Kiss Now, Lie Later Page 9

  Our brief call didn’t answer any of those questions. It complicated things further.

  Ever since he moved there, Weston’s been Alleghany’s most popular resident. I’ve seen the girls holding signs at our games against Alleghany. I’ve heard the rumors about his hook-ups. I’ve listened to my friends gush about how gorgeous he is.

  Ever since our conversation freshman year, I’ve paid a little closer attention any time his name comes up. Wondering if the troubled, sad boy lamenting his parents’ fissured marriage was still in there, or if I’d just caught him on a bad night. Wondering if he’d ever listened for rumors about his dad’s infidelity the way I listened for rumors about my dad’s alcoholism.

  Talking and training with Wes all summer was a mistake. Spending every night since his birthday last week kissing him in the backseat of his car was a terrible idea. Both uncharacteristic, reckless actions. But allowable ones.

  The feelings churning through me right now aren’t inconsequential ones, though. The flashes of jealousy, envy, doubt, insecurity, and possessiveness indicate I’ve gotten a lot more attached to Wes than just appreciating his smirk. And that is not something I can afford.

  I spend the rest of the day pushing Weston Cole as far from my mind as I can. Thankfully, the rest of lunch passes without any mention of him, and my afternoon classes fly by.

  As soon as the final bell rings, I head to the office to pick up my cleats. Matt’s leaning against the wall when I enter the room. I look between him and the empty desk where the elderly receptionist normally sits.

  “Where’s Mrs. Jones?”

  Matt shrugs. “I just got here, and she was already missing.”

  “Huh,” I reply, and curse internally, adding annoying vocabulary to the long list of reasons why I should stay far away from Weston Cole.

  “What did you forget?” Matt asks me, grinning. You only come to the office for one of two things: a visit to our principal or to pick up something you forgot in the morning. I’m not surprised he assumes I’m here for the latter, since I’ve never entered this office for the former.

  “My cleats,” I respond. “You?”

  “Football shorts,” Matt admits. “My mom was unsuccessfully trying to get the grass stains out, and I forgot to grab them from the laundry room this morning.”

  “I’ve stopped buying any athletic clothes that aren’t navy or black,” I tell him. “Usually solves the problem.”

  Matt grins. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  We stand around for a few more minutes, with no sign of Mrs. Jones still.

  “Sorry about lunch,” Matt finally says. “I know Sam and I were giving you kind of a hard time.”

  I shrug. “The rivalry with Alleghany is far from news to me. I get why me going to one of their parties bothered you guys. I appreciate you apologizing, but you don’t need to.”

  “It feels even worse this year,” Matt replies. “This is our last chance to finally beat Alleghany. To beat Cole. Liam’s last chance. My last chance. Add in the fact Cole seems to be poised for one hell of a season, and–”

  “What can I help you two with?” Mrs. Jones chooses this moment to join us in the office, and I send her an extra-wide smile in appreciation of her timing. “Oh, hello, Maeve,” she greets when she sees my face. “How are you, dear?”

  “I’m well, how are you?” I reply.

  “Just wonderful, thanks for asking. Hard to believe you’re a senior this year, it seems like just a few months ago you were in here collecting the paperwork to run for freshman student council.”

  I laugh. “It does.”

  “I’ve got your cleats right here. I heard you were selected as captain, which is just mighty impressive, dear. I don’t know how you juggle everything.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” I smile as I take the plastic bag containing my soccer cleats from her.

  “What can I help you with, young man?” Mrs. Jones turns her attention towards Matt, who’s giving me a bemused look.

  “I’m Matt Crawford, ma’am,” he replies. “There should have been some shorts left for me?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Jones replies, handing Matt a heap of folded white fabric.

  “Thank you,” Matt replies.

  “Have a good afternoon, Mrs. Jones,” I say as I follow him towards the door.

  “You too, Maeve,” Mrs. Jones replies. Matt holds the door open for me, and I raise my eyebrows as I walk out of the office.

