Catching Jordan (11 page)

“A pajama factory?”

“Didn’t you know that Tennessee is, like, the pajama capital of the world?” Ty grins slightly.

“No—I don’t wear pajamas,” I say without thinking.

Ty coughs. “What?”

“Uh, I meant I wear, like, workout clothes to bed—you know, Tshirts and mesh shorts and shit.”

“Right…” Ty says, smirking. Ty’s signature smirk is about the sexiest thing on the planet.

“I wear clothes to bed!”

“That
sucks
.”

I slap Ty’s shoulder. “So…your grandfather is taking care of everything then?”

Ty rubs the back of his neck, sneaking a peek at me. “No. Not exactly. He can’t afford it either ’cause he doesn’t get good health insurance, and it’s not like his insurance could cover Mom’s care anyway. My mom’s parents died real y young, so my dad’s father was nice enough to take us in. I mean, he doesn’t have to help take care of Mom at al .

“So…um, we’re living off the money from sel ing our house right now. And yesterday, I found a job doing dishes for a restaurant on Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays. They were nice enough to work around our footbal schedule, but I don’t know what the hel I’m gonna do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even if I get a job after high school, I’m not going to be making enough money to support my sister and get Mom the care she needs at the same time.”

“Job? What about col ege?”

“Woods…I
can’t
go to col ege.”

“You have to go to col ege. What about Notre Dame? You’re NFL material!”

“You don’t think I know that?” Ty says quickly. Then he jerks his head, as if he’s mad at himself. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to say it like that. What I meant to say is that I want to go to col ege, and I want to play bal more than anything, but I can’t just take four years off and leave my sister and mom to fend for themselves. Papa doesn’t make much money at al …he’s already taking on more than he can handle by feeding my sister and me.”

“But there’s gotta be something. You’l get a scholarship.”

“Scholarships don’t put food on the table.”

“Then why are you playing bal now? Why aren’t you working more than three days a week?”

He takes my hand again, caressing it. “I love footbal . When I was a kid, my dad and I would throw a bal around for hours. We did that almost every day…up until, wel , you know, the wreck.”

“So you just want to play bal ?”

“This season is kind of like my last hurrah, because after this, I have to get a real job and stop dreaming.”

I squeeze his hand. “You know what I think about dreams?”

Ty smiles slightly. “What?”

“That if you spend too much time dreaming, you’l stop actual y doing. And when you actual y do stuff, there’s a good chance things wil work out.

We make things happen by attacking, not by sitting around dreaming.”

“This is gonna make me sound like a jerk, but what exactly would you have to dream about anyway? Your life is, like, perfect.”

I laugh loudly. “You’re kidding, right?”

Ty shakes his head.

“Okay, wel my problems are nothing compared to yours, but my dad doesn’t believe in me at al and hates the fact that I play footbal .”

“Real y? But your dad seems so cool on
SportsCenter
.”

“He’s very cool…as long as you don’t bring up my playing footbal .”

“Your dad’s wrong.” He goes back to caressing my hand.

My body feels so hot. “Thanks.”

“Can you come in for a few?” Using his thumb, Ty points over his shoulder at the house.

“Yeah,” I say with a smile.

Hel , I’l come in for the rest of my life.

Wil I get to sit on his bed? Does he have graph paper bedding?

We hop out of my truck and go up to the porch, and as I approach the door, I start to freak a bit. How could I be so self-absorbed to obsess about being in his bed when his mom is here, paralyzed?

When Ty opens the door, he reaches back and grabs my hand, leading me inside. Everything seems meticulously clean. Would I find any dust in this house? The living room is total y 1970s, complete with a brown plaid couch. I love it. Maybe I can buy the couch off them and then they’l have more money. But from what I know of Ty already, he would never accept handouts.

A beautiful girl who could only be Ty’s sister is sitting on the couch reading a magazine and watching television. She must be thirteen or fourteen and must be breaking al the boys’ hearts at her new school. When she sees Ty, she jumps up from the couch and hugs him.

“How was the game?” asks his sister, a tal girl with sandy blond hair. She’s wearing makeup and a cute top with a skirt. Yup, definitely breaking hearts.

“Great! Did you watch it on TV?” Ty replies.

“Uhh…no.”

