Brooke laughs. “No, I know all that. It’s on the team site.”
“Still sitting right here and not thrilled to know you cyber-stalk Alleghany’s football team,” Sam chimes in. He looks genuinely miffed, and I wonder if it’s because Brooke’s the one bringing this up. I’ve always suspected he has a thing for her.
Brooke ignores him and keeps looking at me expectantly.
“They have photos of all the players on their team site as well,” I say. “So I’m not sure what you’re asking about.”
“You’velooked at their team site?” Matt asks me incredulously.
“I saw it when my dad was checking stats one morning,” I reply, which seems to mollify the football players at the table. Checking out the competition is something they understand, but I was definitely doing so in the more literal sense.
“So, you’ve seen Weston’s photo?” Brooke asks, still undeterred.
“Yes,” I sigh.
“And? Is he just as hot in person?”
I blame Brooke’s persistence and the fact I spent two hours making out with him last night in the backseat of his car on the next words that come out. “No. He’s hotter.”
Brooke squeals, and all the guys groan with disgust.
“Seriously, Maeve?” Sam asks.
“Better not mention you’re lusting after Cole to Liam,” Matt states, sounding annoyed.
“I’m not lusting after him,” I lie. “I was just stating a fact.”
“Whatever. Alleghany leaked his numbers from their preseason scrimmage, and Liam’s even more peeved than usual. Some girl was looking at posts from Cole’s birthday party in English earlier, and I swear I saw steam coming out of Liam’s ears,” Matt comments.
“Speaking of, did you see those? I get why Liam’s freaked. Cole doubled his passing yards. In a scrimmage!” Sam exclaims.
“Yeah, I saw them,” Matt says grimly. “I told Liam about the training rumors, but he didn’t believe me. Our practices are already insane, anyway. I don’t think there’s anything else we could be doing.”
“What training rumors?” Sarah asks.
“That Cole was training all summer instead of his usual partying and hooking up.”
Brooke laughs. “A guy after your own heart, Maeve.”
I shift awkwardly. If she only knew.
“I’ll be right back,” I inform my friends. “I forgot my cleats this morning, so I’ve got to call my mom and ask her to bring them.”
“Why don’t you just text her?” Sarah asks.
“She’s usually driving between showings,” I reply. “It’s easier to call.” It’s true, but she always responds to texts quickly. Glenmont doesn’t take long to drive around.
But I’m not calling my mother. I already texted her.
I stride over to the far wall of the cafeteria. It’s composed mostly of glass, allowing for an expansive view of the soccer and baseball fields spread out behind the building. I scuff the toe of my sneaker against a yellowed discoloration in the linoleum as I listen to the phone ring.
“Hey, Mom,” Wes answers casually.
“Weird way to answer the phone.”
“No, I can’t. I have practice until six tonight,” he adds loudly. Lowering his voice, he continues, “Hey, Stevens.”
“Nice intro.”