Absolutely (Larson) Page 8

  “Yeah, I'm not a betting man, but I’d say the back of that bus should be searched. Thinking about how quiet it was aside from the stupid giggling, they were probably doing shots,” I say, shaking my head.

  Ashlyn appears shocked that it was even possible. But I think Reyna has been loosed from the moral code for quite some time. And that Ashlyn had been some sort of anchor and more than likely her conscience.

  Chapter 8

  Ashlyn

  Kiel really had killed it on the field. He and Miller were in sync, even if the rest of the team was out in “left field” so to speak. Did Coach Turner not see it? What the heck?

  I cheered with every ounce of my being for Kiel. He didn’t disappoint either. I also stared the heck out of his backside each time he went for the snap and while he sent the ball spiraling through the air. And every time in between. I may or may not have said ‘mm’ under my breath a few times like he was something yummy.

  Reyna may or may not have heard me. But I can’t deny how good he looks or stop my eyes from lusting after him. And they did lust. I’d have good dreams tonight.

  ***

  At the restaurant, he’s standing protectively beside me, inching closer and closer. So close I can smell his shower gel and cologne. I breathe it in like each breath will be the last I get. With his shifts in moods, I’m not far from wrong.

  When we’re next at the register to order, I realize my money is not in any of the places I usually keep it. I search myself, in case it inched its way past my bra strap. I must’ve left it on the bus.

  Kiel watches me, amused at my predicament, or perhaps just the show I’m putting on. He “floats” me, as he calls it. I order fries only, because he’s rescued me too many times already and I’m not a charity case. He leads me over to the table Miller picked out away from the others. Instead of sitting by Miller, Kiel sits down by me in the booth.

  If it weren’t for Miller (and Kiel’s decidedly confused behavior toward me), I’d scoot in close to him and lean on his broad shoulder.

  When the food comes, Kiel passes me a burger and slides the drink between our meals. It’s obvious we’re sharing it. Ok. I remember to thank him and compliment his game on the field.

  Miller unexpectedly begins talking about the game, specifically the other members of the team drinking on the bus. There’s no way. Shots? Like hardcore alcohol? The look on Kiel’s face tells me I’m, once again, acting naïve. But aside from that one dumb party, I have never been an active participant. Accomplice, yes. Oblivious, definitely. I realize this now that I’m on the outside looking in.

  Perhaps I am naïve, but I cannot believe what they suspect has happened before. That would implicate so many people it was hard to fathom. Coach Turner for never seeing it; Mrs. Lindsey for sleeping through it; the parents for never questioning their child’s well-being on game nights.

  These thoughts are racing through my head while the coach is making his way to the restroom. Kiel immediately stands up and follows him in there. I want to grab him and drag his cute butt back to the table. There are no scenarios in which this turns out good.

  I gape at Kiel then turn my worried gaze back to the table where Miller is sitting unfazed. In fact he asks, “Wanna play a round? Wait that came out wrong…” He blushes. “Would you like to race?”

  When I start to shake my head no, he smiles a sad kind of smile. Like he just offered something of value to him and I’d rejected it. I’ve known him forever. He’s always been kind, quiet, and shy. Miller is also easy to look at. He has crystal-blue eyes and messy brown hair.

  “It might take your mind off whatever’s going down in the men’s restroom.”

  That sells me, though. I don’t know who or what I’m about to race, but I grab the 3DS out of his hands and stare at the screen like it’s going to tell me what to do.

  He chuckles, taking it from me and showing me what to do. We pass it back and forth, laughing (him at me, me at myself).

  “Man, you suck at this! A five year old could score higher.”

  I snort in response. One round later, the restroom door slams open. It’s the coach, and he’s red-faced and pissed. I’m guessing he didn’t know because he shouts, “To the bus. Now!”

  Coach Turner had driven his own car, expecting that Mrs. Lindsey and Mr. Lyle were chaperone enough. Guess he didn’t know about Mrs. Lindsey’s naps. Mr. Lyle, he just didn’t care unless you were loud or standing up. The perfect environment for rogue teens.

