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My father twists his lips, looking down at the floor as he crosses his arms over his chest and nods, almost like he’s still processing whatever it is he has to share.
“Toby Sullivan withdrew from Welles this morning,” he finally spits out.
I cough. No, I choke.
“I’m sorry, he what?” My eyes are wide, my heart thumping and mind whirling at what this all means. I don’t want to get excited yet because I’ve been conditioned over these last few weeks to always anticipate another shoe dropping, and those shoes are usually spiked.
“The coaching staff was supposed to meet with the headmaster this morning about some complaints brought forward about one of our players. Honestly, I was expecting them to pull out some bullshit about you, attacking whatever they can because that’s basically been their constant obsession since day one. But then I got a call this morning from the headmaster saying the meeting was off, and that Toby Sullivan would no longer be on my roster.”
My mouth hangs open, my tongue planted behind my teeth as my mind races through this freaking karma marathon I’ve somehow possibly won.
“Toby . . . is gone,” I simplify.
My dad shakes with a single laugh.
“Seems so. Which would mean you’re running the show. But don’t think this means you get to relax. It’s the opposite actually, James. You need to work even harder, prove to everyone that Toby isn’t going to be missed. You need to show off your run game and your passing, and probably get up even earlier to put in the work.
“Not a problem,” I say, still blinking as I try to make sense of everything I just heard.
“Oh, and one more little thing,” my dad says.
I shift my gaze to meet his and try to read his poker face. This is the shoe. The spiked shoe is coming.
“Penn is coming out again to take a look. No pressure,” he says, leaning forward and patting my shoulder twice. He rounds his desk and takes a seat, pulling out his playbook and thumbing through the pages, probably to shift some of the things he put in place to help support Toby. He pulls his glasses off his desk and slips them on, stopping at the tip of his nose and looking at me over the lenses.
“You can go. Mom made enchiladas. Try to save me some scraps,” he says.
I feel weighed down in my chair, or maybe the feeling is gone from my legs. Whatever it is, I find it hard to get to my feet, but I manage. I leave my dad’s office, pushing his door closed gently and sliding my feet to my locker where I grab my bag and click the door shut. I’m still in a state of shock when I exit the locker room and find Morgan sitting on the nearby bench waiting for me.
“You are not going to believe what happened,” I crow, dropping my backpack on the ground and striding toward her. She sits up tall. I scoop my hands under her arms and swing her around, loving the way she giggles but also pounds me lightly to let her down.
“What am I not going to believe? Tell me, James Fuentes. Blow me away!”
I set her down on the back rest, her feet on the bench. She playfully flings her hair over one shoulder, and I pause for a second. If she hadn’t done that, the moment would have passed. But she did, and there was something in that move that felt like a hint. I hold my smile in place and study her, my eyes darting from hers to her mouth and taking note of every single nuance.
“Morgan?” I tilt my head, but she holds her ground.
I wait her out, my mouth holding its half smile in place, my expression dripping with suspicion. I don’t want to have to ask, but I think I’m going to need to.
“What did you do?”
I pull my mouth in tight and hold my breath as she blinks slowly and gets to her feet. Placing her hands on my shoulders, she slides them around my neck as she leaps down, knowing I’ll catch her. She wraps her legs around me, and I give in and embrace the soft stretch of her leggings and the candy-scent of her sweater.
“I told you I would fix it, right?”
She shifts so our heads rest against one another. Our noses touch.
“I said you didn’t have to,” I say, taking a heavy breath. I don’t want her putting herself in any trouble. I don’t want her feeling like I’m using her for my own game. I’m not her father.
“I know you did, but here’s the thing, James. I’m not just falling in love with you. Iloveyou. And I have learned that when you love someone you do things for that person, maybe irrational things.”
I stop her with a kiss, a hard kiss that makes her tighten her grip on me and pull herself up higher so I can deepen it more. Our lips part thanks to our growing smiles.
“I’m sorry, all I heard was you love me,” I say against her lips.
She leans her head back and giggles, dropping her chin again and meeting my gaze. Her eyes dazzle, picking up the gaslamp lights that glow along the nearby walkway.
“Guess I can admit to loving you too now, huh?” I say.
