And speaking of Torres, I have to admit things have been odd with him lately. After that remark he made about Stephen, I couldn’t help noticing how much he watched me during practice.
I can’t even talk to Stephen during my practice breaks anymore because Torres is always blowing that damn whistle and calling me over or telling me to run partner drills with one of the meter girls.
For a while we were okay, and I thought we were on mutual ground. I assumed he had my respect and I had his after the whole thing with Melanie but, apparently, I was wrong. He’s gone back to his old ways. Hounding me, criticizing my formations, shaking his head when I finish a race, even though I’m running my fastest and finishing strong.
If I’m ever standing too close to him, he moves away. If I have a question, he always tells me to direct it to Hamilton, and it’s not in a polite way. No, he’s a straight up dick about it.
Kendall thinks I’m overreacting, but after Torres gave me that speech and made me feel special the day I was tripped, I thought something had shifted between us—a better relationship between a coach and athlete.
But really, nothing has changed.
He is still grumpy Torres and I am just another one of the girls he trains.
TWENTY
I don’t know what the hell I was thinking by agreeing to help my mother work her own concession stand at the Halloween Carnival.
She applied last year and now has her own stand near the Ferris Wheel where she’s selling spicy popcorn. She created the spicy concoction herself, and I must admit, it is a hit. People have been coming by all night to snag a bag. I’ve had a few handfuls myself and it’s damn good.
Too bad carnivals aren’t my thing. All the squealing and yelling, the loud music, and the tantrum-throwing toddlers make this an event that is not meant for a man like me. I have nothing against kids—in fact, I adore them—but when it’s past their bedtimes, they are not kind little humans.
Some kids are young and it’s getting darker and considering there are creepy clowns and goblins at every corner, they’re scared out of their fucking minds.
I’ve noticed several track students are at the carnival, boys and girls. I purposely sit with my back to the opening of the stand. I’m not in the mood to get personal tonight.
It’s a Saturday and one of my nights off and I’m wasting it by being here right now, but when Mamá calls, I like to be there for her, no matter how annoyed I am by the task.
“Oh, hijo, I only have two more bags left,” Mamá says after stuffing the cash from her last order into her fanny pack.
“Really?” She has no idea how much of a relief that is to hear. “So, should I start packing up? Take some of this stuff to your car?”
“Sure. That would be good. I’m going to see if I can sell the last two bags.”
I don’t hesitate. I’m up in a matter of seconds, grabbing Mamá’s keys, collecting the box on the floor with the spicy salt containers and the popcorn maker in my arms, and going to the side exit.
It’s like a maze trying to get through the carnival with the running teenagers and people dressed in spooky costumes trying to scare everyone, but I make do, reaching the parking lot and stuffing everything on the back row of Mamá’s Buick.
When I’m back at the stand, coming through the side door, I hear Mama talking to a customer. “You should be so happy! This is my very last bag! People have been gobbling it up because it’s so delicious!” It’s just like her to brag about her own product. My mother has no shame when it comes to her food.
“Thank you so much. I’m so excited! My friend had a bag and we all couldn’t stop eating it. It’s perfectly spicy. Not too hot.”
That voice.
I turn to the sound of it, spotting Amber standing on the other side of the stand with a wide grin and a bag of the popcorn in her hands. She notices me as I turn, and her smile immediately evaporates.
“Coach Torres?” she calls, narrowing her amber eyes at me. She forces a smile. “What are you doing back there?”
I take a step forward as Mamá turns to look at me. “Helping my mom out with the stand.”
“This is your mom? Well, now I see where your good looks come from! You’re so beautiful, Mrs. Torres!”
Mamá relishes in the comment, clasping her hands together and blushing. “You are too kind! And let me guess, you are one of Joaquin’s runners?”
“I am, yes.” Amber beams proudly.
Mamá gasps. “Wait—you’re the girl who got tripped, aren’t you?”