since football is my favorite sport in the whole world. Football players are close to perfect if they are not on roids. They have the perfect build (like the boy with the nametag Jack), strong and confident (not like boy with the nametag Jack—he likes to beat on poor, helpless SUVs in parking lots), can do their own homework (probably like the boy with the nametag Jack—I noticed an AP Biology textbook open next to him), and they’re nice (probably not like the boy with the nametag Jack).
Why am I doing this to myself?
Vianna snaps her fingers in front of my face, “Hello? Are you still here? Or are you over there with Mr. Linebacker?”
Yep, he probably plays football.
I make myself focus. “You’re the one who thinks he’s… What’s the word you used? ‘Cute.’ You go get him, Vianna.”
I act uninterested but I can tell by the tone in her voice that she doesn’t buy it. “I like skinny boys,” she says. It’s true. Had she really thought he was cute, she wouldn’t have talked to him. “Any especially that one.”
She points to Hunter.
“Go.” I push her away from me.
I sit at a table behind the rink and let my skates fall to the floor. I’m not going to use them anyway.
A voice I don’t recognize asks, “Is this seat taken?
I look up and see Alicia’s dad. He’s in red workout pants and a matching zip-up hoodie. I don’t say anything. I really don’t want him sitting down and hanging out with me. Is he crazy?
“Don’t worry, I’m not staying. I just thought I would say hi.”
“I’m not worried,” I say. I feel bad. My face must have given away my thoughts. Even though I don’t want the old man sitting next to me, I shouldn’t be rude.
“My daughter makes me come here to work out. She wants me to strengthen my heart. I go eat pizza first, then I walk around a little bit,” he says.
Again, I say nothing.
Alicia’s dad laughs, “I know.” He pats his oversized belly, then says, “Less pizza, more walking.”
“Not judging,” I say.
“Your dad doesn’t like my outfit,” he says.
“That’s because it’s red.”
“The world doesn’t revolve around football.” Alicia’s dad stands. Before he leaves, he pats my shoulder. “Have a good night, hijita.”
Now I have a title.
I toss my skates over my back. They smack my shoulder blade and it hurts. Hunter and Vianna are skating to some stupid love song. Something about being a love suicide. Who writes crap like that anyway?
I start walking out.
I can feel the pounding of someone behind me.
He’s out of breath. “Hey, you should put those skates on and come out with me,” his voice gasps behind me. I can feel his breath next to my ear.
It’s the wrong voice. I don’t have to turn to see that it’s Blake. I know that I should go on my way but I don’t. I stand there, facing the door.
I really don’t want to be alone.
Blake walks in front of me. “I don’t know how many times or how many different ways I have to say I’m sorry. But I’ll do it. However or whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. Just talk to me, Massie.” He puts his hands together like he’s praying.
I swear if he gets on his knees I’ll smack him with my skates.
Then there’s a part of me that wants to fold into his arms, but I can’t. I remember the tears I shed. I remember the tears my mom shed. Blake is no different from my father—once a cheater, always a cheater. I walk past him toward the door.
“You might regret this one day, Massie.”
“Or not,” I say without looking back. I walk past the front desk. Mr. Linebacker with the nametag Jack is no longer there. Good thing. I don’t want him to think I’m leaving because I’m a dateless loser, which I am.
I text Natalie and find out that she left because she caught Colby with his tongue down some freshman’s throat. I try to get her to go out with me.
8:30 text to Natalie: meet me at Pollywog’s?
Pollywog’s is the local coffee shop. This is always
Why am I doing this to myself?
Vianna snaps her fingers in front of my face, “Hello? Are you still here? Or are you over there with Mr. Linebacker?”
Yep, he probably plays football.
I make myself focus. “You’re the one who thinks he’s… What’s the word you used? ‘Cute.’ You go get him, Vianna.”
I act uninterested but I can tell by the tone in her voice that she doesn’t buy it. “I like skinny boys,” she says. It’s true. Had she really thought he was cute, she wouldn’t have talked to him. “Any especially that one.”
She points to Hunter.
“Go.” I push her away from me.
I sit at a table behind the rink and let my skates fall to the floor. I’m not going to use them anyway.
A voice I don’t recognize asks, “Is this seat taken?
I look up and see Alicia’s dad. He’s in red workout pants and a matching zip-up hoodie. I don’t say anything. I really don’t want him sitting down and hanging out with me. Is he crazy?
“Don’t worry, I’m not staying. I just thought I would say hi.”
“I’m not worried,” I say. I feel bad. My face must have given away my thoughts. Even though I don’t want the old man sitting next to me, I shouldn’t be rude.
“My daughter makes me come here to work out. She wants me to strengthen my heart. I go eat pizza first, then I walk around a little bit,” he says.
Again, I say nothing.
Alicia’s dad laughs, “I know.” He pats his oversized belly, then says, “Less pizza, more walking.”
“Not judging,” I say.
“Your dad doesn’t like my outfit,” he says.
“That’s because it’s red.”
“The world doesn’t revolve around football.” Alicia’s dad stands. Before he leaves, he pats my shoulder. “Have a good night, hijita.”
Now I have a title.
I toss my skates over my back. They smack my shoulder blade and it hurts. Hunter and Vianna are skating to some stupid love song. Something about being a love suicide. Who writes crap like that anyway?
I start walking out.
I can feel the pounding of someone behind me.
He’s out of breath. “Hey, you should put those skates on and come out with me,” his voice gasps behind me. I can feel his breath next to my ear.
It’s the wrong voice. I don’t have to turn to see that it’s Blake. I know that I should go on my way but I don’t. I stand there, facing the door.
I really don’t want to be alone.
Blake walks in front of me. “I don’t know how many times or how many different ways I have to say I’m sorry. But I’ll do it. However or whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. Just talk to me, Massie.” He puts his hands together like he’s praying.
I swear if he gets on his knees I’ll smack him with my skates.
Then there’s a part of me that wants to fold into his arms, but I can’t. I remember the tears I shed. I remember the tears my mom shed. Blake is no different from my father—once a cheater, always a cheater. I walk past him toward the door.
“You might regret this one day, Massie.”
“Or not,” I say without looking back. I walk past the front desk. Mr. Linebacker with the nametag Jack is no longer there. Good thing. I don’t want him to think I’m leaving because I’m a dateless loser, which I am.
I text Natalie and find out that she left because she caught Colby with his tongue down some freshman’s throat. I try to get her to go out with me.
8:30 text to Natalie: meet me at Pollywog’s?
Pollywog’s is the local coffee shop. This is always
Similar Books
