Page 45 of Breaking Rules
I scratched my head. He’d never asked me for advice before. But I traded thoughts about Drew for other important things like a big football game. After I suited up, I left the guys and headed for Coach’s office, which was two doors down from the boisterous locker room. The closer I got, the louder Montana’s voice got. I lingered in the hall, listening.
“Did you change your mind about me being on the team?” Montana asked and then snorted.
I held my breath as I scanned the empty and dimly lit hall.
“No. Actually, I wanted to ask a personal favor. If you say no, I completely understand. You said your mother knows Joey Dennison. Is she still in contact with him?”
That name sounded vaguely familiar.
“I don’t think so,” Montana replied. “Why?”
“I had an idea that would fire up the team. Maybe Joey would be open to joining us for a practice to show the guys some plays.”
“I could talk to my mom.”
“It’s not a big deal. I just thought I would ask.” Coach sounded like a little boy who wanted desperately to meet his idol.
I heard rustling.
I inched closer until I was standing in the doorway. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll get back to you, Coach.” She shoved me out of the way, or more like I let her, then she vanished.
Coach snagged his ball cap from his desk. “Lover’s quarrel? I don’t want to know. Let’s talk about the game.”
I sat down on the warm seat, and despite Montana’s lingering scent, football dominated the conversation and my thoughts. Coach and I dove into the details of plays for that night’s game and talked about the USC scout. Before long, we were on the field, playing among a packed house of parents, students, cheerleaders, the band, and a few from the media. I played the game, thought about the game, and refused to look in the stands for the scout, my old man, or even Montana.
After a grueling win by the skin of our pants, we marched to the locker room, slapping high fives and talking shit about the game. Our opponents had a fucking tight defense. I’d even gotten sacked twice. I was certain my old man would have something to say about that. Regardless, a win was a win. Besides, Coach would work us hard during the next practice to make sure we closed the gap on our offense.
Austin and I trailed behind the team, discussing our plans for the weekend, then we both stopped short. The team parted, opening up a chasm, as though Austin and I were some prominent leaders.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Derek’s big physique blocked the door. “You’re not going to like this, man.”
Please tell me Montana is not behind that door.I was riding my high from our win, and I might do something drastic like ask her out.
Derek slid to one side, revealing a huge heart. Inside the heart were the words “Train sucks.”
Austin touched the letters. “It’s dry. Someone had to do this right after we left for the second half.”
The door had been clean when we came in for halftime.
“Maybe Montana did this because of the weight room scene,” Derek said.
Highly possible, considering her feistiness. She’d shoved me out of the way when she left Coach’s office. Then a loudding, ding, dingwent off in my head. She was an artist, a “tagger” as she called herself. But I didn’t see her cool signature of “Spunk” that she’d drawn in computer class earlier that day. Maybe she didn’t want me to know what she’d done. Either way, she’d given me another reason to rattle her nerves.