  I wait for a minute for Kiel to come out, but Miller is herding me out. Kiel comes walking around the corner, looking suspiciously like he’s been caught doing something,

  Coach Turner yells, “What are you doin’ boy? You smell like smoke,” he sniffs Kiel as he walks by. “Get your butt on that bus!”

  I choke back a laugh, but just barely. That’s what took so long. Kiel had to have a cover story and he had to have climbed out the restroom window. Well-played, Coach Turner.

  He flops down on the seat behind me, and I can smell the cigarette smoke on him. That could only mean Coach Turner had loaned him one. I frown as I think of Kiel smoking it.

  “Don’t look so worried,” he whispered through the small gap. “I only lit it and let it burn.”

  I let out a small laugh and dig out a piece of gum for him from my gym bag. I even offer one to Miller who nods and accepts. I may have a new friend. I need all I can get.

  ***

  Kiel

  I jump up when I see Coach Turner heading for the restroom. I know Ashlyn is freaking out, but hopefully Miller will keep her calm.

  No one wakes up one morning deciding, “Today’s a good day to become a narc.” Sometimes the job just falls in a person’s lap. It’s happened to me before.

  Today is another one of those days, because it fell into my lap again. Coach honestly didn’t know what he was dealing with. I could tell as I posed a question to him.

  “Why do you think we stunk like last week’s trash out there?”

  “They had one up on us, Fuller. It looked like we had a bad night.”

  Someone’s head was up their ass.

  “It was more like they had a few shots of something before they went out there. Like maybe some of the players were drunk, Coach. At least judging by how many puked on the sideline.”

  Coach Turner puts it all together and his face goes red all the way to his hands. Like the Hulk, only not green. He looks at me, all business, and digs out a slim cigarette case from his pocket and a matchbook.

  “Climb out that window, Fuller. Come around after that cigarette burns out. We should be ready to get on the road by then.”

  I shimmy out the window with a hand-up from him. Even from outside, I can hear the commotion that happens a few minutes later in the restaurant. I’m thankful Miller is in there with Ashlyn.

  ***

  As I climb on the bus, every single soul in the back looks like a criminal, guilt written in their expressions. Most of them are now chewing gum to cover their breath, like the cheeseburgers and vomit before that haven’t already taken care of the alcohol smell. Coach Turner climbs on behind me. No Mrs. Lindsey behind him. He must’ve forced her to drive his car back.

  Ashlyn suppresses a laugh, but then frowns at me. I sit and move over to the gap to tell her I didn’t really smoke the cigarette. She hands both me and Miller gum. Now everyone on the bus is chewing gum. Which makes me suspicious of Ashlyn and her shock about team drinking. I may be falling for this chica, but I don’t know if can handle it if she really had been in on it before her accident.

  ***

  Beside me, as I’m watching the road go by, I get an elbow to the ribs. I shoot Miller a dirty look (that probably went unnoticed in the dark). He holds up his phone for light. Taking the hint, I pick mine up and check for messages. There are a few, but the newest is from Miller.

  Just go sit with her

  I roll my eyes in another useless, unseen gesture and text back a single question mark.

&
nbsp; Don’t be stupid. Ur wasting time

  Damn, he’s right. No matter what she’d done or hadn’t done, I’m very attracted to her and her musical taste. In the light coming from our phones, I see his knowing grin. He couldn’t have missed that “moment” between Ash and I earlier, after all.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumble with a smile. “Move,” I say and elbow him none too gently.

  To which he replies, “Moving.”

  I risk Coach Turner’s disapproval by getting out in the aisle to change seats. I flop down beside a genuinely stunned Ashlyn. So stunned, in fact, she screams.

  ***

  Ashlyn

  The whole bus is eerily quiet, even for normal post-game malaise. Almost scary quiet, like in the movies when everyone’s asleep and the bus runs off the road leaving the survivors stranded in the middle of nowhere where they all start dying off one by one in a river of blood that…

  Then BAM! Someone falls into the seat with me! “Ahh!” I scream like a little girl. My eyes go to the body squished beside me. Heart racing, I squeal, “Crap, Kiel!”

  “Miss Ramos, everything all right?” Coach Turner asks.

