The Me I Meant to Be Page 16

  “Good luck,” he said, his gaze swerving and seeking out Dana even before he finished uttering the words to me.

  “Thanks.” Screwing the lid on my water, I hurried out of the house, veering past movers carrying a futon in a pink-and-brown animal print. I grabbed my cleats and sat on the bench outside to put them on, trying to push Dana and all her ugly furniture out of my mind.

  I stopped at Whataburger for a honey butter chicken biscuit. Not the healthiest, but it was hearty. Sure, it was five thousand calories, but I would burn it off in the first half of the game.

  Despite my vow not to let crap at home get into my head, I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that when I next walked through my door, Dana would be permanently moved into my house . . . into my life.

  I could hardly get a foot on the ball in the second half. Their defenders were like linebackers. I was going to sport bruises tomorrow. There was no getting past their defense. We lost 3 to 1 and I felt like crying, which wasn’t like me at all. I didn’t get emotional on the field. It wasn’t how I played.

  I held it together through our coach’s parting remarks and then grabbed my bag as the rest of the players headed to the sidelines to talk to their parents. It was still early enough that the day had a nice chill to it. The fall air cooled off the sweat on my skin as I walked into the parking lot, blinking burning eyes.

  It was just a game. One game. I knew all the mantras. Had the T-shirts.

  You can’t win them all.

  Defeat makes you stronger.

  You can’t appreciate the triumphs without the losses.

  Blah blah blah. Stupid mantras. But I knew the truth. Losing a game wouldn’t eat at me so much if other things were going right in my life. Family. Grades. Relationships. I was zero for three. Hopefully I’d at least be turning math around soon, thanks to Grayson.

  At that thought, I dug out my phone from my bag and shot a text to him. Still on for tomorrow? I’m free tonight if you get an opening.

  I snorted. God. That sounded beggy. An opening. What was he? My shrink? I winced at that.

  “Hey, Flor! Wait up.”

  I looked up. Brianna, the goalkeeper, jogged after me. She was tall with an incredible wingspan. She covered a lot of space inside the net. Balls had a hard time finding their way past her. Except for today.

  “Well, that sucked.” She panted as she came to a stop beside me. “Want to hang tonight? I know a party.”

  I shook my head. “No thanks.” Right now I just wanted to take a shower, maybe order Chinese, and power through some reruns of Big Bang Theory.

  “What’s the matter? You can’t slum it in my neck of the woods? Come to this thing with me.” Brianna lived north of the city. It was hardly a slum, just another suburb.

  Then it occurred to me that tonight would be the first night with Dana in the house. Who knew what she had planned? I just knew she had something up her sleeve. She was probably busy making her mark in my house right now. Wait. Not my house. Our house.

  Maybe I should go out tonight. I could see what Willa was doing. Maybe spend the night with her. Even if the last time I’d slept over, her sister’s child had puked all over me.

  “C’mon, Hidalgo. I promise you a good time.”

  I stared at Brianna’s perpetually sunburned face. Freckles scattered across her nose. “Yeah?”

  A good time. I hadn’t had one of those in a while. Maybe it would be fun to go to a party where no one knew me. Where no one knew that Zach Tucker had dumped me.

  “Sure, Bri. I’ll go with you.”

  GIRL CODE #21:

  True friends never start a statement with: “Don’t take this the wrong way, but . . .”

  Willa

  AS the day faded to evening, Jenna, Farah, and Ava texted they were going to see a movie that night.

  Of course they invited me, but I told them I had to babysit Mia. Which was partially true. I could take Mom’s car and meet them at the theater if I wanted. It’d be okay. But I didn’t want to.

  After last night, which had been loaded with its share of mistakes, I was staying home. That seemed the best way to ensure no more mistakes happened.

  No more parties. No more humiliating moments where I did and said things that weren’t me. No more regrets.

  Flor chimed into the group text, passing on the movies. She was going to a party with one of her soccer friends. She did that occasionally, hung out with her teammates.

