Almost: a love story Part 10

"Well, you go on. We'll handle the clean up," Mom says, beaming as wide as Kika.

I have this odd sensation that if I asked them to give me a new car right now or twin pet monkeys-I think they'd do it. As I exit the kitchen, I search for some shred of comfort in the fact that two out of three of my last lines to my parents are true: 1. Finals are tomorrow, and after 24 hours of being awake, I'm so tired there's no way I'm going to be able to avoid sleep tonight, no matter how hard I fight against it. Eventually, my body will betray me, so 2. Yeah, unfortunately, I'm going to sleep.

As for number 3. Texting Gray Porter my new friend-or employee or whatever he might be to me?

That, of course, is not going to happen.

Chapter Eleven.

Gray Corey drops his backpack next to mine and slides into the desk on my right. "I hate the thought that this math final is going to kill our friendship."

"Huh?" I ask, only half-listening.

"I fail, and you go on to college leaving me behind. Will you still hang out with me when my career tops out as the a.s.sistant manager of Taco Delights?"

"Only if you give me free gelato-tacos. Besides, I think you could make manager." I don't look up. I'm texting Jess. I want this sent before Mr. Madsen, the math teacher, arrives and catches me with my phone out.

"The managers have to be able to count past their fingers. Come on man, I need you front and center for my pity party. Don't you care that I'm about to go down in flames? You've been texting non-stop. What's up? Who is up?"

I toss him a look and realize the guy is a little pathetic today. His dishwater colored hair is rumpled like he just rolled out of bed. There's also not much spark to his trouble-making blue eyes either.

"Sorry. I've got a new crush, and I'm trying to work it. You'll rock the final, don't worry," I say as I send the text.

He nods toward my phone. "That text was long enough to be a novel. And again-who's the girl?"

Mr. Madsen's still nowhere in sight. The rumor flying around the room is that the main office copy machine broke. There's a chance our final might be rescheduled. During lunch. "What do you think about me having a real girlfriend for the summer? As in long term," I ask.

Corey laughs so loud tears come out of his eyes, and half the room turns to look. "Jesus, you almost sounded serious," he adds when I hold silent.

"I am serious. What would you say if that text was to Jess Jordan?"

Corey laughs even louder. "Dude! I'd freak. I'd check if you had a belly b.u.t.ton just in case you'd been switched out by an alien race. I'd stage an intervention and get you the help you need. Tell me you're joking. Tell me you, acting like a complete weirdo yesterday and wearing her pink sweatshirt around after she lost it at lunch, was not about you wanting to hook up with that girl."

I shrug. "Not hook up. Date. She's hot as h.e.l.l. You even said so."

"Yeah... meaning hot and ice cold. Or should I focus on the fact that you also said the word h.e.l.l for the rest of this conversation? Dating that chick, even for a second would be absolute h.e.l.l. Do you have a death wish?"

"Hot and sweet actually. She's different. Not how everyone thinks at all. I like her. Like, like her. I swear."

"Dude. Show me your belly b.u.t.ton right now."

Mr. Madsen saunters into the room holding a stack of stapled tests. "Sorry. Had to run these on the music department's machine. Pencils and erasers are the only things I want to see on your desks. Once you complete the first two pages, turn them into me and I'll hand you the last part of the test and a calculator. Mr. Porter, when you've completed the entire final, report to Coach Williams. He has a bone to pick about something that might have been done to his personal copier-by you?" The teacher shoots me an accusing look.

My heart slams up and sticks behind my eye sockets. It's still beating fast, so that means my eyes must be bugging out with a beat everyone can see. "Right. Sure," I choke out, already planning my escape out the side doors.

Mr. Madsen nods like he can read my mind. "He told me to tell you he'll be waiting, no matter how long it takes. If you don't show, he's going to call your grandmother."

"If I weren't a teacher who valued my career, I'd drop you with a punch so hard it would put you straight into the emergency room!" Coach Williams shouts when I enter his cla.s.sroom.

"Bring it," I bluff, walking slowly toward him. "I'd love for a chance to help get you fired. Oh, and great to see you too."

"Explain this." Coach shakes the original copy of the contract I copied yesterday in my face.

I wince. I'd forgotten the original in the machine. s.h.i.t.

I'd have forgotten a screaming baby on that copier with that blue-eyed girl shooting me winks and calling me boyfriend.

Anyone would have.

"You know Jess Jordan is off limits. This is a contract that has you dating? Dating! Jesus Christ, Porter. What in the h.e.l.l are you playing at?"

I eye the contract, wondering if I can just grab it and run, but I don't. I'm way beyond letting this guy intimidate me. I'm actually thankful it was Coach who found the contract and not anyone else. The guy knows as much as I do about Jess's situation. He was part of her situation, and mine. Part of not prosecuting the a.s.shole senior that created her situation.