  Taking a deep, calming breath, I reply, “Yes, Coach Turner. Sorry. Got startled is all.”

  The bus is no longer deathly silent. People are groaning and moaning in agitation from being woke up or disturbed. Miller is the only one chuckling.

  I peer over to see Kiel’s dark outline, resting his wrists on the foam seatback in front of him. Not sure what he wants, I lean back somewhat uncomfortable with him this close in the dark. Coach Turner is straight across from us, so it’s not to make out. Admittedly, I’m disappointed.

  I make more space for him by moving my stuff to the ground, so he won’t be hanging off the seat. I scoot over, leaving him a big enough space between us. He doesn’t move over and his leg starts bouncing in the aisle. Obviously, something’s bothering him.

  I lean over and whisper, “Did you need to, um, switch seats with me or something? ‘Cause it’s no—”

  “No,” he says abruptly, “Stay.” Every breath I take is filled with him, his smell (and still a bit of the smoke). It’s unsettling.

  I also start feeling safe again. I relax back into the seat, propping my knees on the seat panel in front of me. Soon, I feel myself slumping sideways, half-asleep. Right before I crash into Kiel’s solid frame, I startle awake. I do this twice more. The fourth time, he slips his arms around me with a sigh, pulling me up against him. Tucked safely in the cushiest spot on the male body, I’m out pretty quick.

  ***

  When he gives me a gentle shake a while later, the bus is stopping in what I assume is the school parking lot.

  “Crap!” I say groggily. “I forgot to call my parents.” Not that I could without my own phone.

  “I called them for you,” Kiel says.

  His arm is still resting around my shoulders. I’m sad this bus ride is over, a complete one-eighty from earlier in the day when I couldn’t wait for it to end.

  “How?”

  “With my phone,” he teases.

  “Ha. Ha. I mean how’d you get the number?”

  “You used my phone to call your mom the other day. I took a chance that it was her cell phone and texted her.”

  “Wow. Thanks,” I say. I don’t want to move from my comfy spot, but the bus is stirring with waking teens. On a sigh rife with regret, I slip out from under his arm and gather my stuff. He doesn’t say anything else to me as we start moving our boxes and pompoms into the gym.

  Everyone helps this time under the adults’ watchful eyes. I think they might be running a tighter ship from here on out. The process goes quickly, and I don’t get to see Kiel or Miller to say good night.

  Mom is standing outside her car, waiting for me. I start to go around to the passenger side, but she stops me. There’s something shiny in the palm of her hand.

  My phone! Oh, blessed Mother Mary, it’s my phone! I'm hugging her while bouncing and jostling her around. I'm so happy until it hits me—I have three, maybe four, friends total. And only two of them would even want to text me. I'm not willing to brave social media right now.

  I go from ecstatic to static in two seconds flat.

  I pull away from my mom, take the phone, and get in the car. Opening up my contacts list, I start the tedious process of deleting Reyna and several others from the memory.

  “Is everything alright, honey?” The go-to question from adults. Like we ever answer that one truthfully.

  I nod, but it’s dark and I now hate the nod as a response. “Yes, Mom. As ‘alright’ as teen life gets.” I sound miserable to my own ears, closing in on whiny again. I sigh. “It’s really just drama. Nothing big.” That I can tell you, I don’t add.

  “Ok, honey, but I'm here if you need to talk.”

  Near the house, she says quietly, “He seems really nice. Good manners and chivalrous. I like him already.”

  “What ‘he’ are you talking about?” I ask.

  “Kiel Fuller. The boy you walk with, who called me to let me know you were almost home. That ‘he’.”

  “Oh. Well, don’t get attached. It’s not like that, so you know…”

  “In case it ever does, he’s already racked up several points,” she says as we pull into the driveway.

  “Points?” I choke out. “Seriously, Mom?”

  ***

  Saturday afternoon dawns bright, so I crawl out of bed and dump out the contents of my backpack. I'm looking for the spiral with Jenna and D'Nae’s phone numbers. Knowing I only have to get ahold of one of them since it’s the weekend, I dial and add it to my contacts.

  “Yeah?” D'Nae croaks.

