Page 75 of Chasing Headlines
“I'm not going to coffee with you.”
He chuckled. “How 'bout a beer? They say that Hoppers place doesn't really bother, ya know, making sure everyone from the college is an 'upperclassman'. You only have to be eighteen back home. Sucks, man.”
I crossed my arms.
“We should check it out. Hear they have a mechanical bull.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Texas, it's like its own country.”
“Yeah, sure.” A few beers would dull the ache of this guy chattering non-fuckin-stop.
“Great. See? Not so hard. Friday, after this miserable week of midterms is over. Hopefully we'll be celebrating.”
Dammit, that reminded me. “I need to talk to Nevins. “
His face fell from its usual grin. He stared at me a second, then one eyebrow lifted. “You need to work on your conversation skills. Big time. Especially if you want a chance with that Reporter Chica. But to answer you, Nevins took off about twenty minutes ago. Think he was heading to the Tech Center. Something about his laptop.”
“I got an email about study materials? Did they send something out for study hall?” I pulled up the message on my phone and showed it to him.
“Coach Nevins? What email's that from?”
“So you didn't get it? Says it's for ECON.”
“Eh, I'm not taking that this semester. After all the grousing I've heard, I'm not taking it in the Spring, either. I'm gonna see if I can snag it online at a junior college or something. Nu-uh, no way.”
I stared at him. “Who's your advisor?”
He frowned. “Those guys are all palomos.” He tapped his temple. “I got street smarts.”
I couldn't even argue. That strategy was fuckin brilliant.
“Anyway, so Nevins wouldn't have sent it to me. You could check with Tanner.”
I rolled my eyes. “Pass. I'll wait.”
“Yeah, he likes you the same. Gotta get over that one, 'mano. If you want to wear the same jersey come spring.” And he pointed at me. “And you do. Because he's going to be in Strikers maroon and silver. And we're gonna be national champs this year, 'mano. I can see it. That beautiful trophy, my amazing girlfriend at my side. I can feel the metal in my hand. Woo!” And then he lifted fists above his shoulders and began to gyrate in ways I didn't think my hips could go.
I took in a breath and closed my eyes. Maybe that's what I should picture in my mindfulness exercises, that national championship trophy—like the ones Schorr's team won almost a decade ago. The gleam of the gold-colored rails, deep breath in.
The award ceremony in the stadium. People cheering. Exhale out.
Milline in my jersey, leaning over me as she huffed in my ear.
“Your shirt. I love to wear it when I'm alone.”
She slid over my lap, straddling me. Her fingers worked the buttons free?—
Metal creaked and clanged.The fuck?My eyes flew open. The locker room stretched around me, a few teammates milling about. A locker banged shut. I smacked my hand against my forehead, trying to erase that damned image.
“Don't know what's in there, 'mano, but it musta been some kinda something to have you acting like a carajito.”
And like usual, I had no idea what any of that meant.
Chapter Twenty
Olivia POV
Media and Communications Center
Ipulled my backpack from my shoulder as I walked into the journalism planning room. Small groups worked in the back corners while Mrs. P sat at the head of the oval table in the center. A large white board spanned the length of one wall—a version of a kanban board with each of our articles in progress. Along the other wall, a bulletin board monstrosity looked one part murder board, one part missing persons file—and one-hundred-percent 'mood'.