Better than Perfect (6 page)

I thought Landon and I would find a nice quiet place to sit and talk in front of the bonfire, but he leaves me to hang with some of the guys. I could join him, but I'm getting a weird vibe from him tonight and decide to give him some space. I don't want to smother him like Lily did.

Jet has a six-pack in his hand as he stands by Victor's car with a bunch of other guys. The second Jet sees me, he waves me over.

“Hey, Captain,” he says as he wraps me in a bear hug.

“Cut it out, Jet.”

“You know you love me, Ash.”

“No, I don't. Most of the time I don't even like you,” I joke. “Get your paws off me and leave them for the poor, unsuspecting girls who buy your bullshit.” I dig an elbow into his ribs. “Landon's right over there. Don't piss him off.”

Jet laughs. “Why would I want to piss off our star QB, our pride and joy, the prince, the single most important person on our team, the only quarterback who can take us to State with one hand tied behind his back?”

“Lay off, Thacker,” Vic chimes in, shutting Jet up for the moment.

After we lost in the playoffs, the local paper printed a quote from Landon bashing Jet about not catching his last two passes. Landon said they misquoted him, but Jet still took it personally. Ever since then, the two have been trading barbs and I've had to defuse a lot of it to keep the peace.

Jet points to a girl by the water's edge wearing a skimpy thong bikini. “What are the chances I get lucky with her tonight?”

“Better than most,” I tell him. “Should I warn her that you just want a one-night stand so she shouldn't expect a call from you in the future?”

That gets an amused grin out of Vic.

“Hell, no.” Jet doesn't have girlfriends. He likes to “spread the love” and hook up with as many hot girls as he can. Which also means he's pissed off more than a good share of the high school female population in Fremont and the surrounding communities.

A few times Jet has needed my help being rescued from clingy girls desperate to have a real relationship. I've reluctantly acted as his fake girlfriend too many times to count. I told him that one day he'll fall hard for a girl who'll break his heart, but he laughs it off. He thinks love is complete bullshit.

I walk to the bonfire where Monika is sitting and think about the conversation Derek and I had in the kitchen. And the fight my dad and Brandi had. And Derek's stupid abs he flaunted today. And the guilt I have for Landon not being voted captain. I want my brain to stop thinking. It's on overload.

“I can't believe my best friend didn't tell me she was voted
captain,” Monika says as she snuggles against her boyfriend, Trey, our star running back. “Congrats, girl!”

“Thanks.”

Trey and Monika have been dating since junior high. They're completely in love and aren't afraid of PDA or talking about their future as if it's a given that they'll be together forever.

After my parents split, I gave up on finding true love—something manufactured in movies and books to make people believe in the impossible. Trey and Monika renewed my faith. He looks at Monika as if she's the only girl in the world. It's as if she's his life-line and he'd be lost without her. Monika told me that Trey's her soul mate. They're both planning on going to the University of Illinois, although Trey needs a scholarship to the Big Ten school to be able to afford it.

When Landon sits next to me, I lean into him. “What are you thinking about?” I ask, getting my boyfriend's attention. “You look so serious.”

“It's nothing,” he says irritably before opening a can of beer and chugging the entire thing.

I put my hand on his chest. “Is it the captain thing? Because I didn't know—”

He swats my hand away. “Fuck, Ash, will you stop bringing it up? I'm just pissed off at the world right now, okay? So you were voted captain. Big fucking deal. I'm sure Jet orchestrated it as retaliation for that stupid article in the paper. The joke's on me, huh?”

“Jet didn't orchestrate anything.”

He gives a short, mocking laugh. “Yeah, right.”

His words sting. “Please say you don't mean that.”

“Fine. I don't mean it,” he says unconvincingly.

I glance at Monika and Trey, who are trying their best to pretend they're not listening to our argument.

I try to swallow, but there's a lump in my throat as I say what's been on my mind ever since Dieter wrote my name on the board this morning. “You . . . you don't think I deserve to be captain, do you?”

He doesn't answer.

