Getting Played Read online

  “Seriously,” she answers, earnestly.

  I lift my eyes to hers. “So a happy ending, then,” I say, my voice full of sarcasm.

  “Yeah, right.” Her eyes lower to the book in my hand. “I don’t really understand why it’s the tenth most controversial book of all time, but it’s a pretty true testament to human nature. Gregor is messed up, so instead of trying to help him, people just wish he’d go away.”

  There’s no mistaking the mix of disdain and sadness in her tone. I only realize how intently I’m staring at her when she turns her face away. Does she feel that people wish she’d go away? If so, who is making her feel that way and why? Is she “messed up?”

  The overpowering need to know sweeps through me in a rush that forces a shuddering breath from my lungs.

  “So, what’s next on the list?” I ask, handing the book back.

  “Brave New World,” she answers, her eyes lifting to mine again.

  I cuff a laugh. “That one I have read. Another uplifting story.”

  “So I hear.” She glances down the hill in the direction I came from. “So, what’s going on down there, anyway? Someone’s birthday?”

  My gaze follows hers. “My sister’s wedding reception.”

  “In a public park?” she asks, her eyebrows raising in surprise.

  I nod. “Graffiti Park is special. We spent a lot of time here as kids.”

  “Graffiti Park? That’s really the name of this place?” she asks, looking around.

  “I have no clue what the real name is. That’s just what we’ve always called it.” My thumb brushes over where Nate carved my name into the back of bench we’re sitting on at least ten years ago.

  She squints toward the shelter below and shades her eyes from the last of the afternoon sun. “I don’t see a bride.”

  I point to Blaire. “The one in the bright blue dress.”

  “That sort of flies in the face of tradition, doesn’t it?” she asks, still watching.

  “That’s my sister. She’s never cared much about social conventions. If you search YouTube for her valedictory graduation speech from Oak Crest High four years ago, you’ll see what I mean.”

  Her eyes snap to mine, wide and curious, and her gaze knocks the wind out of me. “What did she say?”

  “She basically told the whole world off. But that was because her now husband,” I say with a jut of my chin at the gathering below, “had just been arrested for statutory rape.”

  Her eyes widen even more. “Oh my God!”

  “She’s always insisted they were in love, and the age difference shouldn’t matter. It was her giant ‘fuck you’ to society.”

  Her head cocks to the side as she watches the party below. “I like her already.” She turns back to me. “Won’t they miss you?”

  I press myself against her shoulder. “I’m disturbing you?”

  A sardonic smile ghosts over her features as she lifts the book. “I was in the middle of reading the thoughts of a dying giant bug-person and not thinking that was at all weird, so I’m obviously already very disturbed.”

  I can’t stop staring, because she’s suddenly stunningly beautiful. Her eyes flash, looking momentarily more black than gray, and there’s a long, deep dimple in her right cheek, which is the only one I can see because of the angle of her head. I’m dying to know if there’s a matching one on the other side.

  The smile fades under my scrutiny and when she drops her gaze to the book between us, a cascade of strawberry corkscrews hide her face. “Sorry. Stupid joke.”

  “No!” Damn. A little too eager there, tiger. I work to lower my voice. “I mean, it wasn’t stupid. It was funny.”

  I just forgot to laugh because your smile knocked me senseless for a sec.

  She lifts a knee to her chest, hooking the heel of her sneaker on the edge of the bench. Her knee pokes through the long crosswise tear in her jeans. “It’s okay, my sense of humor’s pretty dry. Not too many people get me.”

  “Your sense of humor is refreshing,” I say. “And as for people getting you, most people don’t pay enough attention to anyone but themselves to ‘get’ much of anything.”

  “Marcus!”

  I look down the hill at Deanna’s voice. She’s at the shelter waving her hands over her head to get my attention. There’s a sudden cramp in my stomach at the thought of her coming up here.

  “Looks like you have to go.” I swear I catch a hint of disappointment in her tone.

