andrew’s girlfriend, I mean,” I deadpan.

“I am sorry about that,” he says. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Come again?” I cut him a look, my brow crinkling in confusion.

He laughs, but it’s a laugh like of course you have no idea what I’m talking about when it is perfectly obvious.

“It’s not often you get to have your team train with a three-time state record holder.”

“Oh.” That. Right. I sink back in my seat and watch the scenery change from suburban developments to shore bungalows. Max turns up a song on the radio and sings along. He’s calm and collected. This is a work lunch with a talented colleague. No big deal. And, of course, that’s what this is. Max is being friendly. He needs me to help him cultivate a winning track team. And yet, there’s still something there in flashes and moments. It’s not only because he’s hot. Though he is. So. Hot. And for the briefest moment back on that field, I felt something I hadn’t felt in months—possibility. Maybe there’s still a chance for me.

My phone buzzes in my hand. I sneak a glance at Max before looking down at the screen. Andrew Singer.