A God in Carver (Carver High #1) Page 4

  “That’s exactly what it would be – you’re ticket out. The money those girls make is ridiculous. You could take a few jobs, put some money away then do whatever the hell you wanted – go to school or find another job. Personally, for some unknown reason, I like you and I don’t want to see you go but I think you have a real shot of being someone bigger than the Tatum Austin that lives in Carver. Think about it,” she says before heading back to her tables.

  I do, for about two seconds, before getting back to reality. I bring Angel his salad and glass of water, trying hard to ignore him as I do so.

  “So how did the interview go?” he asks me.

  “Just fine.”

  “Did you ask him the questions I gave you?”

  “Every single one.”

  “Seriously?”

  I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “Can I have the tape?”

  “If I give it to you will you leave?”

  “If you really want me to,” he says with what I can only assume is his version of a charming smile.

  “Yes, I really want you to,” I tell him, heading to my cubby in the back room to get him his stupid tape recorder.

  I throw it down on his table along with his bill. “You better leave me a big tip or I’m off your staff.” As I turn around I see Brandon, Summer, Nash, Reggie, Jolee, Presley, August and his girlfriend Kali walking through the door. Nash turns and winks at me, Brandon gives me a scowl. Perfect.

  I hear Angel laughing next to me. “Looks like he’s not happy about the interview.”

  “You can leave now,” I tell him, heading over to greet my new guests.

  Nash grabs a hold of my ass and squeezes it as soon as I’m within reaching distance. Jolee, who’s taken the spot next to him, scoots her stool closer to his side and smiles at me. “So, Presley tells me you’ve decided that Nash doesn’t get to have a spirit girl assigned to him.”

  “Hmm… is that what I said?” I ask, looking at Presley. It’s amazing how one stupid ribbon can make a girl look. Without it I notice that she doesn’t fit the spirit girl image. Her hair is black with deep red streaks running through it, she wears oversized glasses as she stares at the menu an there’s a stud in her cute little nose.

  She takes her eyes from the menu and looks at me. “No. You said that he didn’t need a spirit girl because every girl at Carver High would make him cupcakes and get on her knees for him without a title.”

  Everyone at the table, except for Jolee and Brandon, laughs and Reggie gives Nash a high five, which he accepts.

  “That sounds about right. I’m guessing you’re standing right at the front of that line,” I tell Jolee.

  “Sounds like you don’t want the job and I’m willing to work over-time to support these guys. So, yeah, I’m willing to stand at the front of that line.”

  “Ooh,” Reggie taunts, dancing around in his chair like we’re his paid entertainment.

  “Tell you what, Jolee, I’ll let you take care of the baked goods, locker decorating, homework and whatever other slave labor he needs you to perform and I’ll take care of everything else.”

  I catch a glance at Presley who’s shaking her head and I realize that I just got sucked into admitting I’m no better than the spirit girls.

  I take their orders and spend the next hour serving them. Nash flirts with Jolee shamelessly, both Presley and Summer give me sympathetic smiles, Reggie has no problem propositioning me several times in front of Nash and Brandon avoids me completely. By the time I bring them their check, which only includes what the girls ordered, I’m ready to see them all go.

  “Call me when you get off and I’ll meet you at your place,” Nash says, grabbing a hold of my ass and dragging me between his legs.

  “I think I’ll let you have some fun with your friends tonight. It’s ladies night at Broncos.”

  He stares at me for a moment before a lazy smile crosses his lips. “Alright, you girls have fun. I’ll catch you at school tomorrow,” he tells me, kissing me on my neck before standing up and leaving with his friends.

  “Bye,” I mutter as he walks away. I watch him through the window as he wraps one arm around Jolee and one around Presley. Chances are he’s going to do something with one of them tonight since I’m choosing not to spend it with him.

  My entire life is a joke.

  Without thinking about it, I stalk to the back of the house and tell Corey, “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Take my picture and send it to your cousin. I want to get the hell out of here.”

  6

  “Hey, I’ve been looking all over for you,” Angel says, taking a seat at the table I’m at in the library. I couldn’t get the ladies to leave Broncos until closing time last night so my, now free, first period is my last chance to get my algebra done and the last thing I need is this new addition to my life talking in my ear.

  “I have exactly forty minutes to get this assignment done. Whatever you came here to say to me is gonna have to wait.”

  He looks over my paper. “That one’s wrong,” he tells me, pointing to the equation I just spent the last ten minutes solving.

  “How do you know that from looking at it for a split second?”

  “When you square a negative number you get a positive result. A negative times a negative is positive.”

  “What the hell is the point of all of this?” I ask myself, throwing my pencil down on the table.

  “Hey, don’t give up. You got the rest of them right. You’re doing fine.” He picks up my pencil and erases the second half of the equation and tells me to start over.

  Reluctantly, and out of fear of failing another assignment, I do what he says. He helps me work through the rest of my sheet, explaining to me in simplified terms what the hell is going on, and before I know it I actually have the entire thing done and Angel has assured me they’re all correct.

