Forget You(9)
Author: Jennifer Echols

Besides, my friends brought him up all the time, amazed and vaguely amused that we were together, so it was almost like he sat next to me in every class. He texted me a message with cute misspellings at least once a day, which I actually found annoying because whenever I saw the light on my phone blinking, for a split second I always hoped my mother had called me. And on Thursday night when my phone rang and I threw down my fork in the middle of the nice spaghetti dinner Ashley had made with my dad’s help and scrambled into the guest room to find my phone, that was also Brandon, not my mom. He’d called to tell me he couldn’t go out with me Friday night after his game because the football team was throwing their own beach party, boys only. That was fine. I understood.

The only bad thing that happened all week was that Doug started pressing my buttons about my mother. At least, I thought so. The first two weeks of school, he’d come to swim practice on time like everybody else. Since we practiced the last period of school, he had no reason to be late. All he had to do was cross the courtyard from the liberal arts wing. But every day this week, he had been tardy. We were supposed to arrive on time, change into our swimsuits, get in the water, and warm up while Coach wrapped things up with the junior varsity team that practiced before us. As varsity team captain, I was in charge of turning in anyone who didn’t comply.

This terrified me. I hadn’t heard any rumors about my mom, so I assumed Doug was keeping mum. He hadn’t tried to talk to me about it. Whatever he’d been so desperate to yell at me at the party on Monday night, he’d decided it could wait. But I didn’t want to press my luck by turning him in and angering him. Each day I gently reprimanded him about being late. He snapped back at me and was late again the next day.

The swim team forced my hand. Keke and Lila asked why I showed favoritism to Doug. The boys called Doug a diva and demanded that I turn his ass in. In the end I hoped Doug would realize I had no choice, and he would not retaliate in kind.

That’s when my luck ran out. 3 "Thanks a lot, Zoey."

I was shocked to hear Doug’s voice. I looked up at him before I could stop myself. I’d been afraid he’d have words with me tonight, after I turned him in and Coach talked with him behind closed doors in the office. That would never have prevented me from coming to the football game to cheer Brandon on and hang with the rest of the swim team in the crowded stadium. Still, I’d felt relieved when Doug didn’t show up quarter after quarter. And now here he was in the fourth, typically late, typically wandering in for free after the booster club abandoned taking tickets at the gate.

"Coach didn’t kick you off the team, did he?" I hoped I sounded surprised Doug was upset. He was the best swimmer we had, too good for Coach to kick off for minor infractions. He wasn’t in any real trouble, and I hoped by pointing this out, I would take the edge off his anger at me.

Avoiding his gaze, I turned back to the game far below us on the spotlit field. I looked for Brandon’s white 24 on his red Bulldogs jersey. He nabbed the ball and plowed his way upfield. "Go, Brandon!" I screamed. "Go, go, go–ouch!" He slammed into an enemy player even bigger than him and stopped short. Whistles blew, the refs gestured toward a penalty somewhere downfield, and the game paused. The marching band broke into "Who Let the Dogs Out?" for the third time in the fourth quarter. My excuse was gone to ignore Doug.

He stared down at me, waiting for me to give him my full attention before he answered my question with an insult. "No, Coach didn’t kick me off," he sneered. "But that’s what you wanted, Zoey. Y can pull that sweetheart act with anyone but me."

The sneering made me uneasy. I hoped my mother’s secret was still secret. And I found it hard to remember what I’d planned to say next with Doug glaring at me.

Finally I managed, "I have nothing against you, Doug. Nothing except you’ve been late for practice every day this week. It’s my job to mark you tardy."

"And point it out to Coach? He never would have noticed I was late if you hadn’t told him." Doug’s voice rose as he spoke. Mike and Ian, standing on the row below us, heard him even with "Who Let the Dogs Out?" still blasting through the stadium. They turned around to look at us. Mike blushed red –which wasn’t unusual for Mike, but indicated he could hear Doug clearly. Ian, with sandy brown hair, stayed sand colored, as if he were trying to blend into his beach surroundings. But his eyes met mine for the briefest moment. This argument between Doug and me was bound to stir up talk again that something had happened between us.

My heart sped up. I could feel it knocking against my chest and hear the blood pumping in my ears. I said, clearly and reasonably, so maybe he’d think twice about raising his voice to me again, "I have to point things out to Coach. Nothing would get done otherwise. If I didn’t remind him, he’d show up late to swim practice himself."

"Exactly," Doug said just as clearly, imitating me. "And now Coach is watching me. Y ou’ve got him thinking he shouldn’t give me special favors–"

"But he shouldn’t give you special favors," I protested.

"–which is not for you to decide. He was going to recommend me for a swim scholarship to Florida State. Do you understand? This is not about your stupid team."

Mike and Ian looked at each other. They were both on the stupid team too.

Doug didn’t glance at them or slow down. "I’d have zero chance of getting a scholarship to FSU if I got kicked off the team and I didn’t have Coach to help me. It’s not like I’m coming from a long line of Olympic athletes here, Zoey. My dad is a freaking fisherman."

Oh. For the first time I realized what I’d almost done to him. A bigger town would have had a swim club that we all could have joined in elementary school and competed in ever since. When Doug started to show real potential last year, different parents might have moved to a bigger town with a swim club just so he could train with Olympic-caliber coaches. But Doug lived in this town with this father. The team was all he had, and I’d nearly taken even that away from him. I hadn’t been thinking of him. I’d been thinking of the team breathing down my neck.

I put my hand on his forearm. The heat of his skin surprised me. It shouldn’t have. Mid-September in Florida was still summer. Though my palm started to sweat, I kept my hand on his arm, hoping my touch would help me connect with him.

"Y ou’re not the only one trying for a scholarship to FSU," I pointed out. "If I keep my grades up and my extracurriculars loaded, I’ll get an academic scholarship." Of course, no one cared about my good grades in comparison to an arrogant boy’s athletic scholarship, but I was trying to call Doug off here. I nodded at the field. "And Brandon’s trying for a football scholarship. The difference is, Brandon’s doing what the football coach tells him. If your scholarship is so important to you, why don’t you come to swim practice on time?"