But as I said, I’m a good girl and so a good sister.
I’ll always support my brothers. No matter what.
They’re my whole wide world. I love them to pieces, and I know they love me to pieces too.
So here I am, sitting on the bleachers, watching a game I don’t really care for, just so I can support Ledger and cheer for him.
And also Conrad, my oldest brother, who happens to be the coach of our high school soccer team.
So soccer is not only this town’s sport, it’s also our family sport; my other two brothers, who are away at college right now, played for Bardstown High as well.
This kind of makes me soccer royalty by extension.
But anyway, good. That’s what I am. A good girl. A good sister.
Good. Good. Good.
Are you, Callie? Are you?
Are you really a good sister? Are you really cheering for your brother, Ledger, or are you also cheering for him?
Oh my God.
Blasphemy.
I’m not cheering for him. I would never ever cheer for him.
He’s the enemy.
Yes, he is.
He is. He is. He is.
My agitated thoughts come to a halt when someone – a frazzled-looking girl – stumbles and almost falls on me. My arms automatically shoot up and clutch her shoulders to help keep her balance.
Even though I manage to save her from falling, the tub of popcorn in her arms tips and a flurry of kernels falls on my lap and my feet.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” she asks as she manages to straighten up.
“I’m fine,” I assure her, brushing popcorn off my dress. “Are you okay though?”
“Yeah. No,” she replies, and clutching the huge tub of popcorn to her chest, she raises her finger in a gesture for me to wait. Looking back, she shouts at someone, “Asshole.” Then she sighs and plops down on the empty seat beside me. “Ugh. I hate this. He wouldn’t move his leg. Idiot.” She rolls her eyes before fixing her gaze on the field. “And I was so excited for the game tonight. Am I late? I’m late, aren’t I?”
“Maybe a little.” I shrug. “But nothing’s happened yet. It’s 0-0. It’s the day of the defenders. So, you’re good.”
She smiles. “Thanks.” Then she thrusts the tub of popcorn toward me. “Want some? I already spilled on you, so.”
“Sure, yeah. Thanks.” I pluck out a few and pop them in my mouth. “I’m Callie, by the way.”
“I’m Tempest. Nice to meet you.” Her smile is bright and friendly. “So I’m assuming you go to school here?”
“Yup.” I nod. “And I’m assuming you don’t?”
There’s something familiar about her. I can’t put my finger on exactly what though. But I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen her before.
She shakes her head at my question. “Nope, I’m just crashing the party. I go to school in New York.”
“New York? That’s exciting.”
“Meh. I completely hate it there. I miss home too much.” She shrugs. “But anyway, I wanted to be here for the game. I’m supporting someone. He’s gonna completely freak when he sees me. He has no idea that I’m here. You? Are you supporting someone too?”
“Oh yeah. I’m…”
My words get swallowed up when she bends to set down the container of popcorn.
Because I understand who she’s talking about. Who’s going to completely freak when he sees her.
It’s written in the back of the t-shirt, or rather soccer jersey – in school colors, green and white – that she has on. The name and the number.
In bold black letters, Jackson, 11.
She’s here for him.
The Gorgeous Villain, my brother’s rival.
Reed Jackson.
Actually, Reed Roman Jackson.
That’s his full name. And all us freshmen call him by his full name.
Well, except for me. I already call him something else, but yeah.
To freshmen, he’s a celebrity. A shiny star to admire from a distance. An awe-worthy creature.
And she’s here for him.
“You’re here for R-Reed?” I blurt out instead of answering her question.
I not only blurt it out, but I stumble on his name too.
Like it’s a roadblock in the dark. A jagged rock on an otherwise smooth trail in the woods.
Something that trips you. Makes you fall.
Something that you don’t see coming, not until you’ve already fallen.
“Yeah.” Tempest gives me a quizzical look. “Why?”
Avoiding her eyes, I clear my throat, feeling embarrassed. It doesn’t matter that she’s here for him. Lots of girls are here for him.
He’s a playboy, remember?
“Nothing. I just noticed, uh, his name on your t-shirt.”
“Do you know him?”
“Not at all,” I say quickly. A little too quickly and it only increases her suspicion. So I immediately follow it with, “I-I mean, except for the fact that he plays for the team. My brother plays too.”
That seems to distract her. “Your brother?”
Okay, good.
I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t even know why I got so jarred at the fact that this girl, Tempest, has specifically come down from New York to visit him.