  I pick up my phone and see that I still have ten minutes to spare before I have to get to class. I look at him. His elbow’s on the table and he’s relaxed against his hand, staring at me with a big smile. “Thank you.”

  “Do you really mean that? Because your tone is telling me you don’t really mean that.”

  “You want some kind of award?”

  “Sure. I mean, if you have one I’ll take it. I am a genius so I probably deserve one.”

  “Must be nice,” I tell him, shoving my books in my bag.

  “Thanks to me, you’ve got a few minutes. I want to talk to you about the paper.”

  “What about it?”

  “I was being a prick yesterday. I made you ask Brandon those questions because I figured you wouldn’t do it. I thought you were one of them.”

  “I’m not one of anyone,” I tell him bitingly. God, this kid really is an asshole.

  “I get that now. I wasn’t going to make you write the article, but I think you should.”

  “Is this another test?”

  “Maybe, but I think it’s only fair. I mean, let’s face it Tatum, there are kids in this school who deserve a position on the paper more than you do. Or maybe not. I need to see your writing.”

  I cock my head at him. He thinks he’s got something on me and I don’t like being tested or given ultimatums. “I’ve seen the articles that have been written about Brandon and the rest of the players. They’re all the same: a recap of their accomplishments and speculation on how bright their futures are. They’re all boring. They’re the kind of articles people expect to see in a crappy high school paper like The Carver Observer.

  “I can give you something different. Something that people will actually want to read. I loathe football and the way this town treats the game and the kids that play it. I’m not one of them but I used to be. They’ll open up to me and tell me something other than how they plan to help their team get to the State Championship. If you’re not afraid Angel, I’ll write the articles.”

  He’s practically salivating as he stares at me. “Do you have a plan?�
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  “I do. But let’s get something straight – you don’t get to tell me what to do or test me. And… you meet me here every morning to help me with my math.”

  “Fine, but I’m still your editor which means I get to write the questions and listen to the interviews and, as your editor, if I feel like you’re leaving out crucial information just because you think it will hurt their reputation, I’m taking over. And if it turns out you can’t write for shit, I’m taking over then too.”

  “Trust me, if they want to condemn themselves, I’ll let them do it. And you don’t have to worry about my writing - I’ve seen your work in the paper… I can guarantee I can write a better article than you, genius.”

  “Good. I hope you prove me wrong.”

  “I’m glad you have such low expectations of me,” I tell him, standing and heading out of the library wondering what the hell my big mouth just got me into.

  Nash, and therefore a gaggle of pining girls, are waiting for me at my locker. “Can you clear them out so I can get my things out of my locker,” I ask him over the girl’s heads.

  “Sexy girl coming through, clear out,” he tells them. I smile condescendingly as they all turn to me before walking away.

  “What is it with you and those girls, huh? I mean, I’m just as good looking as you and I don’t have a herd of men following me around everywhere I go,” I ask him as I turn the dial on my lock.

  He leans against the locker next to mine and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m nice Tatum and you… aren’t – every guy here is terrified of you.”

  “So you like it. You’re nice to them just so they’ll pay attention to you.”

  “I’m just nice. To everyone. I like to make people happy and if staring at my huge muscles and handsome face make them happy I don’t see why I would get in the way of that.”

  “That’s sweet, Nash. You’re concern for their happiness is so damn sweet.”

  He laughs and cocks his head at me. “So how was Broncos? Did you find a sexy cowboy to take you for a ride on his horse?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I tell him, shutting my locker and facing him.

  “Is there something to know?”

  “If I were to answer that I would feel obligated to ask you how your night went and I don’t want to do that because then I would be smacked with a mental image of you having sex with that skank, Jolee, and then I might not ever let you back into my bed.”

  “You know we could avoid all of this.”

  I turn and head down the hallway with him following. “I don’t think we could. We tried that once, remember? It didn’t work out so well for me.”

  “That was tenth grade, Tatum. You caught me kissing Missy Wextrom under the bleachers. I didn’t even have my hand up her shirt.”

  “And why were you under the bleachers with her?”

  “Because you wouldn’t come to any of my games and she did. First row, every single game. She’s still there for me, every single game, front and center in her number seventeen jersey,” he says, laughing and wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

  “Not much has changed. I’m still not going to your games or your football parties or your football dinners or your football rallies, parades, meetings or football gatherings of any sort. And you, Nash, are still going to need a pretty little piece of ass to be there for you cheering you on.”

  “I’m not asking you to come to any of my football functions.”

  “Well good, ‘cause I’m not going to and I shouldn’t have to point out to you that football functions take up ninety nine percent of your free time at the moment. And you cannot spend ninety nine percent of your free without the company of a willing girl.”

  “Okay, fine. But you’re still coming with me on Thursday, right?” he asks as we walk into algebra and take our seats.

  “If you do something for me,” I say, turning around in my seat to face him.

  “Name it, baby. I’ll do anything for you.”

  “I need to interview you for the paper.”

  He stutters a laugh. “I just told you I’d do anything for you and that’s what you’re asking me for?”