Ty laughs, then says to me, “Vanessa
hates
footbal . Vanessa—this is Jordan Woods, and Woods, this is my sister, Vanessa.”

We shake hands and his sister beams at me. “Ty’s told me so much about you! I love that dress—can I borrow it sometime?”

Ty groans. But which statement freaks him out more—the fact that his sister asked if she can borrow this lame dress? Or the fact that I know he’s been talking about me?

“Vanessa, that’s rude,” Ty says.

I shrug. “You can have it if you have something else I can wear home. I hate dresses.”

“Omigod! I’l go find something right now,” she says, darting out of the room.

Ty rol s his eyes but smiles. He puts a hand under my elbow, leading me out of the living room toward the kitchen, where an older man is sitting at a table with his feet propped up, reading the newspaper.

“Papa, I’d like you to meet Jordan Woods,” Ty says, glancing from his grandfather’s face to mine.

The man stands up, extending a hand. “Jim Green.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reply.

“It’s such a pleasure, Jordan. I’ve been reading about you in the papers for years.”

“Real y?” I say, not surprised. My name is constantly in the papers during footbal season, as footbal is the only thing to do around here.

“Yeah, before he moved here, I even sent Ty some of the articles in the mail,” Mr. Green says, patting Ty’s back. “I told him it would be hard to get on the team at Hundred Oaks, what with you there and al , so I was thril ed the coach let him on the team. Bob Mil er is a good guy.”

Wait, so Ty knew about me? He knew I was a girl? Then why the hel did he act so surprised when I pul ed off my helmet?

“Now that you’re back, I’ve gotta get to the factory. Lucky break—I got a Sunday overtime shift,” Mr. Green says to Ty. “Nice to meet you, Jordan.”

“You too,” I reply as he leaves. I’m total y confused. Ty knew about me? My thoughts are interrupted by Vanessa’s reappearance with a bunch of outfits. Ty starts digging through al the clothes, which include miniskirts, a leather jacket, and a pair of camouflage pants. Smirking, he lays a hot pink miniskirt, a jean jacket, and a tube top out on the table.

“No. Hel no.”

Ty laughs, handing me a pair of mesh shorts and a Nike T-shirt. “Just kidding. You can change in the bathroom.” Ty points to a door, and I go in, change into the workout clothes, and walk back to the kitchen barefoot. After handing the dress over to a squealing Vanessa, I notice that Ty’s frowning, so I decide to make an exit. I haven’t asked where his mom is, but I figure if he wants me to meet her, he would introduce us. Can she even talk? Or is she paralyzed to the point where she’s, like, this is horrible of me, a vegetable? I’d never ask.

“I’d better get going,” I tel Ty. “I need to check on Henry.”

“Oh?” Ty replies, raising an eyebrow. “How come?”

Henry’s breakup with Carrie is very public knowledge, like the whole Jennifer Aniston–Brad Pitt–Angelina Jolie thing, so I’m not betraying him by saying, “He’s been sort of a wreck since Carrie Myer dumped him.”

“Ah. Wel , I’l walk you out.”

Vanessa throws her arms around me. “It was so great to meet you. And thank you so much for the dress! You have a great fashion sense! Can we go shopping sometime?”

Ty chuckles. “I don’t get the feeling Jordan likes shopping.”

Vanessa’s jaw drops. “I don’t believe it. Al girls love shopping.”

I shake my head. “Nah, not me. But my mom would take you shopping. Lord knows I won’t go with her. I bet she’d love the company.”

Vanessa smiles and bites her lip. “I’d love that. Thanks, Jordan. I can tel we’re going to be, like, great friends.”

Somehow I force a smile. I’m sure Vanessa feels desperate for a mother figure of any kind, even a six-foot-tal , footbal -playing tomboy.

“I’l be back inside in a bit,” Ty tel s Vanessa, and he starts to fol ow me to the front door when Vanessa says, “By the way, Nate cal ed—” and Ty stops.

“Jordan,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows, “can you wait in the living room for a minute?”

I nod, walk into the other room, and stare up at a picture of Ty and his mom, dad, and sister hanging next to the front door. I’m thinking how beautiful his mother is and how handsome his father was, when I hear Vanessa exclaim, “Nothing bad is going to happen to me!”

Ty speaks in a hushed tone. “No. You are never going to any guy’s house. He can come here, but you’re not going anywhere. And that homework had better get finished.”