  “Since when are you a door holder?” I ask.

  “I figured it was the least I could do for Mrs. Jones’ favorite student. An in with the school secretary is an important one to have.”

  I scoff. “Whatever you say.”

  “I’m serious. I went there at least once a month last year, and she didn’t even remember my name!”

  “Guess I’m just more memorable than you are,” I tease.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re pretty special,” Matt replies. But his voice isn’t teasing. It’s serious.

  I glance at him in surprise, but his gaze is fixed ahead on the crowded hallway we’re walking through. I experience an uncomfortable twinge.

  “Thanks, Crawford,” I keep my tone light, studiously ignoring any underlying meaning in his words. “I’ve got to stop at my locker before practice, so I’ll see you.”

  “Bye, Maeve,” Matt calls as I head to the right, down the adjoining hallway lined with lockers, including mine. I try to shake off the lingering uneasiness Matt’s words left me with.

  The girls locker room is loud and raucous when I enter it. I spent the summer playing with these girls, so there’s no awkwardness or repeated queries of “How was your summer?” as I navigate through the boisterous crowd to my locker so I can change.

  “Hey, Captain,” Becca greets as she takes a seat on the bench across from me.

  “I thought I told you not to call me that,” I inform her grinning face.

  “I’ll call you Maeve when I see you at Chase’s party on Friday night,” Becca assures me. “But Captain when you’re making us run suicides.”

  “You’ll thank me when we win state,” I say as I change into my practice jersey and shorts.

  Becca laughs. “I have no doubt we’re going to win. It’s the only reason I’ve gone on those crazy early runs with you since freshman year when you made varsity and I didn’t.”

  “You asked what I’d done to prepare,” I remind her.

  “I expected you to recommend a couple of drills or something,” she replies. “Not tell me to meet you the next morning at six am. And have it last three years.”

  “No pain, no gain,” I tell her with a grin.

  “I seriously have no idea why the only team people here follow is football. You’re the crazy talented Stevens twin, in my opinion.” Her words remind me of Wes’s.

  “Is this your way of sucking up to me because you know I’m planning to include suicides next captain’s practice?”

  “Well, not originally. But maybe now,” Becca responds, sighing dramatically.

  I laugh as I lace up my cleats. “You ready to head out?” The locker room is rapidly emptying; thanks to my trip to the office I’m running behind almost everyone else. Becca nods, and we head out onto the spread of green grass that comprises Glenmont High’s main soccer field. Most of the team has already gathered around Coach Bloom.

  “Welcome to the first official practice of the season, ladies!” Coach Bloom calls out as the circle around her fills in. She’s been coaching Glenmont’s team for the past decade, and has been one of my biggest supporters with soccer ever since I tried out for Glenmont’s team on a whim freshman year. “Based on your preseason performance and the drills Stevens has had you running, I have a lot of faith this is going to be our most successful season in the school’s history. Warm-up today is the regular route. Aim for under fifteen minutes, please. Collins, you set the pace. Stevens, a word, please?”

  Becca starts jogging towards the trail that surrounds the high school�
�s campus, with the rest of the varsity team following her.

  “Hey, Coach,” I greet as I step forward.

  “Good first day, Stevens?” Coach Bloom asks.

  “Yeah, it was,” I reply.

  “Good. I’ve been blown away by your work this summer. Not only individually, but with the entire team as well. You’re the most dedicated player I’ve ever coached, hands down. Selecting you as captain was a no-brainer.”

  “Wow, thank you,” I reply. Coach Bloom is never stingy with praise, but only when she feels it’s been sufficiently earned. And I’ve never heard her compliment another player the way she just praised me.

  “With your grades and work ethic, you’re going to have some impressive options for next year. If you want them.”

  “You mean, you think I should play in college?”

  “I think you’ll have scouts fighting over you, Stevens.”

  “Uh, wow. I mean, I’ve considered it, obviously, but I wasn’t sure if it was realistic or not.”

