Page 116 of Tight Ends & Tiaras
Her tiny brow furrows, and she shrugs and knocks over my tower.
“You little stinker.” I grab her and tickle her until she squeals. It’s one of the few bright spots in my week.
The next day I drag my ass from class to class. People want to talk. Ask about the loss. Ask me why I’m not getting more minutes. Rant about our season.
As I’m waiting for my order at the Witches’ Brew Coffee House, the checkout lady holds up a finger. “I don’t understand why you’re not playing more.” Literally everyone in line behind me leans forward. Jesus Christ. “Are you injured? Son, be sure to take your vitamins.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.” I mean, what else can I say?
A tight smile is plastered to my face as I make my way through campus. I’m trying my best not to be a dick. Fans are enthusiastic and passionate about the team. That shit’s great when you’re on top, but when you’re not, it’s like getting a thousand little daggers everywhere you go when the topic comes up. And it always comes up.
Olly joins me for lunch. We sequester ourselves in the corner of the student union and shovel down the healthy shit Coach Sully made us eat. An open-faced chicken breast sandwich and salad and more vegetables. I don’t know what Krud wants us to eat, and frankly, I don’t care.
“Olly, I need your help with something.”
“Sure, whassup?” he asks with a mouth full of food.
“What’s something nice I can do for Sienna? We’re like passing strangers in the night with so much shit going on. With the bye weekend coming up, I wanted... I don’t know... to treat her to something special.”
“Amelia said something about a musical in Austin. There’s also the ballet.” He makes a choking sound, and I laugh.
“Let me check.” I grab my phone and do a quick search. “Les Misérables has a performance this weekend.” Not that I can pronounce the name of it properly. And holy shit, those last-minute tickets are expensive.
Before I hit the purchase button, I freeze with my thumb hovering over the button. Because do I really want to sit through three hours of something depressing during my one Saturday off? My head is already fucked up, and paying a shitload of money to watch a musical about the French Revolution where I’m guessing most of the characters die feels like torture.
I Google it. Okay, it takes place decades after the revolution, but like I suspected, it is not a feel-good show. Olly tells me girls love it, though, and I guess that’s all that matters.
Sienna has been busting her ass to help me and Lily. I know she’s stopped teaching yoga classes because I overheard her talking to her boss at the studio. And Sienna never complains. The woman even did my laundry. No, I didn’t ask her to. She just saw my pile of clothes and washed them for me because she’s a sweetheart. She’s so self-sacrificing, it makes me feel like a dick. Like I’m not giving enough of myself.
Only there’s nothing left to give. I feel like a tapped well, and I don’t know where to find water.
I wanna show her she’s special to me, though. I can’t even articulate what it means to see her at the end of a long day. The promise of getting one of her smiles is enough to get me through a crappy practice or an excruciating morning of classes. And I’m long overdue to take her out on the town. So I buy the damn tickets I can’t afford. It’s probably a mistake to put this on credit, but I can’t ask my uncle for any more money.
I’m on my way home to surprise her with my plans—dinner in Austin and tickets to see Les Mis—when I get a call from Tío Julio.
After spending ten minutes trying to explain to him why I can’t reschedule my plans, he starts to lay it on thick.
“Do this for me and your family, mijo. I need you to come home this weekend. It’s an emergency. That girl can wait.”
Fuck.
And just like that, my plans to do something with Sienna go to hell.
