Page 81 of Most Valuable Player
“Nah, yours are just cute. I want to bite them.”
And he does, the absolute creep. I squawk in horror, trying to wriggle my ankle out of his grip, but he holds fast to it with a gleaming grin and sinks his teeth into the other side, enough that it tickles. “I don’t exist for your fetishes!” I cry out, but he’s already moved to my ankle, and then my calf, nearly shuddering with laughter.
I throw an arm over my face, my ears burning.
By the time he finds my mouth again, I’ve fallen asleep under the kind touch of his lips.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cameron
The roar of the football field is familiar and nerve-inducing. It’s been a few weeks since I joined the starting lineup. With Mason’s help, my grades are finally above the required level to participate in sports again.
Yay.
That scout is here.
This is supposed to be a huge, life-changing moment as I mosey out onto the turf, helmet secured. The flooded bleachers begin to roar. Maybe it’s the ultramassive head Mason insists I have, but I’m damn sure they’re louder than usual, confirmed when the announcer reads my name and the entire field quakes with excitement.
I peek into the stands to find my parents—it’s their first time watching since before the day they traitorously abandoned me to “spend time together.” They made personalized jerseys to wear withMorelliwritten on the back, which they’re currently sporting.
Somewhere in the stands is the Alpine University scout, who’s decided to come out to Elwood once more to assess a new star player who appeared out of nowhere. He’ll be watching carefully. Depending on how this game goes…
I could free my parents from the financial burden of having to send me to college.
My nerves are in overload, and I’m hyperaware of every sound,every sensation around me. This is all made worse by the fact that Mason isn’t here. Maybe it was his stint in the rain that did him in, but a couple of days ago, he fell ill, and he’s been bedridden since. I wanted to visit him after school yesterday, but he was adamant I stay away.
“You can’t get sick before your first game back,” he said over the phone, his voice nasal from his stuffed nose. He was exhausted, so I doubt he would’ve appreciated me telling him how cute he sounded. “Just focus on your last quiz.”
“I was going to ask you out after the game,” I whined.
“Wait for the next one.”
Over my corpse. I have a can of broccoli cheddar soup I’m bringing him after the game, sickness be damned.
I’m not sure what to look at now that he’s not here. The entire team is jumpier than usual—this game determines our spot in the playoffs, there’s a scout nearby, and I’m back on the field for the first time in weeks. Without Mason’s steadying presence and unbothered atmosphere, everyone feels wobbly on their feet.
The first-string players huddle around me, punching my shoulder in wordless congratulations. Coach Barnett paces nearby. The stadium lights illuminate everything in white brilliance despite the evening darkness pouring over Elwood, and the smell of leather, equipment, and turf flutters my stomach.
I like football. I really do.
After today, it might become my entire life.
I close my eyes against the fluorescent lighting and overwhelming stimuli. I imagine Mason in front of me, wearing that fond, skeptical expression, the flecks of gold gleaming in his amused brown eyes.
Quarterback, he says in my head, and he reaches out, flattening his cold palm to the center of my chest.Just breathe.
So I do. When I next open my eyes, I’m ready.
Focused.
The game starts, and thoughts of Mason drift away in place of instinct and game strategy. It takes me a few plays to slot fully back into place among my team. Sure enough, though, halfway through the first quarter, the familiarity of my situation returns. The feeling of being looked to, relied on. Trusted.
I somehow forget that the scout is watching several times until Coach Barnett reminds me I’m being examined both on and off the field. That the man is analyzing my techniques, but also how I interact with my teammates. How I sprint, how I position myself, how I handle tricky situations and exploit the opposite team’s weaknesses. I’m doing well, I think. Yet there’s a strange little voice nagging at the back of my head.
Would it be the worst thing if I did poorly?
The answer is yes, of course. Performing poorly means sacrificing a stable future. So why is the thought even crossing my mind?