  I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “Yeah, sounds good. Just let me know when.”

  “Why don’t you come by after I get off of work? We can do it in my bed.”

  “Yes. Now you’re making some reasonable requests.”

  “Tatum, if you wouldn’t mind joining the class,” Mrs. Doyle says. I turn around and she gives me a pointed stare before saying, “Pass your assignments to the front please.”

  Nash passes me his work and, as always, it’s done in a script that is clearly not his. I add mine to the top and pass the stack forward. When they reach Mrs. Doyle she pages through them and pauses at mine, glancing over it and then smiling at me. I feel the smallest gleam of satisfaction knowing I actually got my work done and did it right and that I didn’t have to use the assets God gave me in order to do it. If Nash had any sense at all he would care about the fact that when high school is over he won’t have anything to show for it except for memories, just like seventy percent of this town.

  7

  Nash showed up at my work drunk. Again. Corey’s pissed at me because I had to leave early to get him out of there. Again. The only reason I’m being as nice as I am is because he only gets this drunk when he’s fighting with his family and I know how much it bothers him when they fight.

  We drive in silence. There’s only one thing to talk about – whatever’s going on with him and his dad or his brother or both of them but Nash doesn’t like to talk about his family life. So, really, there’s nothing to talk about.

  When we walk in the house it’s dead silent. Tally’s at work, but it’s only ten o’clock which means Mom is either out getting drunk, or she’s already done that and she’s passed out somewhere – hopefully in her bed. I open her bedroom door and see her fully clothed on top of her bed, an empty bottle of wine on the floor next to her. I check to make sure she’s breathing then cover her up and turn off her light. When I head back out to the living room Nash is sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer in his hand. I grab one for myself and join him.

  He takes a moment to run his eyes over my half top and short, pleated skirt. “I like cheerleader nights,” he tells me, trying to play Nash Carter, but he’s doing a shitty job of it. It’s obvious he’s in a crap mood.

  “You know you don’t have to keep up that jovial act for me.”

  “I don’t even know what that means, Tatum.”

  “If you want to just sit there and be in a piss poor mood, it’s fine by me. I’m not one of your adoring fans - you don’t have to smile or talk or act like things are good when they aren’t.”

  “Everything’s good. It’s not an act.”

  “Okay, Nash. Whatever. I’m gonna wash up and get changed. You alright for a few minutes?”

  “I’m sure I’ll survive without you.”

  As I wash my face and brush my teeth I try not to get angry with Nash. This is how he’s always been. It’s how his daddy raised him – to be a man. A man without emotions unless that emotion is anger. A man that doesn’t talk about his feelings. I can’t take it personally that he never opens up to me. He never opens up to anyone. I should just be happy that the other part of being a man that his daddy instilled in him and Nate – the violent part – only shows itself on the field. At least he’s not Nate, I think to myself as I pull on a pair of sweats and a tank top.

  As I walk back out to the living room Nash gives me his easy smile. The one that he’s known for. The one that makes guys trust and like him and the one that turns women into puddles. “Why are you sitting all the way over there?”

  “You don’t really seem like you’re in the mood for company.”

  “I’m always in the mood if the company’s you.”

  “You really do look like you could use a shoulder to cry on,” I tell him, moving to the couch and settling myself under his arm.r />
  “You were supposed to interview me tonight,” he reminds me.

  “It’s not urgent. We can do it a different time.”

  “Brandon was pretty pissed about the questions you were asking him.”

  “Yeah? Well, he shouldn’t be. I didn’t ask him anything unreasonable.”

  “He won’t shut up about you this week.”

  “I have a talent for getting under people’s skin. He’s not used to having people not like him. His smile’s almost as charming as yours.”

  “I don’t know if that’s it, Tatum. What’s going on with you two?”

  “What kind of stupid question is that? Nothing’s going on with us – same as it’s been for the last five years.”

  “Seems like he suddenly wants back in your life,” he says like the idea pisses him off, like I did something that would warrant him being pissed off.

  I sit up out of his arm. “Why the hell are we talking about me? About crap I don’t want to talk about? Is it because you want to forget about your own problems and you think making up problems that I don’t even have will make you feel better? I mean, you’re right. You are the one who was supposed to be interviewed tonight. Not me.”

  “I’m here, just like I said I would be. Interview away. I’m right here.”

  “You realize that this isn’t a joke; that whatever questions I ask you and whatever answers you give me are going in print. For people to read.”

  “It’s the school paper, Tatum. No one reads that shit.”

  “Okay then. Let me just get my tape recorder and we’ll get started,” I tell him, standing up and stomping over to my bag, retrieving my recorder and the questions Angel wrote out for me. I hit record and set it on the couch between us. “You ready, Nash?”

  “Always.”

  “There’s been a lot of talk surrounding quarterback Brandon Eastman this season. Some people even say the team would be nothing without him. How does that make you feel?”

  “Well, good. I mean, he deserves it. Have you seen that kid throw a ball? There’s no one else like him.”