DOES HE DESERVE IT?
Ezra Lynley is hailed as the champion of TS football. But is it talent, or just cold, hard strategy?
Ezra Lynley, 18, tall, broad-shouldered, and inaccessibly handsome, spoke to correspondent Devon Tennyson about his time in the Shaunessy High School lineup and his move to the Temple Sterling team, denying any sort of a statistics “agenda.”
I blanched. Maybe he wouldn’t see it. Maybe he wouldn’t read it.
But the Herald was everywhere. Everyone had a copy. That picture of Ezra in midair over the end zone, his hands clasped around a football, was plastered all over the school.
And then there he was in the flesh, on the bleachers before practice, with the Herald spread out before him.
Bummer.
Ezra looked up as I approached. “‘Inaccessibly handsome’?”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think that stuff. Statistics mongering and all that, I mean … well, it’s just ridiculous.”
“Really?”
I recalled all my former indignation on Cas’s behalf, and what I said to Emir at the season opener: He’s all right. Nothing special. I didn’t feel that way now. I had seen Ezra with Foster. He was kind to him. He was patient and loyal, and he was funny if you actually paid attention. There were good things about Ezra. He was just … quiet about them.
I sat down next to him. “Your achievements are your achievements, and you shouldn’t let anyone try to … to cheapen them.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Oh. Well, good.”
Ezra glanced at me. “But thanks.”
“Yeah. No problem.”
“At least you got one of those college bullet points you were talking about. Your name on a hard-hitting piece of journalism.”
I snorted. “I’d rather it wasn’t. Rachel’s got a style straight out of the National Enquirer. I hope she didn’t write her college essays like that.” I twisted my voice. “‘Do I Deserve It?—Ace student Rachel Woodson hunts for admission to your university.’”
Ezra smiled a little, and then it was quiet for a moment. “So, uh, did you write the ‘inaccessibly handsome’ part?”
“No, I definitely didn’t.” I realized how that sounded and then felt compelled to go on. My shoes suddenly became incredibly interesting. “But, I mean … it’s true.”
“You think I’m handsome?”
I tried to sound casual. “Sure, I mean, who doesn’t? Those PTs in gym practically salivate every time you walk into the room.”
“PTs?”
“The, uh, the girls in gym. They obviously appreciate”—I gestured vaguely to Ezra’s body—“all this business.”
He smiled a little, lips closed, as he looked back down at the paper for a moment. “What about the ‘inaccessible’ part? Kinda makes me sound like a badly zoned public restroom.”
“It’s true, though. A few details here and there aren’t bad. You’re not exactly forthcoming.”
“I told you. I’m not great at talking.”
“You’re talking now.”
He shrugged. “You’re easy to talk to.”
It was quiet for a moment. Something fluttered around in my stomach. A lone butterfly, agitating me for some reason.
Ezra’s voice was strange when he next spoke, a few notes higher than usual. “So Homecoming’s coming up.”
“Yeah.”
“Would you … maybe want to go with me?”
His face was turned away from me, as if he was extending the invitation to the goalposts.
“Well … yeah. Sure.”
He glanced over at me. “Really?”
“Why not?”
“Cool. Okay. That’s cool. I, uh, I’m also having this thing afterward.… I mean, Jordan is trying to get me to have this thing, this party.… Maybe you could come to that, too.”
“A double invitation. Ambitious.”
“If you wanted to, I mean, you don’t have to—”
“I’ll be there.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
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