“Your press release…when my teammates’ parents found out about me, they called the coach to complain.”
“Shit,” Dad murmurs, running a hand over his head. For a moment, he looks apologetic, but that quickly turns to rage. He makes a fist and slams it down on the island. I’ve never seen him mad enough to punch anything. Then he barricades himself up in his office all day, only opening his door to accept lunch and dinner on a tray from Marina.
On Monday morning, Dad accompanies me to school, because he wants to speak to the principal about my “soccer situation.” I direct Dad to the office, where he yanks open the door and strides in, suit jacket thrown over his arm.
“May I speak with Dr. Salter, please?” he asks with a patient smile.
“Your name?”
“Senator Edward Lukens,” his voice booms.
Damn. Dad’s name-dropping himself. He must be angry.
The admin assistant sits up straight. She reaches to use her intercom, but she misses the on button on the first attempt. Dad must be making her nervous. She hits the button on her second try.
“Dr. Salter. Senator Lukens is here to see you.”
Several seconds go by before the principal responds. “Please send him in.” I distinctly hear him clearing his throat before he shuts off the intercom.
The assistant ushers us into Dr. Salter’s office. The principal is straightening his bow tie when Dad charges forward to shake his hand. Dr. Salter smiles warmly and gestures for us to have a seat.
“What can I do for you, Senator?”
“My daughter wasn’t allowed to play in Saturday’s game against Hendersonville, and I’d like to know why. Before she enrolled here, you assured me that any activities she chose to pursue would be open to her, that the reasons for her leaving St. Andrew’s wouldn’t be held against her. You told me she could be happy here.”
I gasp. Gaze over at my father. He talked to Dr. Salter before my first day?
“Senator, I’m sorry you had to come down here,” Dr. Salter says, folding his hands in front of him. “I’ll be speaking with the school board today about my decision to let Taylor keep playing. Coach Walker made a unilateral decision without clearing it with me first. The situation is under control now.”
“So my daughter will get to stay on the team?”
“Yes, Senator. So long as she wants to play. I don’t withhold opportunities from our students if they haven’t done anything wrong at Hundred Oaks.”
“Thank you,” Dad says in an annoyed tone, checking his watch. “I need to get to work.”
After shaking Dr. Salter’s hand, Dad vamooses as quickly as he arrived, leaving me alone with the principal.
“Are you okay, Taylor?” he asks.
I shrug. I keep causing more and more problems for my parents. Dad’s usually at work by now or at least on his way to his office in Nashville, but he had to come deal with me again.
“Listen,” Dr. Salter starts, “if anyone, and that includes Coach Walker, gives you any problems, you come straight to me, okay?”
“Are you saying that because of who my dad is?”
“I’m saying that because you deserve every chance to succeed.”
The way he says that makes me feel like an at-risk student or something, but it’s nice to have someone looking out for me. Also, it was pretty badass how Dad came down here and took care of business.
That afternoon when I get to practice, I find Dr. Salter sitting on the bleachers. He waves at me. I let out a deep breath and wave back, glad he’s here. Coach Walker, however, is another story.
For once, the coach isn’t obsessed with his phone. He actually directs practice. He makes us do drills! Amazing what the presence of a school principal will do for productivity, eh?
? ? ?
The next evening, we have a home game against St. Andrew’s.
My old team.
Dressed in my red-and-black Raiders uniform, I’m pumped to play, but my old friends are about to see me playing with a team that isn’t a team at all. That deflates me a little.
I pull my hair back into a ponytail, nod once at my reflection in the locker-room mirror, then head out onto the field, where four mothers and a father are surrounding Coach Walker, giving him the third degree.
“I don’t understand,” one says. “You told us Taylor Lukens wouldn’t be playing. I don’t feel comfortable with Nicole being around a drug user.”
She must be Nicole’s mom, because damn, like mother like daughter. This is more humiliating than the time I begged my teacher to pull over the bus during a field trip when I had to use the bathroom really bad. I remind myself that I can help this team play better. It’s not like I’m a burden. My eye twitches.
“The school board and Dr. Salter said she could stay on the team,” Coach Walker replies in a rush.
“I demand an explanation!” Nicole’s mom insists.
Jeez, if my mom pulled a stunt like this, I’d be embarrassed out of my mind, but Nicole seems to find it hilarious. She hovers next to her mom, listening in on the conversation.
During the drama, Chloe joins me. “Want to pair up for drills?”
“Yes, please.”
We start kicking the ball back and forth, and I smile, excited I’m finally getting to warm up with a serious player.
When Nicole glances away from her mom chewing out Coach, she notices Chloe warming up with me. A hurt look crosses her face. “Chlo! What the hell? You’re my partner.”
“Not today,” Chloe replies. “You were messing around when I needed to warm up.”
Nicole’s eyes grow dark. “Beth!” she calls to the girl digging through her mobile hospital of a backpack. “Warm up with me.”
Chloe ignores her and goes back to passing with me.
As more parents arrive to watch the game, a few trickle over to speak with Coach. Luckily, Dr. Salter is there to help put out the fires. Which apparently are flaming, because many of the parents are yelling and gesturing at me.
How did it come to this?
Madison, Steph, and my former teammates are watching the commotion from their bench across the field, seeing me at my lowest.
Madison gives me a small wave, and I wave back. Steph blows me a kiss. I return it. Earlier today, they group-texted me about catching up after the game. No matter what has happened, they still care. They love me. And that means pretty much everything.
As I’m kicking the ball back to Chloe, my parents appear on the side of the field. So does my boyfriend.
Mom gives Ezra a big hug and pats his back. Then he scratches the back of his neck before stretching out a hand to shake Dad’s. What are they talking about? Knowing Ezra, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s asking Dad permission to date me. When it comes to behaving like a gentleman, the guy’s as old-fashioned as a typewriter.
Alyson comes to stand with Chloe and me.
“Your man’s here, huh?” Alyson says, watching as Ezra escorts my mom over to the stands.
“I didn’t know he was coming.”
“I coulda told you he would,” Chloe says. “He was eye-fucking you like crazy the other night at the bowling alley.”