  So it was just me, Mom, and Mia at home. Chloe was going out with some old friends from high school, surely to man-bash over margaritas.

  Mom heated up leftovers and hid in her room with a bottle of wine and a Hallmark movie marathon that would probably only depress her because Dad wasn’t home for the weekend and she was living the life of a single parent without technically being one.

  I knocked on her door and pushed it open at her muffled command. As I suspected, she held a glass of wine in one hand. A plate of half-eaten mystery casserole was sitting on her nightstand.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” she greeted me, looking away from the TV. “Everything okay? Mia asleep?”

  “Like a log.”

  She patted the bed beside her. I moved into the room and climbed up beside her. “Talk to Dad?”

  She nodded. “He’s eating Whataburger in his room. He had a long day at the plant. There was some kind of malfunction. He thinks the launch will be delayed now.” She sighed and lifted her glass in a mock salute and took a long sip.

  “Delayed?” He was already stuck working the new plant until it opened in February.

  She nodded grimly, the line of her mouth tight. “He’s thinking it won’t be until March now.”

  I grimaced, watching as Mom reached for the bottle of wine on her nightstand and poured more into her glass.

  “Has Dad thought of telling them no? That he has a family four hours away and—”

  “Doesn’t work like that, baby girl.” Mom shook her head and dug out a package of Oreos I hadn’t noticed buried in the bed with her. “There are half a dozen guys under him more than willing to take his job, and they don’t mind being away from home for a few months. Now is not a good time to be out of work.”

  She meant now because they had Chloe and Mia and me to worry about. Chloe wasn’t working, and even if I got a scholarship, it wouldn’t cover all my expenses.

  I decided to go for encouraging. “March will be here before you know it.”

  She sighed and offered me a cookie. I took one from the package. “No plans tonight?” she asked.

  “No. Just staying in. Probably watch Netflix.”

  She nodded. The bag crinkled as she dug out another cookie. “Don’t stay up too late.”

  “I won’t,” I promised, and kissed her cheek. “See you in the morning.”

  I peeked in on Mia in her crib. She slept with her knees tucked under her, her bottom sticking up in the air. I stroked her back softly, careful not to wake her.

  Satisfied that she was still sound asleep, I headed to my room. I tapped a key on my laptop and The Walking Dead resumed playing. I settled back on my bed to watch it. Not five minutes passed before a text buzzed on my phone.

  I stretched across my bed to grab it. My stomach tightened at Zach’s name on the screen.

  Want to get some ice cream?

  My fingers flew over my screen. What? No big plans for the night?

  He quickly replied. No. Staying in like you.

  I resisted the impulse to tell him that he was nothing like me—​or ask how he knew I was staying home. I also resisted the impulse to ask him why he didn’t have any plans with Ashlyn tonight. I would just sound petty and jealous. Which I was, but I didn’t want him to think that.

  Want to go get some ice cream?

  I frowned. What? Now?

  Sure. It’s not that late.

  I glanced at the time. He was right. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to do at eight thirty p.m. If he’d asked me a few weeks ago, I wou
ld already be out the door and crossing to his driveway. And wasn’t that what I wanted? What I had told him? For things to go back the way they were before?

  As though he could sense me internally debating the question, he typed again: What’s wrong? Afraid to go get some ice cream?

  I bristled at the challenge. I wasn’t afraid of him.

  The girl I was before our first kiss (and second kiss) would already be sitting in his car.

  Before I could have second thoughts, my fingers flew over my phone. Meet you in the driveway.

  GIRL CODE #22:

  Fistfights are a spectator sport. Don’t get involved.

  Flor

  “SO explain what this thing is again?” Tromping through a field in the middle of nowhere, it didn’t feel like any party I’d ever gone to before.

  Suddenly I wanted more of an explanation than Brianna’s pithy Come to this thing with me.

  “You’ll see.” She giggled and ran ahead, with her friend Maddie close to her side. They’d picked me up, music blaring loud enough to make your ears bleed.

