Cinderella Sidelined (9 page)

"Coach, I'm already out for the season. How much worse can it get?"

"Emma, I'm sorry. Michigan Tech's out."
 

"Hm?" I say. "Out of what? The tournament didn't start yet, did it?"
 

I'm pretty sure I'm not so far out of it these days that it's already time for the women's college volleyball tournament that usually takes place at the end of the year.
 

Last I checked, we're still moving through September.

"No, not the tournament." Coach Morris looks as if she wishes she could beam herself to Peru. She squeezes her eyebrows together then stares right at me. "You're off the team, Emma. Michigan Tech rescinded their offer."
 

All I hear is a rushing noise filling my head, like jet engines are suddenly taking off all around me, and then, slowly, the sound of laughter takes its place.

It takes me a few seconds to realize it's coming from me.

I'm sitting here in a chair in my volleyball coach's office laughing like a maniac because I know I'm not hearing her correctly.

"Emma? Emma? Emma!"
 

Coach Morris is suddenly inches away from my face and I push back in the chair to get some space.

"What? Jeez, I'm right here."
 

She lets out a sigh and takes a few steps back. "Phew. You weren't with us for a few seconds there."
 

I shake my head. "What are you talking about?"

"You must've gone into -- "

"No, no, no, not that," I say, frowning. "I don't care about that. What do you mean, Michigan Tech took back their offer? They can't do that."
 

Coach Morris' eyes are sad. "I'm afraid they can," she says, returning to her chair. "It's not the first time I've seen it happen. And certainly not after a major injury."
 

My eyes narrow. "This?" I spit out, holding up my wrist. "This stupid cast is what cost me a full ride to UMT?"
 

"I'm sorry, Emma."
 

"No, no, no, no. No," I say, pushing myself out of the chair and springing to my feet. "That makes no sense! I'll be healed in two months! Like it never even happened! It's not like this cast is going with me to college."

"Emma." Coach Morris shakes her head sadly. "It's not me who needs convincing."
 

"Then why didn't you convince them? You're my coach! I thought you were supposed to be in my corner."
 

"That's out of line." My normally level-headed coach's voice is harsh. "Do you think I didn't fight for you?"

I'm ready to keep yelling when her words rattle around in my completely confused head for a minute or two and when it all sinks in, I do nothing but slump back into the chair in a defeated, dejected, depressed heap.

"Crap," I mutter under my breath.

"I know this isn't what you expected," Coach Morris continues, her voice returning to normal. "Believe me, it's not what I expected, either. But, Emma, it doesn't mean you're out of options. You still have other offers from wonderful schools and wonderful programs."

"They're not Michigan Tech."
 

She nods. "I know, but again, you have choices."
 

"I can't think about those right now."
 

"It's better not to focus on the bad."
 

"Easier, though."
 

I rub my forehead and try to take a few deep, calming breaths to stave off the tears I'm positive are going to start flowing.

"Emma." Coach Morris has known me for years, so I'm guessing she also recognizes the look on my face. "Breathe."
 

"I have to get out of here," I choke out, hurrying to my feet. I grab my bag and dart out of her office, running down the hall to the girls' bathroom where I can let the tears fall.

Maybe Coach Morris thinks I'm overreacting, and maybe I am.

But I'm not sure how else to react when the only dream I've ever had for my whole life is snatched away from me, and I never even saw it coming.
 

***

I miss all of lunch and most of my fifth period Government class, but I refuse to leave the bathroom in The Barn until I'm reasonably convinced it doesn't look like I've spent the last hour and half sobbing.

Which, of course, I have.

But no one else needs to know that.

I sniffle twice as I walk back to the main school building and try to push all thoughts of Michigan Tech and volleyball and Hornets and my future aside. I get back to my locker just as the bell rings for the end of fifth period. I switch out my books and am ready to head to class, get through the day and go straight home so I can crawl under the covers and never come out, when Blaine appears in front of me.

"Hey babe." He absently leans down and brushes a kiss somewhere between my forehead and my hair.
 

"Hi." I do my best to paint a cheerful smile on my face, but it's hard to mask this kind of pain. "What's up?"

"Can't a guy just stop by and see his girl before class?" he asks with a smile and a ruffle of my hair.
 

"Sure, I guess."

"Besides, it's almost the weekend," Blaine goes on. "And we haven't figured out what's going on yet."
 

I shrug. "Haven't given it a lot of thought."
 

"Okay, well, how about we have a party at your place?"

I burst out laughing. "What?"

He nods eagerly, like the more he moves his head, the easier I'll be to convince. "Yeah, it's a great idea. You live so central to everyone, we can all come over and chill in the pool and have a few beers and stuff."
 

"I don't think I'm up for a party."

"Emma, come on," he whines. "We never do anything fun."
 

"I just broke my wrist and now I find out I lost my scholarship to my dream school all because Marybeth can't keep her legs under her," I hiss. "I'm so sorry that I don't want to run around drinking all weekend."
 

Blaine's skin pales. "You lost UMT?"

"Yup. Coach Morris just told me."
 

"Sorry, Em," he says flatly. "Maybe some weekend drinking will do you good."
 

"You know what? If you want to drink all day, then go ahead and do it. I'm not up for it and it'd be nice to spend some downtime with you while I figure out what the heck is going on in my life. But if you'd rather kill a bottle of tequila with Richie, go right ahead. I'll see you later."
 

I reach out to shut my locker but of course it's with the cast. I let out a low, frustrated growl and throw as much of my weight as I can into slamming it closed with my left hand before I stomp off down the hall and away from Blaine.

***

2:58.

Tick, tick, tick.

2:59.

Tock, tock, tock.