  “Looks like.” I stand and shove my hands into my pockets. “My name is Marcus, by the way.”

  She smiles and something roguish flashes in her eyes. “I know.”

  Fuck. I do know her. Everything felt so relaxed and comfortable between us. I hate that I might have just fucked that up. Before it gets totally awkward, I blurt, “I’d be up for maybe getting a burger at Sam Hill sometime, if you’re into that.”

  She nods, but that wary glint is back in her eyes. “Yeah…sure.”

  I fish my phone from my pocket. “Can I get your number?”

  She reels it off and I type it in. “Girl who stole my bench,” I say with a cocky grin as I type it in to contacts. I turn my amusement on her. “Or is there something else I should call you?”

  She gives me a questioning tip of her head. “Addie.”

  I know that name. Someone I went to high school with, maybe? My brain chugs harder trying to put the pieces together as I type it in. “Got it,” I say, holding up my phone. “I’ll give you a call.”

  She squints at me. “Okay.”

  I start backing down the path. “Enjoy my bench,” I say with a wink.

  She lifts the book in a wave. “See you Monday, Coach.”

  Suddenly I see her face under a navy blue swim cap with the Oak Crest Cougar on the side. The jolt of electric panic almost knocks my legs out from under me and I stumble, just catching myself before I go down.

  Because she’s on my fucking team.

  I ran tryouts Wednesday and Thursday. Practices just started yesterday. I’m still trying to get the new girls’ names. She said Addie, but my roster says Addaline, I think. All I can remember for sure is she’s a senior transfer and mostly keeps to herself.

  “Fuck me,” I mutter, then hear myself. I hold up a hand. “I mean…” I trail off in a cringe. “Sorry for the language.” Because I’m not supposed to swear in front of a fucking student.

  But fuck. My mind reels, replaying everything I said and did and trying to figure out how to backpedal out of this. “So, we’ll talk about a…team dinner…for bonding and whatever…at practice on Monday.”

  Just shoot me now.

  She tips her head and bites her lips, fighting a smile. “Sounds good, Coach.”

  After what feels like a small eternity, I shake myself loose from her gaze and start down the hill without saying anything else. I can only dig myself deeper at this point. But the whole way, all I can think about is that, as shitty as my life is at the moment, it might have just gotten shittier.

  I get to school an hour before practice on Monday and stop into the gym to check the conditioning log before heading to the pool. I count down the list and find two of my seniors, Corinne and Melanie, are missing. But the first name on the list is Addaline Grace. She checked in a full half hour before anyone else and was the last to sign out.

  I stand here staring at her name, not sure if I can even face her at practice today. How did I not recognize her?

  The answer is, I’ve got four new kids on the varsity team this year and I haven’t seen any of them except in the pool. One thing I’ve discovered in my year of coaching: teenage girls look totally different soaking wet with their hair tucked into a swim cap than they do in real life.

  I take a deep breath and head to the pool. When I get there, it’s abandoned. Just how I want it. I need some time to myself to work out a game plan. I could just pretend the whole thing never happened, which is the scenario that’s winning in my head at the moment, or I could actually f
ollow through with scheduling a team dinner. But if I do that at Sam Hill, I’m just as likely to get fired. Sam Hill Saloon is the only bar in town. They also happen to have the best burgers this side of Jupiter. Which is why I asked Addie out on a fucking date there.

  Fuck fuck fuck. I am so fucking stupid.

  I unlock the cage and head to the locker room to change. When I’m stressed, the water’s the only thing that keeps my head on straight. There’s not much question that right now I’m about as stressed as I’ve ever been.

  And it’s not only because I accidentally hit on a totally hot student on Saturday. That’s just the nail in the coffin. My life was already down for the count. And it’s my own damn fault.

  I put all my eggs in the wrong basket this spring. When I graduated from UCLA a year ago, I came home to finish my teaching credential at Sierra State. I knew Coach Williams was set to retire at the end of the school year and thought I was an automatic for the PE teacher opening. After all, I was an alum and was already coaching girls’ water polo.