  I followed them at a slower pace, wishing I’d known it was going to be outdoors. I would have worn different shoes.

  Brianna stopped running, letting me catch up with her. Maddie continued without us. The sound of the crowd grew as we approached a circle of cars and trucks. All their headlights were on, pointing inward to the center of the circle.

  Music blasted from one truck, easily identifiable from the large speakers positioned in the truck bed. All the other truck beds were full of bodies. Onlookers watched and cheered at something I couldn’t see inside the circle. People even sat on the roofs of their cars.

  “What are they looking at?”

  “C’mon.” Brianna waved me after her. We squeezed between two vehicles, pushing past bodies.

  “Hey,” one guy snapped at us, until his gaze landed on Brianna. He blinked and raked her with his eyes, making no effort to disguise his thorough inspection. His voice softened to silk. “Oh, hey there.” His gaze flitted to me and he did another slow survey. “Hello, girls.”

  Brianna pouted, actually looking demure and nothing like the kick-ass-and-take-names girl I knew from soccer. “My friend and I can’t see.”

  “Well, c’mon, ladies.” He took our elbows and pulled us through. “You don’t want to miss the show.” He splayed a hand on his chest. “I’m Jed.”

  With Jed’s help, we managed to get to the front of the mob, and I finally got to see what all the fuss was about.

  It wasn’t what I’d expected . . . but then I’m not sure I knew what to expect. I’d already sensed this wasn’t an ordinary party.

  Two guys circled each other. Both were shirtless. One had so much blood running down his face and torso I didn’t know how he could stand, much less prance on the balls of his feet. I think he probably needed a transfusion.

  Even in his condition, he managed to pull back his arm and land a blow in the other guy’s face. A bare-knuckled punch. The crack of bone on bone carried over the night. I jerked and winced.

  The mob went wild. The noise around me was deafening. I ducked my head as though I could escape some of the din.

  Brianna elbowed me and grinned. “Pretty wild, right?”

  “What is this?” I called out.

  Jed looked at me like I was slow. “It’s a fight.”

  “I can see that.” I gestured around us. “Why are they fighting?”

  Another crack rang out, and the crowd erupted into a roar. A body dropped into the dirt. Someone grabbed the bloody guy’s arm and held it high in the air, evidently proclaiming him victor. He didn’t look like a victor as he swayed on his feet, ready to drop. He looked like hell.

  “It’s a fight club.” Brianna did me the favor of explaining.

  I stared at her and then looked back into the circle as a few men stepped up to scrape the loser off the grass and carry him somewhere out of sight, past the vehicles. “A fight club? That’s a real thing?” I’d thought it was only something on TV.

  “Sure. Locations change every week. You get text alerts.”

  I shook my head and looked around me again. That’s when I realized not everyone here was a high school student. There were all ages represented. From acne-faced teenagers to middle-aged men with bottles of beer. Everyone had cash in their hands. A skinny guy wearing a tank top that showed off his tatted arms walked around with a ledger, taking money from people.

  “How did you find out about this?” I spoke loudly into Brianna’s ear.

  “Maddie’s brother told us.” She shrugged. “His college roommate fought in the club. Just once, though.” She shivered. “It didn’t go well for him. His parents weren’t thrilled. The dental work was very expensive.”

  “So anyone can just step up and fight?”

  “No, you have to be invited.” She shook her head. “It might be underground, but it’s organized. These fighters are legit.”

  An organized underground fight club. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know if I even wanted to stay. I looked around at the crowd. It felt like something out of Lord of the Flies, where the mob mentality could take over at any moment.

  “Girls fight too, you know,” she added with a laugh. “Those are fun to watch.”

  I shook my head.

  “Have you ever tried—”

  She looked at me in horror. “Oh, hell no! Maddie keeps talking like she might do it, but she’s crazy.” She waved at her face. “I’m not messing this up for any amount of money. And can you imagine me showing up for soccer after one of these fights? Coach would freak.”