  “It is,” Coach Bloom assures me. “We can discuss it more in the next few weeks, but I wanted to mention it to you now. I know you mentioned last year Arlington is your first choice, so I’ll make sure they’re at a game.”

  “Okay. Thank you,” I reply. I’ve wanted to go to Arlington University ever since I first visited my father on its ivy-covered campus with my mom and brother during his coaching days. But their athletic programs are competitive. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to play soccer there.

  “Of course. Now get those girls moving.”

  “Yes, Coach,” I reply, smiling before I set off towards the entrance of the trail. I took her parting words as a joke, but I haven’t run more than a few hundred feet onto the trail when I come across the soccer team standing around.

  “Let’s go, ladies!” I call out. “What’s the–” I stop talking when I reach the group and spot the attraction that’s caught the entire team’s attention. “Seriously?” I ask. “Drool after practice, let’s go!” My authoritative tone is enough to get the team moving past the bird’s-eye view of the Glenmont football field, which happens to be featuring a scrimmage of skins versus shirts.

  “You got an ironclad libido, Stevens?” Becca asks me, grinning as she falls into pace beside me in the front of the pack.

  “Nope. Just seen better,” I retort.

  “In this town? That’s hard to believe. Looks and football talent seem to go hand in hand.”

  “Who said I was talking about Glenmont?”

  Becca raises her eyebrows. “Can’t think of anyone all that good-looking in Fayetteville, either. Only that guy you brought to prom last year.”

  I don’t correct her assumption.

  I wasn’t talking about Fayetteville, either.

  chapter eleven

  Weston

  A final slash of red marks off the last player on the roster as present.

  “Hey Cole, any chance I can sneak out of here a bit early?” I turn to look at Josh, surprised. He’s one of the most dedicated players on the team.

  “How come?” I can’t help but ask.

  “It’s the girls soccer game against Glenmont. I told Caroline I’d try to make it for the second half,” he replies.

  “They’re playing Glenmont today?” I repeat.

  “Yup,” Josh confirms.

  I let out a loud wolf whistle that captures the attention of every guy on the team. I beckon them in, and they jog off the track rather hesitantly. Probably concerned I’ve come up with a worse drill. Coach Blake is out sick today, so I’m running an optional captain’s practice. Which every player on the team showed up for. Wisely.

  “We’re done for the day,” I inform them. “After we go to the girls soccer game.”

  I receive a lot of questioning looks. Chris laughs. “What?”

  “They’re playing Glenmont,” I offer. That’s enough to cut off most of the grumbling. These guys would attend a chess match if it meant cheering against Glenmont. We make our way over to the soccer fields as a large, huddled mass, and Chris falls into step beside me.

  “Why are we doing this? I thought you hate soccer.”

  I shrug. “Josh wanted to see Caroline play.”

  “Guess that means they’re on again,” Chris remarks. Caroline and Josh’s relationship status tends to vary day to day. “Surprised you’re indulging him.”

  “Would you rather be running laps?” I shoot back.

  “Dude, you’re taking this captain thing way too seriously.”

  We approach the field, and I see Maeve’s repeated complaints about the lackluster turnout at girls soccer games was warranted. There’s maybe twenty people here, tops. Which means we cause quite the stir when we take up the entirety of one of the empty bleachers.

  I spot her immediately, but Maeve hasn’t noticed us yet. Her back is turned towards the spectators as she talks intently with one of her teammates. Her hair is braided back intricately, and the muscles in her calves flex as she shifts from side to side.

  “Holy shit, Liam Stevens is here,” Charlie suddenly says. The statement draws the attention of everyone sitting in the top two rows. I glance over to the opposite set of bleachers, and sure enough, Liam Stevens is sitting with Coach Stevens and a blonde woman who must be Maeve’s mother. They look a lot alike. She’s watching the game closely, but just as Maeve said, her father is busy talking to the man seated behind him.