  “Sorry for waking you…” I start quietly, but then I squeal, “I got my phone back!”

  “Yay for you,” she mumbles with zero enthusiasm. In the background I hear a chipper Jenna ask, “Is that Ash? Did she get her phone back?”

  “I'm going to get some coffee,” D'Nae says. Then I hear Jenna on the phone.

  “Is that what you said?” Jenna chirps at me.

  “Yup! Last night.”

  “You should’ve called immediately!” Jenna chastises, only half joking. “Let’s go celebrate, at the Caf-Fina.” That’s our local coffee shop cleverly located in a gas station.

  “I'll ask my mom and call you right back.”

  “Tell her we’ll pick you up!” Her enthusiasm totally makes up for D'Nae’s lack thereof.

  Mom is outside in her garden. She doesn’t take Saturday off per se, but she usually has all her deliveries and pick-ups done early. Brisa is on the back porch texting and taking selfies.

  She looks up as I walk out. Her face is full of concern. Oh, crap. The last thing I need is what I read in her expression. Brisa passes me her iPhone. There I am, asleep in Kiel’s arms. He had to have known that was taken, right? Maybe not since he seems asleep also. The comment section was filling up with winners like “she sure luvs her sum football playas”. Winners.

  “Ash, I've already reported the post, but I don’t know how long it’ll be before it’s taken down,” she whispers.

  Mom looks up from her gardening to watch our faces. She knows something’s up—it’s one of those gifts of motherhood. “Hey, Ash,” she smiles over at me. “I forgot to ask. How was the game last night?” Her smile may be genuine, but there was an underlying tone, like she was fishing for more.

  “It was ok, but we lost.”

  “Yes, I’d heard that,” Mom says.

  “Just say it, Mom,” I say, exasperated. Mom sighs.

  “I got a call from Mrs. Lindsey this morning that there had been some inappropriate behavior on the bus. That both the football team and the cheerleaders would be getting disciplined during practice since they can’t pinpoint who all did what.”

  “Did they take any guesses?” I ask, not really wanting to know.

  “Well, Mrs. Lindsey said they had a suspicion that it was underage drinking, but there was no evidenc
e.”

  I would love to be able to say Mom has faith in me, however, her eyes hold doubt in them. I fight the urge to act my age, yet manage to hold it in.

  “Mom, rest assured that I sat my toosh down in the very front seat and stayed completely sober. And I had no part whatsoever in the stupidity that took place last night.”

  “Good. Mrs. Lindsey said the same. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

  At that statement, I nearly lose my composure. I do throw my arms up in the air and groan, frustrated. “Why didn’t you just say that to begin with!” One. One freaking misstep. Ok, so it was a big misstep. For real, though—how long am I going to live under that shadow?

  My phone buzzes. I check the message from Jenna and recall the original reason for searching out my mom. I shake off the frustration at my situation and ask for permission. She agrees, thankfully. Brisa hollers at me as I go inside to bring her a latte on my way back.

  I text Jenna back and ask for a ten minute head start to get ready. Our town is ‘country’, but Jenna lives in the country country. As in cows, tractors, collapsing chimneys from ages past, and addresses with county road numbers instead of street names. Country.

  I shower and braid my hair to the side. Short jean shorts, my Falcons T-shirt from middle school, and lip gloss. I'm ready and out the door. And right into Kiel’s chest.

  “Oof!” my breath whooshes out. His arm is still out to ring the doorbell, making it easy for him to catch me before I fall over.

  “Um, hi,” he laughs. I’m way too stunned to reply. Kiel’s arm is holding me in place against him. My mind is mush, and I'm melting into his eyes when a horn blares at us from the street.

  It’s Jenna and D'Nae. Regaining my composure, I push a few stray strands of hair from my face. Ok, so not all my composure is regained. At a loss for words, I wave at the girls.

  “Bad timing?” Kiel asks, his arm still around me. Like I'm gonna be the one to remove it. I tip my face up to look at him once more. So tempting to say, No, I'll send them on their way.

  Instead, I say, “Um, yeah. We’re heading to Caf-Fina.” I hope he’ll take it as an invitation.