  I thought wrong.

  They hired Deanna instead and left me on the substitute list. I was so sure the job was mine, I didn’t apply anywhere else. So, short of another gym teacher’s gall bladders acting up and requiring an extended leave from work, I’ve got nothing.

  Except this coaching gig.

  Let’s just say, high school coaching pays about enough to fill my gas tank to get back and forth to campus every day for practice. My parents downsized to a one bedroom condo two months after I got home from L.A., so I’ve been crashing on a friend’s couch and chipping in what I can afford. His dad owns Mega Fitness, the gym in town, so he got me a job working there in the mornings. But every night after practice I’m scouring the internet for mid-year teaching openings.

  So far, no luck.

  I dive into the pool and put my head down, pulling through the water, keeping my stroke even. No need to rush it. Speed isn’t the key. Thrashing through the water won’t help. I just give myself over to it and let the water do the rest. Little by little, it melts away all my frustration.

  An hour later, I’m just hauling myself out of the pool when the first of my team shows up. Corinne and her crew. I towel off quickly.

  Back in high school I thought girls like Corinne were hot. Now I just find them a little sad. She and her friends are so wrapped up in their looks and their popularity quotient that it becomes their identity. The same way it did for me when I was here.

  “You getting in the pool with us today?” she asks, sauntering over while her teammates flash each other knowing looks from the locker room door.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Addie pass through the pool cage gate. She’s dressed like some thrift store diva, in black leggings and flat, white ankle boots with silver buckles on the sides. A worn flannel shirt hangs loose over a white wife beater. My heart pounds as I brace myself for whatever is about to happen, but she tracks across the pool deck to the locker room without ever looking my direction.

  I focus my attention back on Corinne and breathe away my nerves. “Just getting in a quick workout before practice,” I tell her, grabbing my T-shirt and tugging it over my head.

  “You shouldn’t swim alone, Marcus.” She sort of purrs my name and I have to force the cringe off my face. “If you’re looking for a workout buddy, I’m free after practice. We could spot each other in the gym and maybe pound out some laps,” she says with a wave of her manicured hand at the pool.

  I rub the towel over my hair. “Funny you’d mention that. What happened to conditioning this morning?”

  Her eyes go momentarily wide, but then she covers with a disillusioned shake of her head. “I just forgot to sign in. I was the first one there this morning.”

  “What time?” I ask, remembering Addie signed in at 6:30.

  “Six thirty,” she says with confidence. “You can ask anyone.”

  I don’t need to ask anyone to know Addie was there and Corinne wasn’t. But I do know if I asked anyone but Addie, they’ll all tell me Corinne was there. That’s what people do to suck up to the popular group. But I get the feeling Addie wouldn’t be too concerned with the wrath of someone like Corinne. Or even the ripple effect because of it.

  Her friends duck into the locker room when it’s obvious there’s nothing to see, but Corinne is still going on about her workout routine when Addie comes out of the locker room in her Speedo. She’s got two wide swaths of white sunscreen, one down her nose and the other across her cheeks, that make her face look a little like the Swiss flag, and her strawberry hair is tamed back into a tight ponytail. As she passes by I see a long, jagged, pink scar on her right shoulder that I hadn’t paid close enough attention last week to notice. She pulls on a swim cap and dives in without looking at either me or Corinne, then starts swimming warm-up laps.

  “We’re going to get started in a few, so you might want to think about changing out,” I tell Corinne.

  Not watching Addie is taking a Herculean effort, but the last thing I need is for Corinne to notice I’m stressing. She gets her teeth into that and finds out why, it would be a matter of minutes before I was in the principal’s office explaining myself.

