“Come on, Lucy. It’s just newspaper,” he scolds.
“I can’t help it.” It’s some old newspaper but it’s still wrapping. As I lift off the paper, I gasp in surprise. It’s a pair of cordless headphones—a very expensive pair. I know this because it was a selection in a catalog of items that one of the bowl sponsors was allowed to gift the players as a thank you for playing in the bowl. “Ace, what is this?”
He grins. “I know you were saying how you hated wearing your headphones because the cords get tangled in your hair.”
“You should have picked something for yourself.” The generosity of this gift makes me uneasy. The echo of Sutton’s teasing voice tickles at the back of my brain. Besides, Ace made that stupid pact up so he can keep you to himself. I’d scoffed at her then, but I don’t feel so sure now.
“I did. I picked the same pair. The voucher was enough to get two pair.”
“I thought you were getting a television.” We actually discussed this. He showed me the brochure, pointed to the 42” flat screen, and said it would look great in his room. I agreed.
“There are plenty of guys with televisions in the house.” He shrugs. “It’s non-returnable, so don’t make a big deal out of it, yeah?”
I can see he’s uncomfortable, too, so I tuck the headphones away in my bag and lean over to kiss him on the cheek. Halfway there, I think better of it and reach over and squeeze his arm instead. “Thank you.”
Ace gives me a crooked grin as if he knows I changed my mind midflight, but thankfully he doesn’t ask me about it. He’s probably relieved. “So how’s mock trial going?”
I take the change of subject and run with it. “It’s not. We’re sucking right now. That new girl, Heather, is killing us. I thought for sure that she’d have picked up on some trial procedures from her dad, but it’s like she doesn’t even know he is a lawyer. I feel like I’ve made a bargain with the devil. I can’t handle her, and Randall is livid at nearly everything that comes out of her mouth.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
“Send her over to the field house. We’ll whip her into shape. Although…” Ace trails off, looking momentarily troubled.
“Although what?” I prompt.
“Coach is acting kind of weird. I went in there to do a few sets before class and ran into him. He kind of mumbled hello into his hand and took off.”
I make a sympathetic noise. Ace has always complained that his relationship with Coach wasn’t what he wished it could be. I told him that maybe he shouldn’t sleep with Stella Lowe, the coach’s daughter. Ace brushed me off, saying that no one knew.
Given how many times I saw them together, and I don’t even hang out at the Gas Station or where Ace lives, I figured he was wrong, but Ace is so darned hard-headed. You can’t get him to change his mind once he’s convinced he’s right about something. Even if you shove all the facts in the world into his face, he’ll still believe what he wants to believe.
“Coach probably doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he can’t yell at you guys to do push-ups.”
“Is that what you think we do at practice?” he teases. “Endless amounts of push-ups?”
“Who knows? I ask you what you’re doing during the season and the answer is always ‘working out’ or ‘lifting.’”
“Fair enough,” he grins. “What’s been going on with you besides hating mock trial? You know, you are allowed to quit things you don’t enjoy.”
“You hate football sometimes, and I don’t see you quitting.”
Ace raises an eyebrow. “I’ve never hated football.”
“Yeah, well I don’t hate mock trial either. I love it.” I love putting the pieces of the puzzle together and drafting up the arguments and questions and answers. It’s the extemporaneous speaking part I struggle with. “Even if I didn’t love it, my scholarship depends on me being part of the team. And if I’m going to be part of the team, we’re going to be good.”
Ace nods. One thing we both enjoy is winning, which is why the last couple of years have been kind of a downer for me. Maybe that’s why I’m so interested in Matt Iverson.
He’s fun to be around and when I’m with him, I don’t dwell on how crappy my mock trial is going or how I have to shoot myself up with insulin twice a day because my body doesn’t make it or how I was forced to spend Christmas with my mother and her current boyfriend. He was the third guy she’d dated this year. I didn’t realize how many over-forty single men there are out there. Although, my mother doesn’t limit herself to single men. That’d be too silly.