Letters to Nowhere(72)

“Yeah, totally.”

“Think he’s going to be in a lot of trouble?” Stevie asked.

“I don’t know. Jordan looked worried, but I think he just doesn’t want to disappoint his dad. He’d probably never admit that, though.”

Stevie laughed. “Probably not.”

When I got into bed later, Bentley and Jordan were still gone. I fell asleep with my light on and a book in my hand and woke up when I felt someone sliding the paperback out from under me.

“Jordan,” I whispered. He had clean clothes on and was dirt–free and smelled like his aftershave. “Are you okay?”

He lifted his left arm, revealing a removable splint. “Yeah, gotta wear this for a couple weeks.” He squatted down in front of the bed and pushed my hair off my face. Then he broke our very important rules and kissed my cheek. “Just this once.”

I reached up and touched his head, where the cut had been. “Did you get a plastic surgeon?”

He smiled. “I did. And now my scalp won’t be ugly.”

“That’s very important.”

His hand moved through my hair. “What did I miss in the life of Karen Campbell while I was at school and then crazy drunk?”

“I did a bunch of Amanar vaults, but Stevie’s were better. I scared a little girl by screaming at her when I thought her basketball was my dad’s head rolling around in the gym and probably a whole bunch of preschool parents have now announced my insanity on Twitter. I haven’t checked today. That drama led me to go looking for obituaries in the garage, and then you know the rest.”

“A day in the life of an elite athlete,” Jordan said. “I’m skipping school tomorrow. Want to go somewhere after practice?”

“If you can help me with my Catcher in the Rye essay? I kind of slacked on my schoolwork today.”

“I can do that.” He walked toward the door and flipped the light off. “Night, Karen.”

“Night, Jordan.”

I sighed to myself after he walked away. I wished I could tell if he was really okay or just pretending to be because he thought I had too much to deal with already.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN




“I love the dark blue and black with Karen’s hair.”

“Much better than the pink leos.”

“The dark colors aren’t quite as bold with Stevie’s skin tones.”

“The cut is a little high on the hips with Blair’s long torso.”

Stacey had me and my teammates lined up in the training room after morning practice, modeling our new competition leotards that we’d be wearing in Chicago. This was Stacey’s department one hundred percent, now that Bentley was head coach. He wanted nothing to do with “costume choice,” as he called it. She had elected two helpers to walk behind her making notes—Mrs. Garrett, the old receptionist, and Ally, our athletic training coach. We all thought Stacey was taking this job a little too seriously. Any time one of us moved or spoke up without being told it was okay, she snapped her fingers to shut us up. Blair and I were about five seconds from collapsing into a fit of giggles.

“Are we doing the nude colored brief and brassiere?” Mrs. Garrett asked. “I want to make sure I’ve got all their sizes in stock.”

Brassiere. Seriously? I glanced at Blair again and that was it for us, we both busted out laughing.

“Girls!” Stacey continued her slow walk past Ellen. “Ellen can still wear anything, so we don’t need to worry about her. And I’m still deciding between nude and black on the briefs and sports bras, probably nude.”

Mrs. Garrett scribbled on her clipboard, her old body hunched over as she walked. Stacey was in front of me again, tugging at the top of my leotard. This style had a lower neckline in the front, almost heart shaped. Whenever we’d had this style in the past, especially when I was really young, me being on the skinnier side always made it not fit right. If I put my arms together in the front and leaned forward, the leo would bunch and you could see right down it.

“Look at that,” Stacey said, still tugging at me. “You’ve finally got enough boobs to make this stay in place.”

I glanced down at my chest, feeling my face redden. Mrs. Garrett whipped out a tape measure and wrapped it around my chest, then she scribbled more on her clipboard.

“Stacey, hon,” Mrs. Garrett interrupted. “Can you show me styles you want for the undergarments? I’ve got the catalog over here.”

They moved to the table on the far side of the room just as Jordan poked his head in the training room. His hand covered his eyes. “Is it safe to enter? I heard this was the new dressing room.”

“I like the term multipurpose room better,” Ally said.

I walked over to Jordan while Stacey and Mrs. Garrett were still huddled in deep discussion over sports bras on the other side of the room. “What are you doing here, school skipper? The truancy officer might show up with a big van to haul you away.”

“I’m in charge of feeding you lunch today, Coach Bentley’s orders. He was a little busy last night and didn’t get to the grocery store,” he said. “And he wants Ally to look at my elbow.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Stacey and back at Jordan. “I think my self–esteem has been lowered from this try–on session,” I whispered. “I’m so ready to get out of here.”