Page 7

Six

“You’re all being superstitious.” I keep my eyes focused on the road.

I don’t look at Zev beside me or at Maverick and Lucca in the back of this company car.

Coach told us to use a Red Tails’ vehicle for the day.

We’ve got community service in the city, at one of the Reno elementary schools.

So, that means I’m driving Will Baxter’s Lincoln Navigator.

It’s big enough to fit seven adult-sized soccer players.

“It’s not superstitious if it works. She’s your lucky charm,” Maverick

“Yeah. Um, you’re welcome,” Lucca says with a smirk. “None of this would have happened without me.”

“I don’t believe in luck.”

“Messi has lucky charms,” Zev says.

“Yeah—a red bracelet, not a person.” I swallow and keep down what I’m thinking but not saying: They could be right.

One kiss with a strange girl, and the next day, I have the best practice of my life after months of playing like crap. Two days later, we win—after a three-game losing streak and six months of me slowly headed downhill. After all that—we won, two to zip.

And I scored both of the goals.

“Ronaldo told me his mother is his lucky charm. He talks to her before every single game.” Zev sits in the passenger seat, keeping his eyes on the road ahead, but he’s adding flame to this fire. In fact, he may be adding lighter fluid.

“ Cristiano Ronaldo ? When do you talk to Ronaldo?” He does not talk to Ronaldo—one of the top two players in the world. The world.

But I’m interrupted by Maverick. “How are you going to see her again?” He presses one arm against the headrest, leaning up from his middle bucket seat and staring at me. I see him in my peripheral vision, but I don’t look back, I’m driving.

“Wait, who?” Tru says, but I ignore that question too.

“We’re all waiting for you to answer Mav’s question,” Zev says. Everyone except for Tru and Wade, who weren’t there the night we sang karaoke. They’re still wondering who we’re talking about.

I grunt out a breath of pent-up air. “I won’t be seeing her again.

Guys, you were there. I don’t know her. I have no name, no number.

I’m lucky she didn’t call the authorities on me.

” Besides, I’m not interested. I just got out of a relationship.

One that gave me a whole lot of enlightenment. Not everyone needs someone to be happy.

“I still can’t believe you did that,” Sawyer says—way back in the third row.

“I wasn’t there,” Tru says, sitting beside him, moping in his seat.

“Yeah, me neither,” nineteen-year-old Wade says. “What did Callum do? ”

“He found himself a lucky charm.” Sawyer sits between Wade and Tru on that back bench. At this point in the conversation, I’d be fine if they decided to crush him between themselves, shutting him right up.

I don’t need the guys spreading this story around. But Tru and Wade aren’t crushing my friend, and Sawyer is too far away for me to smack the back of his head in an effort to keep him quiet.

“Cal’s got a lucky charm?” Tru says.

“That last game makes sense now,” Wade says to Tru.

Why do I need luck to play well? Why does that make sense? Since when are my bad games normal and what everyone expects?

Oh, right—since I asked Simone on a date six long months ago. Zev would say Simone Wells sucked the game right out of me. But she did more damage than that.

Which is one of the reasons I’m staying away from women. I’m good on my own. I don’t need a Simone Wells repeat. I need a social reset. A game over reset.

Kissing that girl was stupid.

And yet… I’ve played better ever since.

For the first time in forty-three minutes, my GPS spouts out a direction, and I float back into the present day—away from my past and the unknown future.

“Are you guys ready to focus?” I say, my voice stronger. “We’ve got a school full of kids waiting for us. No more lucky charm nonsense.”

It’s an excuse—I’d wager my teammates know it.

Still, they shut up about the karaoke girl whose name I don’t even know.

We’re splitting up and visiting classrooms and then helping with a school assembly.

We’ll be here a while. Will Baxter, the Red Tails’ owner is all about giving back to the community.

I don’t mind. I like this part of the job.

Which is why he sent me and not Roman Graves. Our hot-headed midfielder and a school full of kids wouldn’t mesh well.

The principal of this small school meets us at the front of Sierra View Elementary. He guides us through the halls and sends two of us off to kindergarten and first grade, then one to second, third, and fourth.

I take second grade. Mostly because I am unable to handle Lucca’s oversized ego and nonstop talking for another minute. My teammates have become like my brothers these past three years, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to disown one brother every now and then.

I step into a small classroom where more than a dozen kids litter the ground, some lying, some sitting, all reading books to themselves. I clear my throat and find the teacher’s nameplate on her desk.

The young blonde weaves through her sea of students, not even noticing me.

“Miss Conrad?” I whisper—because the whole atmosphere of this room tells me I should be quiet.

Her gaze lifts. “Oh,” she whispers back, a hand smacking over her heart. Stepping over a boy sprawled out on the ground, she makes her way over to me. “Red Tail?”

I nod. “Callum Whitaker, number ten.” I reach out a hand for hers, and with the movement, my eye catches on another adult in the room—one just behind her. Short brown hair, warm, glowing skin, and pretty pink lips.

