The Boyfriend List (9 page)

“No?”
She finally replied, insecurity filling her voice.

Ms. Administrative
Woman responded with a low sound in her throat as if to say ‘I thought not’. “Only
student athletes are permitted here.” The smile that accompanied her words was as
warm as it was condescending, and that flustered Reagan even more.

“Oh.
Well, I was just, um... I was here to...”
Note
to self,
Reagan thought,
devise
cleverly thought out lies before embarking on stupid, self-serving scheme next
time.

“Are
you from the paper?”

“Paper?”
Reagan thought she might see a glimmer of opportunity after all, which she fully
intended to capitalize on if at all possible.

“The
school newspaper, I mean. Are you the journalist they sent to do the interview?”

“Yes.”
Reagan replied quickly without even thinking about what she was confirming. She
was just glad for the opportunity to have something positive to say. Then, as
the thought had simmered for a few seconds, she smiled wickedly and settled
into the role. “Yes, I am.” She’d found her window of opportunity, and could
proceed to objective three unhindered – gather informative details.

The
woman seemed to accept her in this role, and offered a large smile as she
gestured with her hand to follow. “Come this way.”

Before
she’d fully understood what she’d committed to, Reagan found herself being lead
down the long maze of hallway corridors that took her deep into the back of the
building toward the practice fields. When they finally stopped in front of the
metal double doors, her heart began to thump hard against her rib cage at the
handwritten sign posted there.

Soccer practice in main field today
.

The
woman stopped and looked at Reagan, her expression clearly anticipating
something from her...if only she could figure out what. Reagan, however, merely
looked back at her with a blank face. Then she glanced at the sign with arched
brows, then back to the woman again. Her confusion was becoming evident, as was
her internal concern that this reporter she was playing was expected to have
something to do with the soccer team today. She hadn’t prepared herself to get
that
close to Brett when she’d
formulated her plan. Everything had just gotten incredibly real.

 
“Through there, then out the door at the
back.” The woman finally answered to Reagan’s silent question.

Reagan
blinked at her, staring blankly. “What’s through there?”

“The
team you’re going to interview.”

She
knew what the answer would be before she even asked the question. “I’m
interviewing the soccer team?” Her voice was just a little more nervous than
she would’ve liked, but it couldn’t be helped. She’d just had her worst fear
realized.
 

“The
paper didn’t give you your assignment?” It was the woman’s turn to be confused.

But
all Reagan could do was stare at the sign, unable to tear her eyes off of it as
she summoned the courage to see this act through to the end. “Not exactly.” It
wasn’t a lie at least.

“Well,
the team’s out there, and they’re waiting for you.” With that, she turned and
walked back down the hall with her silent shoes, leaving Reagan to figure out the
rest on her own.

“Thanks.”
She said, more to herself than for the woman’s benefit. Sighing in
determination, she pushed her way through the double doors, which led her
through to a weight room that screamed with the school colors and mascot. A
quick look around proved it to be empty, so she followed the administrative
lady’s directions and scurried quickly through to the other side where she
spotted the second set of doors that would supposedly lead her out to the main
practice field.

And
right on cue, a voice from behind her – rough and obviously male this
time – stopped her in her tracks before she had time to slip through unnoticed.

“You
there.” The voice declared. Though startled, Reagan stopped and contemplated what
exactly she’d done that’d messed up her karma so badly this week. “You’re that
reporter, right? You’re early.”

It
was easy to determine that the squat man standing in front of her must have
been a coach of sorts – the ill-fitting gray t-shirt and blue shorts,
along with the infamous whistle that hung on a long cord around his neck was a
dead giveaway. The farmer’s tan from hours spent in the practice field was just
an added bonus.

“I’m
sorry?” She wasn’t sure if the apology was necessary or expected, but she
offered it nonetheless just to be safe.

“Good
trait.” He stated with a confident nod, ignoring her response. “Wish my players
would learn it. Well, don’t just stand there, let’s go.”

Afraid
to do anything
but
follow him, she
stepped into his path, through the doors and out into the blinding sunlight
where several groups of guys had congregated around the field to practice
various techniques. All of it looked foreign to Reagan, and she was most
definitely, undeniably outside her comfort zone now. Scanning the crowd
quickly, she found half a dozen individuals with blond hair racing across the
field. All were too far away to see clearly, but she was hopeful at least one
was Brett.

“All
of my boys aren’t here right now, it’s that time thing I told you about.” He
explained with a wink. “But you can start with the lead players.” Without a
pause, the coach blew a long breath into the whistle, and Reagan jumped at the
shrill sound.

“Listen
up!” He screamed, commanding their attention. “This is Abbey Wentworth with the
Daily Sun. She’s gonna be hanging around, interviewing a few of you for the
article for this weekend’s game. Be nice, and remember your answers represent
me.”

Suddenly,
more than 20 pairs of curious eyes were on Reagan, and there was nowhere for
her to hide. She felt herself being sized up, checked out, and otherwise
analyzed. She felt the red flush work its way up her cheeks and she wished very
much at the moment that she’d never come up with this stupid recon mission. A
smile was managed, and she nodded her head firmly in the direction of the
crowd. Even though some smiled back at her, she’d never in her life wanted to
disappear more.

“I’ll
just go sit over there,” She started walking toward the bleachers behind her,
“and talk to you one by one I guess.” And as the first player strolled
confidently over to her, ready for her expert line of questioning, she began to
wonder what she’d gotten herself into. She wasn’t a reporter, had barely passed
her English final last term and rarely picked up a paper. She was in absolutely
no way qualified to take on this task.

