“I’m telling you,” he says in a low voice, “stop chasing the narrative you want. Look at what’s right in front of you, for Christ’s sake. What do you gain by ruining these boys’ futures?”
Sloane furrows her brow in concern and nods slowly, thoughtfully. “See, Wendall, the question I’m curious about is, what do you gain by protecting them?”
Principal Hargrove’s eyes narrow. “You’re gonna have a scoop even if you have to make it up. Is that the way it works now? We just invent the news?” His voice creeps up in volume. “Mark my words, young lady, you’re not a hero. No washed-up movie star is gonna play you in the Lifetime movie version of this story.”
Sloane lets out a musical laugh that surprises me, all tinkling bells and fairy dust. When she looks back at him, her smile is warm and endearing—like she’s flirting over a beer at Applebee’s—but when she speaks, her voice is a deep freeze.
“So tell me, have you seen the video?”
The question is ice water. I stand frozen on the sidewalk, three feet from the back door as Wendall Hargrove jerks his head in silent disgust. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, then stalks to his car in double time. He tosses his briefcase onto the passenger seat, slams the door, and achieves the only station wagon peel out to which I have ever held witness.
Sloane Keating watches him go, arms crossed, her back to me. She shakes her head as his car disappears, then taps at the screen of her phone while she strides toward the satellite trucks. Her voice is strong enough that she doesn’t have to turn around when she calls out, “Good to see you, Kate.” She knows I can hear her, and she keeps on walking without a backward glance.
By the time I pull into the parking lot at Happy Joe’s, Will is sandwiched between Rachel and Christy in one of the big round booths at the back. Lindsey is on one side about to fall off the edge, and Ben is on the other, saving what looks like just enough room for half of my rear end.
I slide in next to him, and he pulls me toward him. It’s cozy.
“How’s your head?” he whispers.
“Better now,” I tell him, which is partially true. My head doesn’t hurt so much any more, but it’s spinning after what I saw in the parking lot.
“Hey, Rachel,” says Will in his cool-dude voice, “put your arm around me, so I’ll look like a playa.” Rachel laughs and complies while Christy moans. Ben grins and holds a fist for Will to bump across the table.
“Don’t encourage him,” I tell Ben.
“Aw, c’mon. He’s just getting the hang of it.”
Lindsey catches my eye, and I know what she’s thinking. Boys will be boys. I look away like I didn’t notice. I plaster on a big smile and try to find the confidence I had while holding the cold pack to my head during practice.
This has nothing to do with you.
It isn’t working.
After hearing Sloane in the parking lot and seeing Principal Hargrove’s reaction, the voice whispering questions is back. The volume goes up a notch when Ben tweets a picture of Christy and Rachel kissing either side of Will’s face. My brother’s snapback is cocked sideways and he’s making that duck-lips face, staring straight into the camera. Ben tags it #youngbucc, and it takes everything in me to ignore the whispers.
Is this how it started?
Innocent pictures of silly kisses?
When the pizzas arrive, there’s barely room on the table. Lindsey makes a toast to the new season and we clink plastic glasses full of Coke and Sprite as David Sissler jockeys a BLT, a Combo Plus, and a Meatworks into the middle of the table.
David is another one of those people I “know” without knowing. He was a starting point guard a few years back, just like Ben. Nabbed a scholarship to Florida State, but blew out his knee during his first season and wound up sitting the bench. He stayed in Tallahassee over that summer, supposedly to get back in shape. Instead of running drills and lifting weights, he ran a lot of pot to Tampa and drank a lot of beer. He got cut that fall. Without a scholarship, he wound up back here, slinging pizza at Happy Joe’s and reliving the glory days every time a current Buccaneer shows up.
“You guys ready for state?” he asks Ben.
“You bet.” Ben smiles.
“Heard Doone got out on bail. He still playing?”
We all turn to look at Ben for the answer. The rules are that if you miss practice the week of the game, you can’t suit up. Dooney and Deacon were both MIA today. Ben glances down at his plate. Just that tiny tell, and I already know what he’s going to say. It’s not good news.
When he tells David, Christy goes ballistic. “You’re freaking kidding me!” Her voice is so loud that we get a glare from the mom in the booth next to ours.
“That’s what happens when you miss practice.” Lindsey takes a bite of Meatworks.
“God, that sucks.” David looks like he’s the one who has to play without two of the five starters this weekend.