Holy crap —kissable lips.

Also, a singing voice that reminds me a whole lot of flat soda. Okay, not flat, exactly, but not particularly bubbly.

“You’re a little early. We have ten more minutes of quiet reading. Can you sit and read with one of the kids for a bit?”

I swallow. My eyes dart to the woman behind her once more. She’s talking to a boy in a low voice, her brows knit in concentration.

“I can do that,” I say.

Miss Conrad smiles her approval of my answer. She moves about the classroom once more, quietly checking on her pupils. She steps over each child as if she were walking through a field of landmines.

I sit on the thin classroom carpet, next to a little girl who’s reading a book about an elephant and a pig. She’s engrossed and doesn’t notice me at first. She’s also positioned close to my karaoke songbird and the spiky-haired boy she sits with.

“Hi,” I whisper to the girl when she finally peers over at me. Glassy blonde braids hang over each shoulder. “Can I read with you?”

She shrugs and returns her gaze to her book.

So, I guess we’ll both be reading in our heads… fine with me. That will make it easier to eavesdrop on the woman in wide-leg jeans and a T-shirt, sitting cross-legged two feet away from us. Because I’m curious about something my songbird just said to her young friend. Something about romance …

“You’ve never seen a romcom?” she asks the kid, her brow furrowed with wrinkles like the thought of this little boy never watching a romance movie is impossible to her.

“No,” he says.

“What about a Disney movie?”

“Um. Duh . I’m eight.”

“Right,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She taps the pencil in her hand to the notebook in her lap.

I remember the feel of her hair, soft and fine, like feathers.

I admit, it’s an odd thought for the environment we’re in.

But it comes just the same. And maybe it’s not so odd.

The only thing I know about this girl is singing and kissing—and the feel of her hair. Oh, and the smell of her body spray.

What in the world is she doing here? She’s not the teacher. Maybe she’s volunteering too. Maybe she’s a teacher’s aide. Or a lunch lady gone rogue? Maybe one of these kids is hers—but then she can’t be older than me, and while it’s possible, that would make her one young mother.

“So, your parents?—”

“My mom and my stepdad,” the boy says.

“Yes. Do they remind you of any of those Disney movies? Maybe Beauty and the Beast ?”

He doesn’t look impressed with her comparison. “More like Yzma and Cronk.”

Her brows lower. “Yzma?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty grumpy and Dan’s pretty stupid.”

She scribbles in her notebook. “Okay, do you remember how your mom and stepdad met?”

The boy shrugs. I don’t blame him. Who knows that at eight?

My songbird sighs. “Okay, thanks, Briggs. You can get back to your book.” She peers around the room, her eyes landing on me and my reading buddy.

Will she know me—like I know her?

Her eyes bounce from the girl beside me to my face once more, and in the process, she freezes. She’s as still as a statue, her eyes wide and unblinking on me.

Oh yeah, she recognizes me .

I return my gaze back to the girl’s book as if I’ve noticed nothing. What am I supposed to say— Hey, remember me, the stranger who kissed you outside the bar?

She taps her notebook once more. “Moni,” she says, and Braids peers over at her. “It’s your turn.”

Moni hands her book over to me. “Don’t lose my place,” she says.

I nod, holding the book open to where she left off, and lean my back against the wall. I’m two feet away from Moni and the songbird. I’ve got a front-row view. Nope, I’m not going anywhere.

“Hi,” Songbird says, her lips rubbing together as her eyes bounce to me once more.

I skirt her gaze, lifting my eyes to the ceiling—real smooth, Callum Whitaker.

“Miss Conrad got permission from your mom for me to ask you a few questions for a paper I’m writing. Do you mind?”

Moni shakes her head. “I’ve seen a romcom,” she says, referring to the question that I’m certain poor Briggs got wrong. “I have two older sisters.” She tilts her head as if this fact explains everything.

“Great.” Songbird slips another look my way. “Do you know how your parents met?”

“In school. His family didn’t approve. It was a whole Crazy Rich Asians kind of a thing.”

“You’ve seen that movie?” Songbird asks, her honey eyes wider than before.

“Most of it. Mom came home and made us turn it off. But his family doesn’t like the girl.

And Daddy’s family never liked my mom. They said she wasn’t Ivy League enough for Dad.

But Mom said Dad never went Ivy League and only graduated because she did half his homework.

She says they fit like a glove, and Nana and Papa can take a back seat. ”

I snicker and Songbird’s eyes find mine. These girls are funny. Have I laughed since Simone left? Huh … come to think of it, have I laughed since the day I met Simone?

I quickly look down at the page I’m holding open for Moni, an elephant in a tutu. I study the simple illustration as if it’s the next great American novel and could possibly be Zev’s new favorite. He’s the reader.

“That’s great,” Songbird says to the girl. “Good observation.”

“I am very observant,” Moni says. Her eyes drag from Songbird to me. “For instance, that guy over there. He isn’t reading my book. He’s been watching you.”

Moni is observant. She’s also a tattletale.