  She heads to the locker room, and though I have every reason not to stare at Addie, I no longer have the excuse. She could ruin what’s left of my pathetic life with one word. All day yesterday I agonized over what to say to her when I saw her today and came up with nothing. There’s no explaining away what I said and did on that park bench Saturday. The best I can hope for is she gets that it was a mistake and pretends it never happened. Which I’m totally on board with.

  I watch her cut through the water like it’s helping her along rather than slowing her down. She looks like me out there, totally at home. She’s still going at two thirty when the rest of the team is gathered on the pool deck getting the nets ready. She finally stops when Corinne throws one of the goals down right in her path and she runs into it.

  “Sorry.” Corinne sneers, but it’s pretty damn clear she’s not.

  Addie swims over and connects the goal anchors to the pool edge.

  “We’re going to focus on technique today,” I tell the team. “Most of my returning players have the eggbeater kick down, but none of you are maintaining position in the water the way you need to.”

  None of them but Addie, that is, but I’m not about to draw that kind of attention to her when it’s clear she doesn’t want it.

  “The stronger your legs are, the easier it’s going to be to maintain position and lift when you need to shoot or block. I noticed a few of you blew off conditioning this morning.” I give Corinne and Melanie pointed looks. “That’s not going to help your cause when it comes to earning a spot in the pool once league starts. No one’s position is guaranteed. I don’t care what year you are or whether you were a starter last year. You all made this team and you’re going to have to work for your spot in the pool.”

  Corinne has a smug smirk on her face. She crosses her arms, pushing up her boobs and enhancing her cleavage. This is on purpose, I know. A diversion tactic.

  Not going to work.

  “Everyone take four warm-up laps, then form a circle. Eggbeater kick, three balls going at all times. One-handed passing and catching. Any drops will add minutes.”

  They all climb in, Corinne and the other two returning seniors grumbling. After their warm ups, they work on their treading. I watch the three balls being passed around and not a single one goes to Addie. She’s treading higher and more quietly than anyone else in the pool. Almost no upper body motion at all.

  She’s good.

  I make a mental note to ask her what her deal is.

  And then I realize, after Saturday, I should steer clear of any actual one-on-one conversations with her.

  “How long do we have to do this?” Melanie asks, and I’m happy for the distraction despite her whining tone.

  “Until I say you don’t have to anymore,” I answer, lowering myself ont
o a starting block and looking over my roster. Four names down my alphabetical list of twelve is Addaline Grace.

  “I don’t get why—” Melanie’s complaint is cut short when a ball hits her in the face. She squeals and she goes under for a moment. “Who did that?” she screeches as she resurfaces.

  No one confesses.

  It’s fifteen minutes later that a ball finally comes anywhere near Addie, and I’m convinced it’s because whoever threw it is tired and their toss went astray. On reflex, she lifts six inches and catches it effortlessly…in her left hand. Then she throws to the player farthest from her, hard and spot on. And just like that, I’ve got my right wing.

  Provided she doesn’t get me fired.

  Chapter 2

  Addie

  “Newton’s Third Law states that, for every action, there is an opposite but equal reaction,” Mr. Mathis says from the front of my physics classroom, pointing at some formula he’s written on the board.

  I want to raise my hand and tell him Newton didn’t get it quite right. The “opposite” part is true, but the “equal” part, not so much.

  Case in point: my life—or lack thereof for the last two years.

  But I don’t raise my hand. Ever. Because that’s an action that could have a reaction. Actions are to be avoided at all costs.

  The bell rings, cutting Mr. Mathis off mid-sentence. He glares at the clock, obviously irritated by the shortened period today. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow,” he yells over the instant chatter. “Tonight’s homework is up on the website.”

  No one’s listening. It’s the end of the day, so most of them checked out before seventh period even started.

  I collect my things and blend into the sea of humanity flowing through the door and into the hallway. It’s a half-day for Back to School Night or something stupid like that. Before Mom died, Dad used to come to these things, but I haven’t bothered to tell him about this one. The likelihood he’d come even if he knew is nil. All it means for me is that water polo practice is cancelled.