The sun is setting as I jog with Falkor. At the last minute I decided I might as well try to make nice with the beast and give him some exercise. I don't have a destination, but the hot, fresh air hitting my face loosens my tense muscles.

Within minutes, Falkor and I pass the high school and the football field right next to it. Memories of my mom watching me play football fill my head. She was always the loudest parent in the bleachers; I swear her lungs must've been sore by the end of each game. Even after she'd just had chemo and felt nauseous and tired, she'd be there. “Watching you play is my favorite thing to do,” she'd say.

I'd do anything to play for her just one more time. Hell, I'd do anything just to talk to my mom again. But that's never gonna happen.

The beast and I jog around the track a couple of times before
getting bored and venturing through town. As I stop at a red light and follow signs to the beach, I think about Ashtyn. Man, that tight shirt and short shorts didn't leave much to the imagination. It was a complete transformation from this afternoon, when her body was covered by a big hoodie. Maybe Ashtyn is a chameleon, changing into a new person depending on who she's hanging with. I wonder if her boyfriend likes her wearing sexy clothes so he can show her off like a trophy. When he picked her up, he looked at me like I was an opponent about to intercept one of his passes.

“I don't like her boyfriend,” I say to Falkor.

The beast stares up at me with gray eyes and pants, his long tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

“Next time he comes over you should pee on his leg,” I suggest.

I'm talking to a dog. I feel like that movie where the guy is stranded on a desert island and ends up talking to a volleyball as if it's his best friend. I sure as hell hope this isn't a sign that I'm destined to have Falkor as my only friend while I'm living in Chicago. That would suck more than being stuck in Headmaster Crowe's office getting lectured for an hour.

When we get to the beach, I look out over the calm water. The shoreline is tame compared to Cali, where sleeper waves can take your feet out from under you without warning. I stand at the water's edge and look across the moonlit water with Falkor at my side. I wonder how my dad feels being surrounded by nothing but water. He told me once that living in a submarine is like escaping the outside world and living in your own bubble. While some guys enlist for money or education or to find themselves, my dad says being in
the military makes him feel useful.
Everyone has a purpose in life
, he once told me.
Finding out yours is crucial to knowing who you are and who you want to be.

What's my purpose? I haven't told my dad that I'm going to enlist after I graduate, in an attempt to find my purpose in life.

As I jog along the shoreline, I come across a small crowd hanging around a fire listening to music and laughing. I recognize Ashtyn immediately. She's sitting next to her boyfriend, but they both look miserable. The dude's holding a beer in one hand and is leaning on the other. If she were my girlfriend, I'd have one hand tangled in that long blond hair of hers and the other on her waist, pulling her close so our bodies were pressed against each other as I kissed her until she was breathless. But I'm not him.

Falkor barks, attracting the attention of more than a few people. Including Ashtyn. Shit. Her distrusting eyes meet mine before she looks away and pretends I don't exist.

I end up taking a detour and jog the rest of the way back to the house. I wish the workout made me stop thinking too much, but seeing Ashtyn reminds me of all the crap I have to deal with.

“Ashtyn isn't all that,” I tell Falkor.

This weird sound, kind of like a groan, comes out of the dog's mouth.

“She's got a boyfriend. And she can't stand me livin' in her house, right?” But she's got full, kissable lips. And these eyes that seem to change colors with her moods. I can't shake her from my mind.

I stop and look down at the dog for confirmation, since he
knows her better than me. He's looking up at me with droopy, clueless eyes.

“I'm talking to a damn dog, and I called
her
crazy.” I laugh to myself.

Back at the house I'm trying to find a comfortable position on my air mattress, but it's not easy. On top of that, I keep imagining Ashtyn's lips as if they're some kind of artwork to be admired and analyzed. When I'm finally so beat and bored I can sleep soundly even on this crappy blowup, Falkor jumps onto the bed with me. I'm waiting for the mattress to puncture and explode, but it doesn't. Within seconds, the beast is snoring.

I've been dozing for at least an hour when someone bursts into the room. “Why are you sleeping with my dog?” Ashtyn demands.

