Page 38 of Most Valuable Player
“Very large,” Anup whispers to Jody, and I hurl my empty pop can at his head, which he catches with his wide receiver reflexes.
“You’ve only got a couple weeks before that scout shows up,” Darius continues, popping a stern brow. “I’ve already committed to Alpine University, but you have to win him over. And you can’t do that from the bench. It doesn’t matter that you’re playing your ass off during practices and training every day if he’s not there to see it.”
Naturally, the mere mention of college, of being recruited, gives me a full-body chill. The word “scholarship” is a grating echo in my ears. Keeping my parents afloat is wholly riding on my college football career. If they don’t have to worry about paying for my college, maybe Dad could open his own studio like he’s always wanted. Maybe Mom won’t have to work overtime in the OR and get up at four o’clock on Saturdays when she’s on call anymore.
“Better stay focused, Morelli,” Nate says, crossing his thick arms with a smirk. “Don’t let Mason’s pretty face distract you.”
“I told you, I’m over it! We’re obviously incompatible,” I say with a violent huff.
“Mm. Then who gets to break up with you next?” Jody asks.
“Pardon?”
“You know.” He gestures at me like I should, in fact, know. “You get into relationships and then people break up with you for being a player. I’m wondering who your next target is.”
The implication causes irritated heat to flourish in my face. “The fuck are you saying?” I demand. “That I’m notloyal?”
“If the glass slipper fits,” Anup says with a roguish grin.
I want to chuck something into the fire, preferably one of them. “I don’t cheat!” I growl, lurching to my feet. Is that what my ex-partners have been saying? Whatbullshit.
“Then, why else are people breaking up with you?” Nate wonders. The crowd cluttering the fire stares at me, awaiting a valid answer. But would they even believe me if I said the truth? My track record doesn’t speak in my favor.
All I can sputter out is a hearty “fuck you” before storming off toward the next ablaze firepit, where a few of my other teammates and random acquaintances are huddled, pumping music on a Bluetooth speaker. The sun is set and the stars and moon are in full bloom, shedding a cool white radiance atop the warm orange glow washing the beach.
People break up with you for being a player.
Jody’s amused voice makes me squirm with annoyance. I knot my arms against my chest, wondering which of my exes planted that rumor. Did they all come together to collude against me by spreading misinformation? I don’t care if people know I jump from shallow relationship to shallow relationship—I’ve made a point of tying that one negative trait to me so people don’t come up with other worse shit. Idocare if people think I’m a cheater.
I’m only like a month into senior year, so how is it already falling apart? Is my image going to start unraveling? I’ve spent so much time and energy building myself up, controlling the narrative around me, adjusting my personality and body and presentation so I wouldn’t get trampled under people’s shoes and cutting glares.
What am I supposed to do if it’s not enough anymore? Even if I scrape my way through the rest of high school, what happens when I go to college? Am I going to have to start from scratch? And continue to keep people at an arm’s length so they won’t notice something’s off? There’s a reason I don’t have any solid friendships. People I’d hang out with one-on-one outside of football practices and parties. Everyone is an acquaintance, which is what I planned from the moment I got here. It’s my own damn fault, so what am I even bitching about?
I hate this. I hate everything. I hateme. I hate—
Just breathe, Cameron.
Suddenly, I feel the weight of Mason’s palm against my chest. Resting lightly on my shirt. Cold fingertips nestled into my collar.
I heave a giant stabilizing breath, my eyes fluttering shut. I don’t know why Mason appears so suddenly in my thoughts. But I decide not to question it, because the remembrance is easing the flustered heat coursing through my blood.
A sudden noise draws my attention. Down the strip of beach, several people are cheering and clapping, forming a circle around something near the next firepit. My first thought isFight, so I sprint over and needle through the throng to see what’s going on.
Only to find Mason Gray doing a keg stand.
My jaw drops so quickly that it nearly dislocates from my face. He’s gripping the edges of the keg, sucking down beer while two of my second-string teammates hold his legs in the air. Moments later, he taps out, and they ease him back to standing again.
“Holy shit!” someone cries out—it’s Ravi, who’s swaying on his feet. “Gray is unhinged tonight.”
Mason laughs into his hand. He’s not wearing a beanie, so his black hair is a frumpy mess. He’s still in an oversized jersey over a long-sleeved black shirt, faded sneakers, and slim-fitting cargo pants. Something glitters around his neck. I watch with sheer bewilderment as he’s drawn into a group of five and allows one to push a beer bottle into his palm. All the while, he has one hand folded over his face, giggling uncontrollably, lowering it only so he can drink.
Something’s off. I don’t like the apprehensive feeling stirring in my stomach. Then I hear his next words, loud and clear, and bile rises into my throat.
“Hey, does anyone want to kiss me? I really want to be kissed.”
His voice is so slurred it’s hard to pick the words apart, and whilemost people around him laugh nervously, clearly aware of his drunken state, one guy grins and steps toward Mason. “I’ll do it!” he says, sticking his hand up.
White-hot rage boils under my skin, causing me to break into a furious tremble. Who the hell does this guy think he is, taking Mason’s request seriously as if he’s not plastered out of his mind?