Reagan
smiled awkwardly at him as she fumbled with pad and pen, but he offered little
in return. “So, I guess I’m supposed to ask you questions. Right?”

“Yeah,
that’s usually how this works.” His smug expression and audible impatience told
her this wasn’t the first time he’d been interviewed by the press. Though
Reagan would’ve liked nothing more at the moment than to slap the expression
off his face, she knew it wouldn’t get her very far, and certainly wouldn’t get
her closer to Brett.

Setting
her jaw in grim determination, and putting the idea on the backburner for
another day, she did her best to proceed unfazed. “Right. Um, how long have you
been playing for?”

“All
my life. Since I was six.”

“And...do
you like playing soccer?”

“Well
sure. That’s why I’m out there.” His brow pinched together slightly as
skepticism set in.

“Okay.
Do you make many points?” Reagan was doing her best not to make eye contact as
she fumbled her way through the questions. She could feel him analyzing her,
and hoped he wouldn’t call her out on her charade.

“I’m
the goalie.”

The
slow, flat tone he used caused Reagan’s head to pop up in concern. She wasn’t
entirely sure exactly all that being a goalie consisted of, but she was pretty
sure she’d just made a big mistake. “So... that’s a no?”

“Is
this interview for real, or am I being Punk’d right now?”

A
nervous laugh escaped her throat, and she decided his answer was definitely a
no. “God, I wish you were.”

“We
done here?”

She
nodded in defeat though the goalie had already stood and began walking away,
not waiting for her acknowledgement.
Please
let this be over soon
...The next couple of interviews were an equally
confusing mess, but by the time the fourth guy came her way, she felt like a
pro. If people did this for a living she was seriously considering pursuing the
option. What a shame she wasn’t really writing the story she’d said she was, it
probably wouldn’t have been half bad.

After
sending her fourth interviewee away, she nodded to the coach to call up the
next one.

“Brett
Hanson!” His voice was loud enough for the entire school to hear him, and
certainly the name didn’t get past Reagan. Her heart stopped in her chest, and
when it began again, it was racing at triple the speed in borderline panic
mode.

Brett
Hanson was actually here.
The
Brett
Hanson was jogging up to her right this very second. They were about to be face
to face for the first time. She’d get to talk to him. She’d get to ask him
anything she wanted. Well, within reason that is. But her mind drew a blank.
She’d never considered actually talking to him as an option yet. What was she
supposed to be thinking right now? What would he be thinking when he saw her?
Would there be chemistry? Would he remember her from the restaurant? Would she
have to play this inexperienced reporter for as long as she knew him?

It
occurred to Reagan in her frantic, high-speed line of questions that she was
treating him like a celebrity, when in fact he was actually just an average
college student, just like she was. She couldn’t help it though. Her
expectations of an ideal were set so high, she was afraid they’d crash down
around her in disillusionment if he turned out to be an asshole in reality. And
the anticipation of that discovery was virtually killing her.

Despite
the fact that her mock interview was set up on the pretense of a lie, and that
his first impression of her would be built on that lie, Reagan was surprised to
find how quickly her panic had turned to excitement as her mind flipped through
all those possibilities.

That
is, until she saw Brett wasn’t the only one approaching the coach at the
moment.

The
administrative looking woman had stalked onto the field, furious energy
swelling all around her. And following dutifully right behind her was a frumpy
looking girl with a laptop bag in one hand and a large black camera in the
other.

“Then
who is
she
?” She could hear the coach
saying. This, apparently, was the
real
reporter.
And Reagan was about to be discovered for her fraud. Her heart began racing
again, and this time it was for more unpleasant reasons. But by the time all
three of them had turned in her direction, scowls perched on their faces, Reagan
had managed to duck out of sight.

From
her hiding spot under the bleachers, she watched the little search party out of
the corner of her eye and decided she couldn’t stay where she was for long. She
couldn’t imagine there’d be too many consequences – what, in all honesty,
could they actually do about her lie - but she wasn’t willing to stick around
and find out. The mortification would be punishment enough. Waiting until the
three had come around the bend, she made a dash in the opposite direction out
of their sight, back toward the double doors that would lead off the field.

Please don’t trip, please don’t trip,
please don’t trip.
The
mantra seemed to work, and Reagan had never run so fast or so hard in her life.
But it only confirmed that it wouldn’t kill her to get back into the gym and
bump up her cardio. That was a skill that could’ve come in very handy in those
moments.

The
door was shut tightly behind her as she entered the gym, yet she knew she
didn’t have too long to get out of there before they found her. Recovery only
took a short minute, thankfully. But as she turned to maneuver her way through
the maze of hallways, she felt a dull pain smack her upside the forehead.
Falling backwards through the air, her butt hit the gym floor hard before she’d
even realized what’d happened.

“What
the...” Was the stunned cry of complaint that followed as she stared at the
door that had attacked her for no apparent reason.

“Sorry,
my bad.” The apologetic voice was good-natured, if somewhat tentative. Rubbing
her forehead, Reagan looked up to see who her assaulter was and found herself
completely speechless. “I didn’t know anyone was on the other side. You
alright?” The attacker reached out his hand to help her up, but Reagan was
having a hard time finding the concentration to accept it.

Ohmygod!
She was exclaiming to herself.
OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod...
Because of
course, she was looking at none other than Brett Hanson himself. And of course,
there was absolutely no place for her to hide this time.
When did he even have time to get in here?