Mom is on the other end of the Skype call, her own blonde hair pulled back and her face filled with concern. "Carrie, you never call on weekdays unless something is up, and you never eat cereal like that unless you're upset about something. In fact, the last time I saw you with a bowl that big was . . . well, I think it was when Dale James broke up with you right before the prom."
"Yeah, thanks for that memory," I grump, unable to help myself even though I know Mom didn't mean anything by it. "Just . . . had a bad date tonight, that's all."
"So that's why your hair is still up." Mom chuckles. "Be glad your dad is out on the road tonight. He'd be more concerned than I am. He still doesn't understand that you're not his little girl that needs to have her scraped knees kissed away any longer."
Dad is a long-haul trucker, which is good money, but it meant he couldn't spend as much time at home as a lot of other parents. It makes him overprotective. "I'll get over it. Just a guy from the football team who thought he could play me."
"I see. He must be cute," Mom teases, and I have to laugh. Mom has always used humor to get me out of a funk.
"Mom! Okay, okay, he's gorgeous. But . . . we're just from different worlds, that's all."
She nods and goes to say something, but there's a knock at my door. "Well, honey, sounds like you've got a visitor. I'll let you go. If you need anything, give me a call, okay? And Dad should be home Friday night. He's excited to see the Western game. You guys are going to be on national TV—he's hoping that maybe he can see you on the sidelines."
I laugh. That's so him. "Okay, but the most he’s going to get is a half-second side shot if he's lucky. See you later. Love you."
The knock at my door comes again, and I get up, already calling out, "Hold on, hold on!"
I open the door and see Chelsea Brown in the hallway, a smile on her face. "Hey, Carrie. What's wrong?"
"What is it? Do I have a sign over my head that says I had a bad night?" I ask, stepping back into my room.
"Your hair is up, you're wearing a pajama t-shirt even though it's barely nine o'clock, and to be honest, I didn't even think I'd find you here. I was coming to drop off some notes from Coach Taylor. I was gonna leave them on your desk. Guess your date didn't go very well?"
I give Chelsea an only slightly surprised look, then just shake my head. Fuck it. I'm just not used to this level of social scrutiny. "How'd you know?"
"Duncan was happy as hell about it during practice," Chelsea says, and I remember she worked football practice today while I was running a rehab session with Rita Smothers of the tennis team. "He even shut down a couple of the guys who tried to give him shit about it. I figured you'd still be out for another couple of hours. What happened?"
"Tiffany and Mandy happened," I say. "Couple of sorority row girls who came by with dismissive looks for me and open legs for Duncan. They practically begged him to go to some new club with them. He . . . he didn't exactly stick up for me."
Chelsea nods, as if she's seen it before. “I know what you mean.”
"You too?"
“Not with Duncan, but yes, I know what you mean. It's in the past, and I’d like to keep it that way, no offense. By the way, here are the notes. See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," I say, taking the notes. "See you, Chelsea."
It's about twenty minutes later that I hear a motorcycle rev its engine outside, a Kawasaki, I know for sure, and I finally let a tear trickle down my cheek.
Chapter 7
Duncan
I can't believe it.
"Dad?" I ask, seeing the familiar silver-streaked hair and broad shoulders that I hadn't seen in at least six months. "Dad!"
My father turns around, and there's a look of surprise on his face. "Duncan? What are you doing here?"
I shake my head and approach him. We're outside the team hotel, and everyone is getting ready for breakfast, but I have a few minutes. After the past few days, I could use some good luck. "It's the team hotel. We're going to have breakfast before heading over to the stadium. You know, the Clement game is today?"
“Oh, no, I didn't," Dad says, and my mood immediately darkens. Why else should it be any different? He hasn't been at any of the other forty starts I've made for Western over the past three years. "I'm in town on business. Meeting with investors, you know. New project upstate."
That's Dad, always looking for a new angle. I see he's wearing a wedding ring again. I hadn't been notified.
"So, what's her name?" I'm cold, my mood going from glum to black, and I can hear the excitement draining out of my voice as I look him in the eye. "You know, you didn't send me an invitation."