Page 9

Narrowing my gaze, I study the picture again. I don’t know why. I don’t know anyone on campus. The faces I see around might as well be interchangeable. “That’s a pretty name, too,” I tell him, peering up.
He smiles fondly and arranges it back on his desk. “Not going to lie, she usually helps me around here, but her coursework is getting harder, and her mom and I thought it would be better if she started focusing on her academics. Same goes for you,” he says, finally looking up and catching my eye. “I’ll be pulling your grades along with the players after every semester. Anything below a 2.5 GPA and you’re out of here.”
I try not to laugh. There’s one beneficial side-effect of not having a life: I’ve had a perfect 4.0 since I’ve been at Warner. “Shouldn’t be a problem, sir.”
“Great.” He shuffles papers around on his desk before gathering some together. “My calendar is out of date. Could you take it and fill in everything by next practice?”
I take the unorganized stack he hands me. Post-It notes with names and times riddle the top, along with full-length papers jutting out from every angle. “I’m on it.”
“Excellent. Off with you, then. See you next practice. And be here on time. No, be here early.”
“Will do, Coach.”
He doesn’t wave or say goodbye. He just turns his attention toward his computer, hitting the space bar a couple of times.
I take that as my cue to leave and stand. Voices of players can still be heard around the locker room while I exit, but it’s a straight, empty shot through the main walkway to the double doors that lead outside. The actual players’ lockers are to the left—hidden from view—most likely so people can come in and out without seeing half-naked bodies. Not that I was thinking about their half-naked bodies. Only that the design of the locker room was sensible…if you didn’t want your players on display.
The fresh air is a welcome reprieve from the anti-bacterial spray I was using earlier to negate the musk and BO. Freshly mowed grass along with a slight floral smell invades my nostrils, and I pause, taking a deep breath, enjoying it for a moment before sliding Coach’s papers into my backpack.
Following the sidewalk around the parking lot, I come out onto the side road of campus. Luckily, Warner isn’t all that big and my house happens to be within a few blocks. I pull my backpack up my shoulders and rub my neck, a tingle of awareness crackling there. Immediately, I peer up, searching the area. I don’t see anything in my first pass, but on the second, I jump when a car gives two short beeps before it slows next to me.
I press my hand to my beating chest, stepping back when the window rolls down.
“Need a ride?”
It’s the same football player from earlier. The only one who knows I’m alive.This can’t be happening.“Even if I was sure you weren’t an axe murderer, no.”
He smirks, his charm oozing off him once more. “I’m a tad busy to be an axe murderer. I think you’re safe.”
“Sounds like something an axe murderer would say.”
“Touché.” I start to walk again, and he presses on the gas to follow. “Hey, really, let me give you a ride.”
“Nope.”
“I’m sorry about tackling you. I hope you weren’t hurt.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good, then let me take you home.”
“Not a chance.” Not only do I not make a habit of letting strange men drive me home, but there’s no way I would want him—or anyone, really—within a few feet of my house. I would never be able to live down the embarrassment.
He stops the car on the road and gets out, slinging his elbow onto the hood. “Would it help if we were formally introduced? I’m Cade Farmer.”
Okay, so hislastname is Farmer. I thought he had some sort of weird football nickname.
Still don’t care, though.
I keep walking, and he runs up to me. “This is the part where you tell me your name and then you get in the car so I can be a gentleman and drive you home.”
“No, this is the part where you realize I don’t need anything from you, so you return to your car and leave me alone.”
His smile falters. “I overheard Coach giving you a hard time and wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ve been on the other side of his lectures before. They’re?—”
I stop and turn toward him with my stomach churning. “You were eavesdropping?”
“Listen, the locker room is like a cavern. It wasn’t hard to miss.”