  Nodding, I turned my attention back to the space cleared for the fighters.

  This didn’t seem the same as watching a fight on TV. It felt raw and wild. Unsavory. Like anything could go wrong and probably did. There was something in the air, a bloodlust that filled my nose and mouth like sour copper.

  Two more fighters were already stepping into the clearing, talking with a guy in an Astros ball cap who seemed to be in charge of this thing, from his terse manner.

  One of the fighters was thick and built like a tank. He wore a pair of overalls with no shirt underneath. Bulging, gleaming muscles swelled around the faded denim. He was just one big fat pile of man meat, and he looked capable of crushing anyone that stood in his path.

  The other guy had his back to me. He was tall, lean, and cut. His bare back rippled with muscle and sinew as someone taped his knuckles for him.

  “Oh, yesss! Duracell is here tonight.” Brianna clapped gleefully.

  The guys around us noticed him at the same time, and they started high-fiving each other. “This should be good. Duracell versus Mountain. I don’t think they’ve ever faced off.”

  Of course the big one’s nickname was Mountain.

  “Duracell?” I echoed. That one was actually slightly original.

  “Yeah. You know. Like the batteries,” Jed chimed in. “Because he goes on for motherfuckin’ forever,” he hooted, and high-fived one of his buddies. They all laughed and started chanting “Duracell” like they were spectators at a football game.

  Rolling my eyes, I returned my attention to the two fighters.

  “The popular fighters all have nicknames.” Brianna pointed at Duracell, who still stood with his back to me. “But yeah . . . he’s just got this stamina. Whew.” She fanned herself. “Makes you wonder what other things he can do forever.”

  I laughed lightly. “You’re bad, girl.”

  “I’d like to be. With that guy, for sure. Oh, look.” She pointed. “There’s Maddie.”

  Brianna’s friend was on the opposite side of the mob, sitting atop the shoulders of some guy so she could see into the center of the circle. She cheered and waved her arms wildly.

  Jed held up his hand, waving a hundred-dollar bill madly. “Right here! On Duracell!”

  “You’re betting on him over that huge guy?” I asked. It wasn’t that Duracell didn’t look fit. It was just that the oth
er guy was so very large. His hands were as big as my face.

  “Hell, yeah!”

  “If I had any money. I’d put it on him too,” Brianna said, prancing in place anxiously just like she did when she was in the keeper’s box. “He’s tough to put down. Plus, he’s just hot as hell. My girl parts demand he gets my vote. It would be like sacrilege not to root for him.”

  I snorted and looked back at the fighters. Duracell turned around then, and my heart stopped. I knew him, and his name wasn’t Duracell.

  It was Grayson.

  GIRL CODE #23:

  A friend always gives you the shirt off her back . . . and doesn’t judge you when you take off yours.

  Willa

  WE drove a little out of the way to go to Ritter’s Frozen Custard. Technically not ice cream, but it was even better. They had a few tables scattered outside the front of the building. Half were occupied with families enjoying an after-dinner treat. It wasn’t so chilly yet that we couldn’t sit outside in October. Plus, it was Houston. It was never really too chilly for that.

  We sat down at a round table to eat our frozen custard.

  “This isn’t like you,” I commented as I used my spoon to scoop out some salted caramel custard from my waffle cone. “Even when you’re home, you usually have friends over.”

  “You make it sound like I can never be alone.”

  I shrugged and let that be my answer.

  “I can be alone,” he insisted, licking at his waffle cone. No spoon for him. He looked beautiful even doing that. His brown hair was product-free and flopped low on his forehead. His gray eyes were brilliant as usual. His features relaxed.

  “You’re not really a loner type. You thrive on others around you.” I waved my spoon in the air. “I like my solitude. I mean . . . I actually stay up late even when I’m exhausted if it means I can have a quiet house with no one to bother me. Solitude is bliss.” I savored another spoonful of custard.