“God! It’s like being in prison!”

“I don’t care, Vanessa. You’re not going out.”

Then Ty comes into the living room and sighs. “Woods…let me walk you out.”

What’s his deal? He must be terrified something wil happen to her, like his parents. But you can’t confine a teenage girl—that wil just make her rebel. On the other hand, I can’t imagine how Ty feels, knowing that his sister is his responsibility. She’s al he has left.

I head outside in the borrowed workout clothes and my silver flats. It’s like a late-afternoon walk of shame. Ty fol ows me out to my truck, loosening his tie. I hop in, and Ty surprises me when he climbs back into the passenger seat.

I stick my keys in the ignition, but I don’t turn the engine over. I find Ty’s eyes and ask, “So if you knew about me already, why did you act so surprised when I took my helmet off the other day?”

Ty pul s his tie the rest of the way off. “Um…I admit I knew you were a girl…”

“And?”

“I, uh, just wasn’t expecting you to be…so…not butch?”

“What the hel does that mean?”

Ty leans toward me and runs a hand through his hair. “It means…I didn’t expect you’d be so gorgeous.”

He leans across the center console brushes my cheek with a hand glances down at my lips

runs a finger along my jaw

presses his forehead to mine.

He starts to move in.

This is too much.

I’m too scared to kiss.

What if he thinks I’m awful?

I don’t want to get rejected.

He’s on my team!

So I tell Ty I need to go.

Other than seven minutes in heaven with Henry this is the closest I’ve ever come to a kiss and I tell him I need to go.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Ty pulls away

glares at me

and begins to get out of the truck.

“See you at school tomorrow.”

He slams the door

heading toward the house

he doesn’t wave or even turn to look.

Now it’s
me
staring as
he
walks away.

•••

FROM: Tucker, Mark (Athletics, University of Alabama) TO: Woods, Jordan

DATE: Monday, August 30, 12:46 p.m.

SUBJECT: Opportunity

Dear Jordan:

We are so pleased you are considering joining our athletic community at the University of Alabama. Coffee Calendars, a company affiliated with our booster program, produces an athletic calendar that our boosters sell every year. While a certain portion of the proceeds go to support our sports programs, most of the proceeds go to charity.

Coffee Calendars is in the process of taking photographs for next year’s calendar, and our boosters would like you to consider posing for the September picture. Members of the volleyball, softball, and swim teams have agreed to be featured.

If you plan to join our program, which we most sincerely hope you do, we’d like to schedule a photo shoot before your home game this Friday evening. Production schedules require us to begin this process as soon as possible.

Please let me know if you’re available for a photo session.

Yours truly,

Mark Tucker

Director of Athletics

the count? 15 days until alabama
Monday at school. Last class of the day, home ec.

Along with music appreciation and auto mechanics, this is another one of the stupid, easy classes Henry and I are taking together.

“Okay, everyone,” Ms. Bonner says, “Pair off into groups of two—husbands and wives.”

Henry’s the only guy in the class, so al the girls automatical y turn to him. He puffs out his chest and grins broadly, looking around the room at al the girls he has to choose from. A sophomore sitting in front of us gives him a little wave and a smile.

Henry raises his hand. “Ms. Bonner?”

“Yes, Sam?” the teacher says with a sigh. She taps a forefinger on a textbook.

After slipping a pencil behind his ear, Henry folds his hands in front of him and gets this extremely serious look on his face like he’s about to negotiate a peace treaty. “Before we can choose partners, I think we need a few more details on what we’re going to be doing in these husband-wife pairs. Is, um…” Henry lowers his voice to a mere whisper, “…sex involved?”

Al the other girls start giggling as Ms. Bonner shakes her head. “No, Sam. Sex is not involved.”

“Then I don’t understand how we can be husband-wife pairs,” he exclaims. “That’s what husbands and wives do.”

The girls giggle even more.

“We’re just going to be pretending,” Ms. Bonner says. “Now, everyone, find partners.”

The smiling, waving sophomore comes slinking up and touches Henry’s arm. “Want to be partners, Sam?”

“Nope, sorry,” he says. “I’m already married to Woods.”

The sophomore glares at me. What the hel is her problem? Like Henry and I would commit to doing a school project with someone else in this class. Honestly.