My eyes haven't left the black and white clock that's hanging above the door in Mr. Prescott's classroom since I first sat down at my desk forty-four minutes ago.
 

And it feels like the second hand is ticking backwards twice as fast as it usually goes forward.
 

Bbbrrrrring!

Finally, the bell rings, and I'm up and out of my seat and out the door before the clock has a chance to tick another five seconds. A quick stop by my locker and then I'll be on the next bus back to my house.
 

Thank goodness.

It's going to be a welcome relief after a day like today.
 

I'm on my way to the front of the school to grab the bus when a hand reaches out and lands on my shoulder.

"Ah! What the heck!" I spin around, ready to shout at whoever it is that decided today is a good day to mess with me.
 

"Jumpy much?"
 

Russ is standing about two feet away, eyebrows raised, and a huge smile on his face.
 

Of course.

I should've known. Who else would pop up at a time like this, when I least want to see them?

"Your timing is impeccable."
 

"In a hurry? Got a hot date?"

"Yeah, with my pajamas."

He looks at me without saying anything.

"Uh, okay then, is that it?" I ask when it starts to feel uncomfortable -- and in the mood I'm in, that doesn't take long.

"I can't believe you haven't said anything."

I clench my jaw. "Huh?"

"So friendly today," Russ says, and it's all I can do not to reach out and whack the smirk off his face. "I'm guessing you haven't checked the list?"

"The what?"

"Hello, Earth to Emma. Didn't Mary tell you she was posting the cast list today?"

My stomach twists. The play! I've completely forgotten about it in all the yuckiness of this afternoon. "Oh, yeah," I say. "No, I haven't looked. Why would I?"
 

He looks at me with a funny expression on his face. "Why would you? Why wouldn't you?"
 

"Russ, I sang "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" as my audition song. That's why."
 

He laughs. "Are you kidding?"
 

"Wish I was."
 

"I did "The Star Spangled Banner" the first time I ever tried out for something," he tells me with a faraway smile on his face, like he's suddenly been taken back in time to a place I'll never know. "The music was queued to play something from "The Lion King" and the next thing I knew, the National Anthem came flying out of my mouth."
 

I can't help but smile. "Did you get the part?"
 

He grins at me. "You bet. It's all about how you sing, not what you sing."
 

"I guess. But I'll look at the list tomorrow or something. I'm not really in the mood."
 

"Come on, the auditorium's right down the hall. I'll even go with you."
 

"That wasn't the bet. All I had to do was tryout. Which, by the way, I did," I say, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder.

"I know, and I'm impressed."

"Great, so let's leave it at that, okay?"

"Emma. Just check the list. It'll take five seconds."
 

I glare at him and run my tongue across the front of my teeth. I really, really don't want to talk to anyone right now, let alone Russ, and even though I've only known him for, what, two days now, I already know he's not going to let this go.

"Fine. Five seconds."
 

He grins triumphantly, turns on his heel and walks down the hall.

I follow with considerably less spring in my step.

Russ marches right up to the outside of the auditorium, and sure enough, there's a bright pink piece of paper tacked to the bulletin board near one of the doors.
 

I stare at the paper, my eyes barely scanning it, only planning to spend maybe two seconds double checking that my name isn't on the list so I can --
 

Oh.

"What?" I blurt out.

"You see it?" Russ looks at me excitedly. "There you are."
 

I rub my eyes and squint at the sheet of paper. "It's not April Fool's Day, right?"

Russ laughs. "Come on, give yourself a little credit, Emma. You're in the play."
 

"I'm in the...play," I whisper under my breath.

"You're looking at that piece of paper like it drowned your cat."
 

I shake my head, trying to clear the craziness that's invaded it over the last few hours. "What the hell is going on?"
 

"Hey." Russ reaches out and rests a hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I look at him for the first time since we walked up to the auditorium. "I have no idea."
 

"Follow me."
 

He reaches out and slides my backpack off my shoulders and slings it over one of his, then guides me down the hall. I move with him like I'm in a daze, and I think that's probably a good way to describe it, since I feel like I'm watching my life happen to someone else right now.

Russ leads me through the parking lot to his old brown beater.

"Are you driving me home?" I ask as he opens the passenger door for me and I get inside.
 

He shakes his head as he closes the door and walks around to the other side. "Nope," he says once he slides behind the wheel.

"Are you kidnapping me?"

He side-eyes me and laughs. "By george, I think she's got it."
 

"Fine," I say. "But could you just make sure I have my own bed wherever you're taking me? I really need to sleep. Oh, and in six weeks, this cast has to come off. And I get hostile when I don't get my daily diet coke."
 

"You're awfully demanding for someone who's just been taken hostage."
 

"You're the moron who thought I'd make a good prisoner."

"Touche."

I lean back against the seat and look out the window, surprised that I feel the faint, familiar beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I'm in no mood to laugh, but in about ten seconds flat, Russ has already shaken some of the crankiness out of me.
 

Impressive.
 

We sit in silence as he drives us out of the school's parking lot and gets on the freeway toward Old Town Scottsdale. It's a popular spot in one of Arizona's nicest areas, and one that Blaine, Stella and I hang out at often.

It's not a place I'd picture a theater guy like Russ enjoying, but he drives us right down Fifth Avenue and easily guides his car into a parallel parking spot.

"I'm so bad at that," I say as I reach over and unbuckle my seatbelt.
 

"What?"

"Parallel parking." I fish my wallet and cell phone out of my backpack so I don't have to lug it all over Old Town with me and stuff them into the back pocket of my jeans. "I can't do it."
 

He raises an eyebrow at me over the roof of the car. "You have a license, right?"

I grin. "Had a nice driving instructor, too."