Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
No such luck. Everything looked like it usually did. Not that I knew what usual was.
I scurried back into the car, getting out of the wind. It was sunny and cool, but not cold, thank God. I couldn’t call Jay. His day was too important. I ran a list of people in my brain. Chuck didn’t have a car. I wished Marcy and Dave didn’t live in Indianapolis. Cooper would be in class at high school. None of the cheerleaders knew about Jay, except Lisa, who also didn’t have a car. I had no options.
My father answered on the second ring when I called. “Hello?”
“Hey, Dad. My car broke down. Can you, uh, come help me?”
“Yeah, of course. Where are you?”
I squeezed my eyes shut tight. “Toledo.”
“What?” It was confusion and not accusatory. “What are you doing in—”
I stopped breathing at the exact moment he figured it out. The other end of the line was deathly quiet; maybe he wasn’t breathing either. I’d basically admitted I’d slept over at my boyfriend’s last night—the boyfriend whose dorm was in Ann Arbor, Michigan.
“Are you there?” I eked out.
“Yeah.” His voice sagged, and the pause was so long I began to wonder if he was going to tell me I was on my own, but then he spoke. “I’ll have to find a sub, and it’s going to take me a while to get to you. You don’t have class today?”
I wanted to curl up into the fetal position on the floorboard. “Uh, not until eleven.”
He made the same noise he did when a ref made a bullshit call. “You’ll never make it.”
“I know. I’ll email the professor as soon as we hang up.”
“Then you call a tow truck. Text me the address of the garage they take you to. See you in a few hours.”
My dad didn’t say a word to me when he got to the garage. He went straight to the counter and spoke to the guy about the status of my car. The slender man, whose uniform was filthy, told us they were slammed with work and hadn’t gotten to it yet. I put my bag on my shoulder and stood, my head hung in shame, as my dad left his number for them to call with the prognosis.
His gaze flicked to the back wall where a sign read ‘A Garage Divided.’ The Ohio State logo was on the left, the Michigan one on the right.
The car ride was worse for me than the night I’d learned Jay played for Michigan. Tension hung over us like delicate glass, splintering with a hairline crack with each minute of silence.
“Did you get ahold of your professor?” he asked, his eyes on the road.
“Yeah.”
My professor agreed to postpone my presentation until the next class, but the curt email made it seem like I’d be starting in a hole. In his eyes, the timing was suspect. Thanksgiving was next week, so I wouldn’t present until after the holiday break.
We lapsed into silence again, until it was unbearable.
“Did you tell Mom yet?” I asked with dread.
“That you drove to Michigan without telling us and missed class today because you spent the night with your boyfriend? No.”
I cringed, but also felt relief.
Until my dad added, “Since I’m here, I’ll stop by the coaches’ office and wish them luck. I’ll pick you up after your practice is over and you’ll tell her yourself.”
Oh, God. I looked longingly at the door handle to the car, and had a fantasy of jumping out and rolling away to freedom. “She’s going to disown me.”
“Stop that.”
“I was surprised you came. I thought you were going to tell me to figure it out.”
He glanced at me, and was that hurt in his eyes? “Kayla, you’re my daughter. I’m always going to be there for you.” He shifted in the driver’s seat, as if it was making him uncomfortable and not the feelings he was unfamiliar with expressing. “Your mother and I love you, no matter what. You know that. Right?”
“Even if I date a guy who plays for Michigan?”
The muscle along his jaw flexed and then softened. “I can’t promise your mom won’t try to talk you out of that, but, yeah. No matter what.” He seemed to relax slightly. “And, Jesus. Did you see that sign in the garage? I couldn’t leave you there. Those Toledo people are crazy.”
My squad was still stretching when I flew into the fieldhouse. I tossed down my bags beside everyone else’s stuff, sprinted to the group, and immediately began doing sit-ups before anyone could ask.
Lisa gaped at me. “You’re late again! Nice example you’re setting.”
“My car decided to tell me,” I said between reps, “it needs a new alternator . . . by dying on the side of the highway.” I hated it, but thankfully I was only a few minutes late.