Free For Love or Money by Tara Brown Page B

A-listers look humble like Mother Theresa. A smug thought about how many
of them will not have real jobs at the end of their education tries to drift
through my head, but I then recall my own situation and try not to be haughty
too. I have no reason to be self-assured like I did an hour ago, and seeing
them makes me realize how conceit doesn’t match poverty stricken.
    Shit.
    I
need to fix this whether I’m the bad guy or not.
    I
pull my ball cap down and hurry along the road to the park I know. It’s the
only one I’ve actually gone to—ever. It’s pretty, for a park. I never
have understood the need to stand in nature, but knowing there are probably a
hundred reporters stalking the grounds looking for me, it seems like a good
idea.

 
 

Chapter Eight
    Fast
runs and hot moms

 
    James
    The
coach gives me a look like he doesn't get it. “So you left the party, left two
minors at a party, they ended up getting drunk and high, and now Weaver is in
the hospital? This seemed like a good plan?”
    I
drum my fingers nervously. “I’m not their babysitter. I told them I was
leaving. There was a pile of fucking coke the size of Scarface’s and booze
everywhere. I didn't want to get kicked off the team, or worse.”
    “You
asked them to leave with you?”
    I
contemplate lying for a second. “Not exactly. But I made it clear I was
uncomfortable being there with that level of drugs and whatever else.”
    He
sighs. “I feel like you dropped the ball when it came to protecting the young
members of the team.”
    I
nod. “Yes sir.”
    This
is fucking bullshit.
    He
continues, “I feel like maybe this could be some retaliation on your part for
the loss of the incentive program we had been paying your way with?” He sits
back, rubbing his hands on his chubby belly. “Now son, we told you when we gave
it to you that if anyone ever found out about the incentive program we have
here, we would have to end it.”
    I
swallow my seething rage and smile. I feel like I borrowed the pathetic grin
off one of my silver-spoon teammates. Everything they do is fake. “No sir. I
would never. I am grateful I got my first two years paid for with the
incentives. It's more than I could ever hope for. I have my third and fourth
year taken care of.” I want to punch him in his fat face but that would get me
kicked out of school.
    He
nods. “Okay then. Get out and let’s not have this happen again.”
    As
I leave I’m vibrating, to the point of raging on the next thing I see, so I
don't go back to my dorm or to the field. I go for the only thing that's going
to take this away—a run. Eight miles, to be exact.
    I’m
three miles in when I see it, or her rather. She’s sitting at a picnic bench on
a field in a park like she’s a regular girl. But I know she isn’t. I know she’s
Satan’s mistress. I run past her, wanting to scream at her or even chuck her in
the river, but I see something I don't expect. Her hand lifts to her face.
Jumping Jesus. The ice queen is crying again.
    My
insides burn and beg for me to keep going, but my legs take me across the grass
to her and I can’t help but think this might be the right moment.
    She
turns, scared at first but then maybe relieved—which is an odd reaction.
She sighs and gives me a strained smile. “Hey.”
    I
sit next to her on the bench, trying to stretch my calves a bit. I can feel the
rage and anger being sucked out of me by the calm park and the crying diva.
“What’s wrong?”
    She
shakes her head. “I don't think I even know where to start.”
    “Limo
broke down and all you had to eat were the suckers you were saving for the rave
next week?” I smile but she looks at the grass. I have a horrid feeling I’m not
actually cut out for the type of details I’m about to get, but she doesn't say
a single thing. We sit in silence, her being the most surprising girl I think I
have ever met. I have watched her for three years, seeing one side of her rule
her completely, but knowing