  “No way,” one junior breathes. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  “That’s Maeve Stevens,” Chris replies, looking out on the field. “She plays for Glenmont’s soccer team.” Most of the team follows his gaze to where Maeve is still standing with her back to us, proudly displaying the “STEVENS” emblazoned across the back of her white and maroon jersey. Fresh anticipation thrums through my teammates in response to Chris’s announcement. Cheering against Glenmont is one thing. Watching a Stevens play against Alleghany? Raises the stakes significantly.

  Maeve finally turns around, and Adam lets out a low whistle. My hands clench into fists automatically. I hear a few other appreciative sounds from the guys seated around me, and suddenly question the wisdom of dragging my teammates here. It’s too late to do anything but sit here silently, though, which is confirmed when a stutter in Maeve’s jog out onto the field confirms she’s seen the additions to the audience. Her other teammates are glancing towards us as well. We’re also attracting attention from Alleghany’s soccer team.

  Josh stands. “Call me, Fourteen!” he yells to Caroline. His obnoxious shout earns him a smattering of applause from our teammates, and a few members of the soccer team. Caroline flips him off.

  In an alternative reality, I imagine calling out encouragement to Maeve. But that fantasy is hard to imagine under the weight of the glares from her teammates. The Alleghany girls may be warming to our presence, but it’s clear the Glenmont team has taken our appearance as a personal affront. I wonder how Maeve feels. We’ve barely talked since school started a few weeks ago. Since the day she called me in the cafeteria. I texted her that night asking if she wanted to meet up, and she said she was too busy. It’s been the same response the other three times I’ve tried to see her. I don’t doubt she is, but it’s feeling more and more like a brush-off.

  I should be glad. We had fun, and she didn’t get clingy afterwards. Normally, that’s all I want when it comes to girls. When it comes to Maeve Stevens, I keep thinking of random shit I want to tell her. Keep fantasizing about the stretch of nights we spent in the backseat of my SUV for the brief period we moved past platonic before we swerved right back into the friend-zone. Not even the friend-zone. Barely acquaintances.

  She uncomplicated the murky mess we were venturing into. Why does that make me want to pull her back in?

  Maeve takes her position on the upper half of the field, and confers with her fellow striker and their goaltender. I watch her talk, gesturing with her hands as she instructs them on some strategy. They watch her raptly. Maeve stays
put, the other two players return to their positions, and play resumes for the second half of the game.

  I can’t take my eyes off Maeve as she gains possession of the ball and streaks down towards Alleghany’s half of the field. She’s good. Even better than I thought. It’s not even five minutes before she scores, giving Glenmont a 3-1 lead over Alleghany.

  “Shit,” Charlies states as the players around me deflate. Most of us don’t know anything about soccer, but you don’t need to be an expert to tell Glenmont’s the superior team. They’re faster, more coalesced, and more skilled. It’s impossible not to realize why, as I watch Maeve weave along the length of the field, shouting suggestions and advice to her teammates.

  “Did you see Matt Crawford just showed up?” Chris’s question temporarily distracts my attention from Maeve. I glance over, and sure enough, he’s climbing the bleachers to sit with the Stevens family.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Adam adds.

  “Rumor is he and Maeve Stevens have a thing,” Charlie contributes.

  My gaze snaps to him. “Where’d you hear that?” I ask in what I hope is a conversational tone.

  “He posted a photo of them, I think?”

  I watch as Crawford chats with Maeve’s mother, feeling a fresh surge of dislike towards him. Finally, I tear my eyes away before he catches me staring. That’s the last thing I need.

  There are only ten minutes left in the game, and Alleghany is starting to falter. I gain a fresh appreciation for football as I watch them continue to sprint up and down the long field. Both teams are clearly tired, but Glenmont’s still pressing forward. They’re the better conditioned team, and once again I imagine Maeve Stevens deserves most of the credit. I had my own motivations for working extra hard when we would practice together, but watching her teammates look to her each play, it’s clear she’s the type of athlete that draws a better performance out of everyone she trains with.