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Authors: Simone Elkeles
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over his arm as he straightens out the napkin. “It’s what I call her.”
“Whatever floats your boat, dude.” Bonk makes the napkin out to Sugar Pie and signs it: Matthew Bonk, #7 .
“Can I take a picture of you?” I lay on my thickest southern accent. “Sugar Pie’ll shit a massive cow pie if I show her a picture of you holdin’ up the napkin with her name on it.”
Yankees often assume people with southern accents are stupid. What they don’t know is that we use our accents to our advantage when we find it useful. Like now, because Bonk is posing with the napkin as I take a picture with my cell.
“Listen, buddy, I got to get back to my friends,” he says as he hands back the napkin and asks the waitress for a drink refill.
“No problem.” I grab his hand once again and shake it hard. “Thanks, man!”
He walks back to his friends and I hear him tell them what a dork I was. After I pay for my sub, I follow Bonk and his buddies outside. They’re standing by the Jeep. One of the guys mentions Ashtyn and suggests they break into the Fremont locker room and hang the leftover tampons on the lockers.
When they realize I’ve followed them, they look at me like I’m an alien from another planet.
“That picture I took was blurry,” I say apologetically. “Can I trouble you for just one more? I swear my girlfriend will pee in her Daisy Dukes when she sees I got a picture of you holdin’ your signature.”
Bonk rolls his eyes and laughs, but doesn’t protest as I hand him back the napkin with his signature. He leans on the back of his car as if he’s a stud and holds up the napkin. It couldn’t be more perfect, except . . . “Can y’all get in the picture with him?”
The guys are all too willing to pose for the camera.
Mission accomplished.
Chapter 12
Ashtyn
Monika comes over Sunday morning with Bree, the two cocaptains of the cheer squad. They want my opinion of a new cheer and a dance routine they’ve made up, as if I possess some insider knowledge of whether my teammates will like it.
On my front lawn, Bree and Monika start clapping and moving their bodies like they’re made of some secret flexible material. I have no clue how they’re able to move like that. I’m jealous, although neither of them can catch, throw, or kick a football like I can.
Derek walks outside and heads for the shed. He looks masculine, wearing jeans with cowboy boots and a white tank. Falkor follows closely on Derek’s heels.
Bree stops her routine. “Who is that?” she asks a bit too loudly.
“Derek.”
“He’s Brandi’s stepson,” Monika tells her. “He’s—”
“ Super hot,” Bree interrupts almost breathlessly. “Oh, my God. You have definitely been holding out on me, Ash. I love his boots, and that knit hat he’s wearing is so cute.”
“It’s a beanie,” I correct her. “I don’t know anyone who wears one in the summer. It looks stupid.”
“I disagree one bazillion percent.” Bree is practically drooling over Derek like he’s a hunk of meat to be devoured in one sitting. I’m tempted to ask if she needs a bib. “If a guy looks like that, he can wear whatever he wants. Introduce me to him, Ash.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to meet him.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” She nods so fast it’s a wonder her head doesn’t just fly right off. Monika and I give each other a knowing look. We’ve been friends long enough to know that when Bree’s on the prowl, there’s no stopping her.
When Derek reappears, I make a weak attempt to wave him over, hoping he’ll ignore me. Unfortunately, he doesn’t.
“Derek, this is my friend Bree,” I say. “You already know Monika.”
“Hey, Monika. Nice to meet you, Bree.” He tips his head like a perfect southern gentleman. I’m surprised he didn’t call her ma’am.
“Want to watch us?” Bree asks. She twirls her hair on her finger and flashes Derek a big smile. Oh, man. She totally bought the southern gentleman act. “We could
“Whatever floats your boat, dude.” Bonk makes the napkin out to Sugar Pie and signs it: Matthew Bonk, #7 .
“Can I take a picture of you?” I lay on my thickest southern accent. “Sugar Pie’ll shit a massive cow pie if I show her a picture of you holdin’ up the napkin with her name on it.”
Yankees often assume people with southern accents are stupid. What they don’t know is that we use our accents to our advantage when we find it useful. Like now, because Bonk is posing with the napkin as I take a picture with my cell.
“Listen, buddy, I got to get back to my friends,” he says as he hands back the napkin and asks the waitress for a drink refill.
“No problem.” I grab his hand once again and shake it hard. “Thanks, man!”
He walks back to his friends and I hear him tell them what a dork I was. After I pay for my sub, I follow Bonk and his buddies outside. They’re standing by the Jeep. One of the guys mentions Ashtyn and suggests they break into the Fremont locker room and hang the leftover tampons on the lockers.
When they realize I’ve followed them, they look at me like I’m an alien from another planet.
“That picture I took was blurry,” I say apologetically. “Can I trouble you for just one more? I swear my girlfriend will pee in her Daisy Dukes when she sees I got a picture of you holdin’ your signature.”
Bonk rolls his eyes and laughs, but doesn’t protest as I hand him back the napkin with his signature. He leans on the back of his car as if he’s a stud and holds up the napkin. It couldn’t be more perfect, except . . . “Can y’all get in the picture with him?”
The guys are all too willing to pose for the camera.
Mission accomplished.
Chapter 12
Ashtyn
Monika comes over Sunday morning with Bree, the two cocaptains of the cheer squad. They want my opinion of a new cheer and a dance routine they’ve made up, as if I possess some insider knowledge of whether my teammates will like it.
On my front lawn, Bree and Monika start clapping and moving their bodies like they’re made of some secret flexible material. I have no clue how they’re able to move like that. I’m jealous, although neither of them can catch, throw, or kick a football like I can.
Derek walks outside and heads for the shed. He looks masculine, wearing jeans with cowboy boots and a white tank. Falkor follows closely on Derek’s heels.
Bree stops her routine. “Who is that?” she asks a bit too loudly.
“Derek.”
“He’s Brandi’s stepson,” Monika tells her. “He’s—”
“ Super hot,” Bree interrupts almost breathlessly. “Oh, my God. You have definitely been holding out on me, Ash. I love his boots, and that knit hat he’s wearing is so cute.”
“It’s a beanie,” I correct her. “I don’t know anyone who wears one in the summer. It looks stupid.”
“I disagree one bazillion percent.” Bree is practically drooling over Derek like he’s a hunk of meat to be devoured in one sitting. I’m tempted to ask if she needs a bib. “If a guy looks like that, he can wear whatever he wants. Introduce me to him, Ash.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to meet him.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” She nods so fast it’s a wonder her head doesn’t just fly right off. Monika and I give each other a knowing look. We’ve been friends long enough to know that when Bree’s on the prowl, there’s no stopping her.
When Derek reappears, I make a weak attempt to wave him over, hoping he’ll ignore me. Unfortunately, he doesn’t.
“Derek, this is my friend Bree,” I say. “You already know Monika.”
“Hey, Monika. Nice to meet you, Bree.” He tips his head like a perfect southern gentleman. I’m surprised he didn’t call her ma’am.
“Want to watch us?” Bree asks. She twirls her hair on her finger and flashes Derek a big smile. Oh, man. She totally bought the southern gentleman act. “We could
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