AS I LEFT the school and walked along the sidewalk to the football field, I felt like every eye was on me, knowing about the scheme we’d half-baked in the AV room. The girls walking toward the bleachers weren’t like me. They were cute, giggly, fun.
I didn’t remember ever being like that. It was like I’d been born not to fit in. My mom, dad, brother—they were all fit, healthy, likeable. They had networks, connections, friends. Aiden was always getting chats on the Sermo app, something private school kids used to message each other, while mine remained as mockingly silent as a professional mime. The news about PCOS was just icing on the cake.
“Rory Jane!” my mom called.
I turned in the parking lot and saw her scurrying toward me in her heels. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing?”
“Going to watch practice with some friends.” I readjusted my backpack, aiming for casual.
“Football practice?” Her eyebrows came together. “Which friends?”
“Some girls from class,” I said, then realized she wouldn’t rest until she had their names. “Jordan, Zara, Callie, and Ginger.”
Understanding dawned on her expression. “Like an accountability group? Great idea. They say working with other people to lose weight has the most long-term success.”
Her words, although well-meaning, stabbed at my heart, reminding me just how inadequate I was in her eyes.
She rubbed my shoulder. “I’m sorry about this morning, but Dr. Edmonson says it’s not so bleak. A lot of women who lose weight see a reversal in their symptoms. And the birth control should help balance out your hormones. I bet your acne will clear right up.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I knew she thought this would cheer me up, but honestly, it was just depressing me more. I made a mental note to ask Zara about the best foundations to cover the cystic acne that always cropped up on my chin. Surely makeup would be part of the transformation they were plotting.
She wrapped her slim arms around me and gave me a short squeeze. “It’ll get better, hon, promise.”
I blinked back tears. “Okay. See you at home?” She nodded. “Supper’s at seven. See you then.”
Translation: I wasn’t going out with my friends and eating junk.
“See you,” I said, but she was already clacking along the sidewalk, toward the teachers’ parking lot.
With a heavy sigh, I continued toward the field. Finding my “friends” in the bleachers was easy. They stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd of petite girls sending flirty smiles to the players on the field.
On the patch of grass where the visiting cheerleaders usually stood, Merritt and the rest of the squad practiced stunts as her mom—the cheer coach—led them through drills.
My gaze panned over the guys in their practice jerseys and bulky pads. It had been forever since I’d been to a football game, but Beckett was unmistakable, standing behind the linemen, scanning the field, ball in hand. His stance emitted power, strength, confidence.
As he threw the ball, I caught a glimpse of the black brace on his left wrist. It must have been a sprain, or he wouldn’t be practicing. No way Coach Ripley would risk their star quarterback for a regular-season game.
The play ended, and I was still standing by the railing as the players jogged over to the water table.
One of the linemen, a wall of muscle, lifted his helmet and eyed me. “Here for a show?” His smile was more of a sneer.
Barely able to move, I gave my head a quick shake and turned my eyes down.
He jerked his head toward my new friends. “Go join the herd.” One of his friends slapped his shoulder pads. “Moo!”
As I turned and walked away from them, my cheeks heated with anger. They were going down. Every single person who thought they could treat girls like that because they weighed a little more deserved to eat the world’s largest load of crow. I wanted to be the one to make them do it.
The other four were deep in conversation when I reached them, probably plotting this impossible scheme. At least they were away from everyone else, secluded enough to not be overheard.
“Hey,” I said, giving a clipped wave.
They each gave a greeting, and I sat by Ginger. In the afternoon light, her red hair looked like a blaze on her head.
She took a puff from her inhaler, then gave me a shy smile and nodded toward the field. “What do you think?”
That Beckett is the hottest guy out there and I’m an idiot to even attempt dating him. “About what?”
“Beckett,” she said. “He looks good.”
“Yeah, but what’s with the brace?” Callie asked. “He didn’t have that yesterday.”
“You watch them practice?” Jordan asked.
“Yeah.” She pointed at one of the linemen. “Carson gives me a ride home afterwards.”
Ginger wriggled her eyebrows, but Callie batted away the inuendo. “We’re just friends,” she said. “He’s like my brother.”
Zara grinned. “It sounds like we have our in.”
Callie’s eyes widened. “An ‘in’? I don’t think he’s tight enough with Beckett to set up a date right after he and Merritt split.”
Something about this morning stuck out. “What’s going on with them? I can’t believe they broke up before homecoming.”
Callie shrugged. “I heard he told her he wants to focus on football, but Carson said he thinks it’s more than that.”
I looked between the two, Beckett and Merritt. If there was a predestined couple, it was them. Quarterbacks and cheerleaders were like magnets in the world. They found each other, for whatever reason. Maybe because a cheerleader’s main job was to stroke the football team’s ego. Among other things.
But how could I be a follow-up to Merritt? She looked like a teen model in her short white shorts and high flouncy ponytail. She probably didn’t get boob sweat in the summer and didn’t need to know how high a store’s
sizing options went. If Beckett could have all of that, why would he be interested in all of this?
I sighed. “I don’t know, guys.”
“It’s an opening,” Zara said. “The main thing is you show that you’re different from her.”
I snorted. “That should be easy.”
“Look at me,” Zara snapped. “If this is going to work, you have to stop that whole self-deprecation schtick.” Her black eyes gleamed severely. “You have everything you need to get him to fall for you. There is nothing wrong with you.”
I didn’t believe her—not one bit—but I nodded. “Okay.”
“Good.” She nodded, then turned to Callie. “Your boy’s going to get us an in. Can we trust him to keep it a secret?”
Callie nodded earnestly. “I’d trust him with my life.”
Zara turned back to me. “In the meantime, how much do you know about flirting?”
I put my head in my hands just thinking about this morning. “Well, if this gives you an idea, I saw Beckett at the doctor’s office this morning, and I said ‘um’ more than actual words.”
She put her forehead in her palm. “We’ve got some work to do.” I nodded. “A colossal amount.”
“Let me think,” she said. “In the meantime, enjoy the show. See what you can figure out about him besides how cute his butt looks.”
My cheeks turned pink, but I kept my gaze on him. There was plenty to study besides his butt. On the field, the players were running lines, back and forth, their muscles working in unison. I watched Beckett bend to touch a line painted in the turf, his calves and arms flexing with the movement.
Whatever Zara’s plan was, it had to include magic. In the meantime, I needed to do some research of my own.
