Page 11 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
Finally, someone drops into the chair beside me. A girl in a tight little dress, kind of like the one Lettie’s wearing and the one I wore to the last party. This time, I dressed fucking sensibly. Jeans. Sweater.
“You’re Sydney Windsor, right?”
I tilt my head. “Do I know you?”
“Not personally.” She leans in. “There’s a rumor going around, I just wanted to know if it was true.”
I’m beginning to hate rumors.
“Let’s hear it,” I say. “But it’s probably not true.”
“No, I think this one has some merit.” She leans in closer, almost hanging off her damn chair to get closer to me. “I heard that you stole the FSU playbook and gave it to your boyfriend.”
I stare at her.
If my brain wasn’t fuzzy, I might be able to think of a response. But instead, I’ve got nothing. My mind blanks out.
“I thought that had some truth to it,” she says in my silence. She stands, hovering over me. “This is for costing us the playoffs, bitch.”
Like a bad horror movie, she overturns her drink on my head.
Cold liquid pours down my front. It misses most of my hair and face, but instead drenches my sweater.
“Secret’s out.” She spins on her heel.
Her act has drawn more attention, and people jump out of her way to let her pass. Some watch her, but a majority focus on me.
If some random FSU girl has heard about it, then the rumor is about to solidify into fact.
I slump back in the chair, ignoring the uncomfortable wetness sliding into my pants.
The court of public opinion will now be hearing the case of Sydney Windsor…
four
sydney
Six Months Later
“You don’t have to do this.” I say it with no small amount of trepidation.
Beside me in the Registrar’s office is my father. The man I haven’t talked to in full sentences since I was fifteen and discovered he was about to remarry. At eighteen, I went full no-contact.
Now I’m twenty.
Six months ago, I had the luxury of crawling back to him for help and falling on his mercy. Him, his wife. Standing in the house I’d only been to a handful of times before I stopped going at all, pleading my case to two strangers.
Everything has changed.
While St. James students don’t hate me for what I did, the administration had a problem with it. They pulled me into the dean’s office and informed me that my scholarships were based on merit, which included ethics.
In their eyes, it was cheating.
With suddenly no extra slack in the line, I had a choice: get an off-campus job and work my tail off all summer to afford my junior year tuition, continue working through classes and parties and whatnot, or… figure something else out. In a word—leave.
By the time the school year ended, my friends had abandoned me, and then Mom disappeared.
One shit thing on top of another.