The exercise has become my security blanket. Working my muscles, clenching and unclenching them into submission, reminds me that I’m strong. That I do have some control. Even when it feels as though my life is spinning out of it.
No one admits it, of course, but I’m the reason for our financial crisis. My medical bills cut a bleeding hole through my parents’ savings and it’s obviously getting worse because they’ve been at it every night, huddled around bank statements and steaming mugs of coffee. They’ve talked about selling my great grandfather’s land, downsizing the boarding business, even making career changes. But when they brought up the rodeo school last night, it was the first time I heard excitement in their voices. Of course, they had no clue I was eavesdropping. They prefer keeping me in virtual bubble-wrap, not wanting me to worry. But I do listen, I am worried, and I can’t let any of those things happen. Not when we can do something about it.
I’m mid hand-clench when the bell rings. Coach Stasi appears and conversations mute into whispers. She begins striding toward her desk, arms filled with papers and a loose shoelace slapping the floor, headed straight to where I am seated dead center in the room. So, naturally, this is when it happens. On my desktop, lit up like a tattling beacon, my phone decides to finally go off—double time.
First Katy Perry and then Hunter Hayes serenade the room in Faith and Cade’s designated text ringtones as my feeble fingers frantically fumble with the stupid case. With the collective classroom’s gaze upon me, I switch the device over to silent and lift my head to meet my fate. Coach’s stare is pointed, albeit slightly amused.
Yep. I’m screwed.
Officially, phones aren’t allowed in school. “They are a distraction and a hindrance to higher learning.” But we’re seniors, the countdown to blessed freedom is on, and in the face of rampant, class-wide rebellion, most teachers have adopted a lax policy. If they don’t see it and can’t hear it, they don’t really care. Unfortunately, in this case, I’m two for two.
Heat infuses my cheeks as Lauren snickers behind me, and I remind myself yet again of my New Year’s resolution. Only three more weeks until graduation.
Ignoring Lauren, I lift a shoulder and stretch my lips into a wide, cheesy grin. “Oopsie.”
Coach shakes her head with a silent laugh then rolls her eyes dramatically before turning to face her desk, needlessly shuffling the pristine stack of papers in her hands on its surface. Thus allowing me to check my messages.
I’ve always said Coach is one of the good ones.
Faith’s text is first: Breathe, girl. No matter what, we got this. fist bump
I lift my fist in the air, imagining her fierce scowl of confidence, and switch over to Cade’s: We’ll figure something out. Promise.
Relief floods my veins in a cool, calm rush. This is reason number five thousand and eleven why my friends are made of win. Faith is my voice of reason and fearless counterpart, and Cade… well, whatever Cade is, he gets it. Gets me. They’re the only two who know about my rodeo fears since the accident, and if they think this is fine, then it will be.
Nodding to myself, almost even believing it, I shift my thumbs to reply when a second text comes in. This one private, just for me.
Cade: P.S: Love you!
A wince forms before I can stop it. I’m fully aware this response makes me horrid, and a frisson of self-loathing creeps down my spine. Cade Donovan is everything a girl could want in a boyfriend—he’s everything I should want. Funny and smart, a great listener. Cute in that pretty-boy, CW actor sort of way, and an ass that fills out a pair of Levis like whoa. He’s been one of my closest friends since I wore a training bra, my rock the last few years, and in a perfect world, a world where my heart wasn’t completely decimated, I’d be ecstatic to hear those words coming from him. Sadly, life is far from perfect.
The truth is, I do love Cade. Just not in the way he wants me to.
“All right, kids, settle down.”
As Coach Stasi nudges the last few stragglers toward their seats, my friend Mi-Mi hurrying among them, I blow out a breath. With one eye closed, I quickly type the generic (and pathetic) xoxo, then power off my phone, stomach churning with guilt.
“We’re in the home stretch,” our teacher says, causing cheers to erupt across the room. Her smile widens and she nods. “Yep, graduation is just around the corner, and today kicks off our last major project of the year.”
Those cheers turn to groans and she laughs aloud, somewhat gleefully. Coach is cool as far as teachers go, but she’s also a bit of a sadist.