The One That I Want(42)
Author: Jennifer Echols

Thinking hard about this, I missed my baton twice more during practice, and I caught Mrs. Baxter shaking her head at me from the stands. Finally, after practice was over, I waited until everyone had filed out of the stadium with their instruments and I had the whole field to myself. I called Carter, hoping he would actually answer. He might not have turned his ringer back on after school. He might see my name and ignore the call, thinking I was asking him out on a date. He might—

“Hey, Gemma,” he said quickly.

After a little pause of surprise, I said, “Hey!”

“I know you’re calling because Addison told you,” he said. “We shouldn’t have done it when I hadn’t talked to you first. But Max told me this morning that y’all were making out at the same time Addison and I were, so I don’t see the problem. I mean, I know you and Max aren’t together now, but . . .”

I gathered from this non-apology that he had gone over to Addison’s house and sucked face with her last night, right after my birthday movie complete with I LOVE YOU bear. And no, Addison hadn’t told me. She had let me think I was the evil one. She had told Mrs. Baxter I was the mean one. I hated her so much at that moment that I could hardly see the goalpost at the far end of the football field.

But I was on a mission, and I fought through that anger to remember why I’d called Carter. I cleared my throat. “I’m surprised you and Max are speaking to each other after the scrimmage yesterday. His version of the story was different from yours.”

Now Carter paused for a moment before saying slowly, “He’s not exactly speaking to me. He yelled at me across chemistry class and got sent out in the hall. He’s pretty upset about how things ended with you.”

“But you still care about his mojo, right?” I asked. “You act like you don’t care about him, but you care how he kicks for your team.”

I took his silence for a reluctant yes.

“Addison is trying to mess with his mojo,” I said. “She’s sending flowers to his house. I need you to intercept them. It would be pretty normal for you to hang out at his house before a game, right? Or warn his parents about the flowers. Whatever it takes to keep Max from seeing them.”

Carter was quiet so long that I thought he was going to say no. I took a breath to tell him what being best friends with someone meant. Like I knew.

He spoke before I could. “Why would Addison do that?” he asked. “Does she still like him?”

I didn’t think Addison had the hots for Max. Not since he’d started making good jokes. I said carefully, “Addison is dramatic.”

“Yeah, she is.” Carter laughed. “I love that about her.”

I was glad someone did. “So, will you intercept the flowers? I know you think Max is silly to be superstitious. But you’re not going to change that about him by tonight’s game.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” he said. “Thanks for letting me know. And Gemma? I’m sorry about the popcorn.”

This made so little sense to me that I almost said, And I am sorry about the pumpernickel, and the backhoe.

“At the movie last night,” he reminded me. “I knew you wouldn’t want popcorn because you’re careful about what you eat. I bought it to make you mad. I was so into Addison, and I felt like you had messed everything up by liking me. I was trying to make you stop.”

He had done a great job. “That’s okay, Carter. I’m just glad that you and Addison are together now.” I said this with no irony in my voice.

“I hope you and Max can work things out,” Carter said. “I’ll tell him you called to warn me about this.”

“No!” I insisted. “That’s definitely never happened on his game day before. I don’t want to mess with his mojo.”

“Then he won’t know you did something nice for him,” Carter argued.

I winced. Carter was right. Max really hated me right now, and letting him know that I’d tried to protect him might help heal that wound.

But it wasn’t worth it. I told Carter, “His mojo is more important.”

After we hung up, I pocketed my phone and picked up my batons. I performed an illusion, a one-turn, a two-turn, and a figure eight, every trick that had caused me to drop a baton during practice. I performed them over and over until I was absolutely certain I had regained my confidence.

Finally I jogged up the steps, out of the empty stadium, into the empty parking lot. I walked to my pretty car, gleaming red in the bright sunshine. “Grrrrrr,” I growled as I started the engine, remembering the delight in Max’s eyes when he had driven it.

I knew he was angry at me. I understood why. But we’d had too much fun together in the past few weeks, and we’d made each other feel too good last night, for either of us to walk away now. We’d never even been on a date! At least, not with each other.

Max had told me he loved me. I hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him back.

As I thought about making up with him, shivers raced down my arms. I turned off the air-conditioning and opened the windows to the hot wind and the smells of late summer flowers and traffic. Maybe Carter would tell Max about what I’d done to save his mojo—after the game. That would help Max forgive me. And Carter had said Max had yelled at him in chemistry. At least I knew Max still felt strongly about me. That was step one.

I’d talked myself into an optimistic mood by the time I parked my car in the garage. Skipping into the kitchen, I was about to dump my book bag and take my batons outside to practice a little more when I heard my mother’s footsteps coming down the stairs. Something must be wrong. She never emerged from her office just because I came home.

She was wearing her business suit, heels, expensive perfume, and a frown. “Tell me your side of the story quickly, Gemma, and I’ll do what I can for you.” She grabbed her purse from a hook by the door.

“What do you mean?” I breathed.

She put her hands on her hips. “Mrs. Baxter didn’t tell you? She wants to kick you off the majorette line. Something about keeping your nose clean?”

I swallowed. “That bitch.”

“Gemma!” my mom exclaimed.

“Not Mrs. Baxter,” I grumbled.

My mom glanced at her watch. “Sit down at the table. I’ll heat up some cobbler right quick, and we’ll talk about it.”

I stamped my foot like a ten-year-old girl. “I don’t want cobbler!” I screamed at her. “I want you!”