I level him with a stare. "I suppose I could ask you the same question, Coach. Why in the h.e.l.l is Jess working every afternoon for your music program? You talk. I'll talk. I have a feeling her being in here every afternoon has nothing to do with her craving for college application credits."

"She's been working for me since freshman year-at the request of her parents. And she doesn't really work-mostly she-she-" He lets out a long breath and shakes his head. "We aren't discussing my arrangements-or hers. I want to know what you think you are up to even talking to that girl. You must have done at least that because you both signed this idiotic paper. What happened to your promise?"

"Jess does what in here? What?" I insist. "I'm not coming one-inch clean unless you go first. During the music program, Jess Jordan mostly does what?"

"She sleeps." Coach glowers and crosses his arms. "If she's having a good day, she helps out or does homework. If she's having a bad day, I give her free access to nap behind the stage curtain. Mostly, she has bad days."

"Holy s.h.i.t. You aren't kidding." I let out a long breath and shake my head.

"Of course I'm not kidding. The girl has serious problems and you know that. You shouldn't be considering even one second of what's written on these pages. Your turn. Start talking."

He slaps the contract onto my chest, so hard I swear my heart rhythm goes off beat. I grip the paper and crumple it until it's smashed into a tight ball.

"This," I hold the destroyed contract in Coach Williams' face, "was her idea. It's a done deal. We mean to go through with it. I'm going to be her pretend boyfriend for the whole summer, and we're both looking forward to it."

Coach Williams lets out a long, low whistle. "Holy s.h.i.t," he mutters not once breaking my stare. "You aren't kidding, either. Are you?"

I shake my head.

He sighs. "Does she know everything? About me-and what happened? And she remembers you and-s.h.i.t. Is that why she's absent today?"

He suddenly looks way older. He's also shorter than I remember. That, or I'm just taller. It's been a long time since I've been anywhere near this guy.

"I don't know. I don't know what she knows or remembers," I say. "I'm 99% percent sure she doesn't remember me or anything that happened. She texted me earlier. She's sick. That's all. I can vouch for how terrible she looked yesterday. Said she had a headache and a bad lunch. Maybe she got worse?"

"Jess is not the type to ditch finals for no reason, so you must be right. But, if you messed with one hair on her head, I'll personally destroy your entire life."

"Whatever. That's already been done-thanks to your lameness. Which reminds me, isn't this about the time you suck up and offer me a spot to play on the hockey team next year? Let's just get that conversation over now, so you don't have waste my time and hunt me down before the last day of school."

My comment seems to take the fight out of Coach. He uncrosses his arms and runs a hand through the spa.r.s.e pile of white hairs on his bald head. "The offer still stands. There's a spot for you on my team, anytime."

I'm the first to break our stare-down. I guess I'm surprised he still sounds sincere with that offer. The same offer he's made to me since I quit the team. Even after I just egged him on like that. n.o.body digs into Coach Williams and survives.

I look back into his serious, ice-grey eyes and answer, "I won't have a coward for a coach, and I'm pretty sure you're still the same guy as before. Right?"

Coach Williams turns away from me then. I count it as a win because I think I caught a grimace crossing his face. At least the guy still has some guilt-and he should.

"I'd thought after all these years you'd be able to understand my position," he says after a short pause. "I stand by my decisions and the decisions of Jess's parents. Nothing good would have come us exposing everything. Any further involvement would have hurt Jess, and destroyed the future of a young man who made some really bad choices on one night while he was drunk at a party-"

"Don't you dare defend that a.s.shole to me," I shout. "He's long gone. Probably graduating from college right now and living life just fine. From what I suspect, Jess is still falling apart on a daily basis because of him, because of you, and, because of her parents' chicken-s.h.i.t att.i.tudes." I pace across the room and lower my voice. "At least offering to blow the whistle and stand witness back then allows me some sense of self-respect. How any of you losers manage to sleep at night is beyond me."

"You still think the plan you had would have brought a better ending to any of it?" Coach Williams levels me with his steady *game-time' stare. But his quavering voice doesn't match.

"Yes!" I shout and look down at the contract balled in my hands. My heart aches from too much pounding. I can hardly focus because I'm replaying how it all came down the last time I spoke to this man.

The room feels like it's sucking away under my feet. When I speak again I'm so drained I can only hold my tone just above a whisper. "Honestly, I don't know if things would have changed for the better. But none of you gave my offer a chance, so I guess we'll never know."

I push his chair out of my way as I pace the room again.

"Sometimes different is not better," he says, when I stop in front of him again.