“I'm not,” I respond in a sleepy moan. “He's sleepin' with me.”

“Isn't it enough that my sister and nephew worship the ground you walk on? You want to steal my dog, too? I saw you at the beach with Falkor. I don't want you thinking he's your dog. He's mine.”

“Listen, Sugar Pie, Falkor snuck into my room. I didn't invite him. You got issues with your family, keep me out of it.” I sit up and note that she's changed into a hockey jersey and baggy flannel pants with skulls and crossbones on them. It's a drastic change from what she wore on her date. “Just take your dog and go to bed.” I lie back down and expect her to leave, but I feel her gaze on me. I wish I wasn't tempted to reach out and pull her close, to shut her up with a kiss that would make her forget that boyfriend. “What?”

“If you call me Sugar Pie again, I'm going to knock you out.”

I'm tempted to say the word on the tip of my tongue.
Promise?

I've been curled up in bed for the past three hours with my eyes closed tight, wishing my life would stop spinning out of control. Landon and I didn't get along last night at all. I don't even know where things stand now.

I look at my phone to see if he's called or texted. He hasn't, although it's Saturday. He's probably still sleeping.

I slowly head for the bathroom. I'm about to sit on the toilet when I'm suddenly off balance and feel like I'm going to fall in. The damn seat is up. I cringe as I set it back down, silently cursing Derek and fully intending to call him out.

First I need to eat. Then I can confront Derek and head to the field to practice. Though Dieter doesn't have official practice on the weekends, we don't want to lose our momentum.

Derek walks in the kitchen a few minutes after I do, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. His long hair is messed up and he looks sweet and innocent. I know guys like Derek, who look innocent
but are just the opposite. Falkor, who'd disappeared from my room in the middle of the night, comes prancing in on Derek's heels.

“Did you lure my dog back in your room last night?” I ask in an accusatory tone.

“He kept scratching on my door and whining like a baby until I let him in.”

“You're stealing him.”

He shrugs. “Maybe he's sick of you and wants new company.”

“A dog can't be sick of his owner, Derek, and I'll have you know that I'm
great
company. My dog loves me.”

“If you say so.” He rummages through the fridge, pulls out some eggs, then grabs a loaf of bread from the pantry. “What happened at the beach between you and Loverboy? Looked like you two were havin' one hell of a night,” he says in a lazy drawl as he makes himself scrambled eggs and toast.

“What happened to my rule about not leaving the toilet seat up?” I counter.

The side of his mouth quirks up. “I've got this condition, you see. It prevents me from being ordered around.”

“Uh-huh. A condition, you say?”

“Yeah. It's
real
serious.”

“Ooh, I feel so bad for you. You poor baby, being told to do something by a female. That must've threatened your masculinity.” I pull out a bag of Skittles from the pantry and sort out the purple ones like I always do, then start munching on the rest.

Derek leans close and whispers in my ear, “Nothing threatens my masculinity, Sugar Pie.”

A tingly sensation zings up my spine when his warm breath touches my skin. I'm momentarily paralyzed.

He opens the fridge again. “Besides eggs and toast, you got anythin' in here besides junk and processed food?”

I pretend he has no effect on me. “Nope.”

Derek sits down with his eggs and toast, but stares at my collection of purple Skittles with those clear blue eyes that belong on someone who doesn't leave the toilet seat up on purpose.

“Nutritious,” he says.

“It's comfort food,” I tell him.

He quirks his eyebrow, clearly amused. “If you say so.”

“Ugh. Don't tell me you're a health nut.”

He scoops up a forkful of eggs. “I'm not a health nut.”

“Good. Here,” I say, pushing my collection of purple Skittles toward him. “You can have the purple ones. I'm allergic to them.”

He raises a brow. “You're allergic to purple Skittles?” he asks, skepticism laced in his voice.

“I'm allergic to purple dye.” I grab an orange one and pop it into my mouth. “But I'm not allergic to the rest of them. I love Skittles.”