Ethan
Whoa. Better make this quick.
I’d planned to run on the greenway today, but as I got in my Corolla and headed for the park, I heard thunder rumbling. So I swung by Regal Gym instead. It closes at six—which, technically, is, like, now—but I figured it was worth a shot to zip in. The worst that could happen is being turned away, right?
I hate inconveniencing the staff, but I can’t miss a day of training, even on our one day off from football practice. Coach Davis has been working us hard all summer, but now that the first game of the season is five days away, he’s kicked our workouts into overdrive. Hours of side planks, ab crunches, lat pull-downs, and a thousand other forms of torture—in Tolliver’s hundred-degree humidity, no less—are officially kicking my butt.
Not that Coach Davis would ever know it. All he gets from me is a crisp “Yes, sir!” and a sharp nod of the head when he bellows his orders. I’ve got to keep the rest of my team psyched and energized, so no one can see me wilting. My dad loves to tell me how he used to chase the slackers on his team up three flights of stairs to the high school bell tower when he was a quarterback, threatening to use their heads as the bell clapper if they didn’t step it up by the next practice. Of course, I’d never follow his lead—generally speaking, my most reliable guidepost in life is to do the opposite of what my dad would do—but I do take my job as a role model seriously, particularly now that I’m a senior. I’ve got to set a good example.
Still, I don’t have as much time for a workout as usual. I promised Brianne I’d drop by at eight, so I’ll need to be home within an hour to be able to shower and show up on schedule.
It’s just as I’m heading for the free weights that I notice the girl from the front desk walking toward the ellipticals with a cloth and spray bottle. She’s shooting me a look. Jade. That’s her name. We’ve been in a few classes together over the years.
I slow my pace and smile. “Hey,” I say.
She offers a trace of a smile.
“Sorry I’m keeping you here late,” I say, halting my walk, which forces her to stop as well, since I’m blocking her path.
“No problem.”
I study her face. “Really, I can skip the workout today if—”
“It’s not a problem,” she repeats, glancing over my shoulder at the equipment she needs to clean.
Still, I hover there another second or two. “You’re sure?” I persist.
“Yep.”
She says it in a fast, clipped voice.
That’s the thing about this girl: she can be so intimidating. The look she’s giving me now? I used to get the same look in English Lit last year any time I’d get the nerve to speak up. Like clockwork, Jade would turn around and glance at me for just a fraction of a second, like she couldn’t quite wrap her head around what a doofus I was. Especially that first day of class, when Mrs. Alexander asked what our favorite book was and my answer was the Bible. Sorry my answer wasn’t hipster enough for Jade. But it was the truth.
“Hey, I ran into Calvin today at the grocery store,” I tell her, eager to find some common ground.
She stares at me for an excruciatingly long moment, then gives the slowest of nods.
It’s only now that it strikes me how lame my comment was. She and Calvin dated for a while, but I heard recently that it fizzled.
“He made the team this year as our kicker,” I continue, still aiming for friendly.
Jade’s lips tighten as she swallows hard. “That’s great,” she says, her tone suggesting an epic lack of greatness all around.
I feel my face grow warm as I shift my weight. (Sue me! I was just trying to make conversation!) I consider trying to shift the chitchat to safer ground—briefly, just long enough to salvage this train wreck—but I can’t think of anything else to say. Jade and I don’t run in the same circles. The only person I ever see her with is her best friend, Gia, another ice queen. I swear, the temperature drops twenty degrees any time you step into their too-cool bubble.
The temperature is practically arctic right now, what with my master stroke of throwing an ex-boyfriend into the conversation, so I guess the best thing to do is abort.
I flash one last smile, then resume walking toward the free weights, my guilt morphing into a touch of indignation: Yeah, I feel bad for keeping Jade here late, but her not-too-subtle little burns haven’t been lost on me. (She’s got a problem with the Bible? At least I’m not ashamed to claim it.)
Besides, I never turned away latecomers at the auto-parts store where I worked over the summer. Even when I’d been on my feet for nine hours straight, the customers who ambled in at 7:57 p.m. would have sworn I had all the time in the world, that there’s nothing I’d rather have been doing than drilling down on the difference between platinum and double-platinum spark plugs. I wouldn’t cut my eyes at a customer, even for a split second.
So cut me some slack, Jade, will ya?
I give her one last glance over my shoulder as I head for the free weights, and yeah, my suspicion is confirmed:
She’s tossing me another one of those looks.
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