"Does that apply to Jess? She's not looking or acting any better than she did when she first came back to school three years ago. Admit that, at least."

"You're right. Jess appears to be the same. I can tell you the kid who did it-he is a better person now. He's sorry. Very sorry. I've kept in contact with his parents."

"Why would I care? That fact makes it worse." I sit on the corner of Coach Williams' desk. "You and Jess's parents sacrificed the two innocent people in all of this so that a jerk could grow up to become a better person. Did he ever look Jess in the eye and apologize? Jesus, can you not see how twisted that is? He should have done some time for what he did."

"It was your word against his. And he wouldn't have gone to jail because nothing happened. Nothing-beyond underage drinking. Drinking in which you, my whole hockey team, and Jess Jordan were also partic.i.p.ants. I wasn't willing to drag twenty kids' futures, their college plans, and my career through the mud for something that couldn't be proved."

"Bulls.h.i.t. You sacrificed honor and honesty to protect the season and win state. The giant gold trophy down in the front hall is still front and center. Did you get a nice raise that year?"

"No, and I didn't get fired, either." Coach Williams shakes his head and paces the length of the stage before returning to face me. "You sacrificed yourself, son. No one asked you to quit the team. Next year is the last chance for you to undo the personal damage you created because of your stubborn impulsiveness. I know you still practice. A lot."

I cringe a little at that. His words-the truth-make me angry again; but we both know he's still talking c.r.a.p. There's no way to undo any of the damage.

When I don't answer, Coach goes on, "You're good enough to gain a solid scholarship. I've heard you're holding up great on ice. And your inline wins are always top reporting these days. You're a high profile player and with that, you'd get noticed by top coaches-"

"Whatever, that's none of your business. I won't be bought out."

Coach Williams shrugs. "Your choice. In the meantime, I have to ask you not to partic.i.p.ate in that ridiculous contract between you and Jess."

"This contract is going to help me pay for my first semester at college minus your *strings attached' offers. I'm convinced it's going to help Jess big-time as well. If I handle it right, I think I can get her to come out of her sh.e.l.l, make some friends, be happier than she seems now at least. Money aside, I would never do anything to hurt her. I've only ever wanted to help. You must know my intentions are still the same where she's concerned."

Coach nods, his gaze is wary, but he seems to be hearing me. "Are Jess's parents aware of this?"

"h.e.l.l no, they aren't. They won't even know my name. Didn't you read the whole thing?"

He nods, and I laugh then because I'm sure Coach Williams' read it more than once. He's probably got this thing tattooed to his a.s.s, in blood.

"Why does she want this?"

"Jess believes that without some semblance of a *normal summer' under her belt, her parents won't let her move out and go to college."

"That sounds like her parents talking, not her."

"Nope. It's all her. She wants out. Jess should get to move on with her life and become a better person, also. Don't you agree?" I throw his words back into his face. "If I can give her that, I will. Don't ruin it. You owe her something too."

"But what about you? It's not like you to partic.i.p.ate in anything so underhanded."

"It's not underhanded if she doesn't remember. If I'm helping her. If she asked ME. Besides, I stopped being a *better person' when I messed up everything that night. You think I'm doing this just for her? I want to make up for some of that. I'm tired of feeling guilty. Aren't you?"

"Jesus, son. None of what happened was your fault, or mine. None of it. What if she remembers? Gray, you're putting me in a terrible position. I have to tell her parents."

"It's summer. You're off duty as of Friday. This has nothing to do with you. Me, dating Jess, will not occur on school property. You can check in with her any time while you run your practices at the complex. She'll be hanging around the rink and the snack bar. Safe. With me. If she remembers, then I promise to tell her the truth. It's simple. Give me a chance to step in and try to help. Please. If she hasn't remembered anything in three years or in the last week of hanging nose to nose with me, then she's not going to remember at all."

Coach Williams lets out a long, tired sounding breath of air. "Okay. I'll be watching. But you need to promise me one thing."

"Shoot."

"Make sure you help her get some sleep during the day."

"Why?" My mind is overtaken with the image of Jess snuggled up in her car at Geekstuff.com-of the image of her ashen face during the interview and yesterday after school.

"You can find that out on your own. Mess anything up, hurt her once, and it's over. This stays strictly on the friend level. I mean that, Porter. Don't step over the line with her."

I hate his threatening tone, and I hate that he knows more about Jess than I do. "I'm already more than her friend. As of yesterday, I'm her boyfriend. I will cross any line I want. You can keep this copy for reference."

I throw the wadded up contract into his chest as hard as I can.

He catches it without a blink.

Chapter Twelve.

Jess ...

You're a very lucky girl.

Nothing happened. Nothing happened.

I thought he was nice.