In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,48

his health, because you are the most important thing in his life.”

“Zack, he’s—”

“Marnye.” His voice is hard, firm. He forces my panic into retreat, and for the first time in nearly a half an hour, I’m able to get control of myself. “Your dad is here to see you dance, not cry.” Zack smiles to soften his words and then cups the side of my face in a huge palm. He’s got those black lines on his cheeks that football players always smudge on, and I smile. I’d be checking him out if I weren’t still stopping myself from crying. “Let’s go out there together, and put on brave faces, okay?”

“Thank you,” I tell him, and I mean it. He sees my vulnerability, and it doesn’t scare him away. We take hands and head into the hall, meeting Charlie at the row of cars outside.

Surprisingly enough, Isabella is standing there with Jennifer and the baby.

“We waited for you,” Jenn says, smiling, and I can’t decide if she’s full of shit or if she just feels sorry for me because Charlie is clearly dying. She left me with just one parent, and he became my whole world, my whole heart … and he’s not going to be around as long as I need him to be.

I won’t lie to you: it takes effort for me to sit there in that car with her.

“I can’t wait to see you dance tonight,” Dad tells me, smiling, the skin on his face crinkling in unfamiliar ways. It’s like he has too much; he just looks gaunt. I should drop out of school and take care of him. The thing is, I know Windsor isn’t skimping on his care. He recently sent me a bunch of profiles for home health aides, so I could pick one to send home to help Charlie with everyday chores.

But … time spent at home with him would be worth more than time at school, right? In the grand scheme of life, quality time with loved ones far supersedes academic endeavors.

“You know I’ve always been clumsy as hell,” I say, forcing a grin as Zack squeezes my hand. “It took me a lot to get to this point. Just don’t make fun of me when I’m the worst one on the team.” Charlie laughs and pulls me close, smiling at me … and then letting his eyes linger on Jennifer and the baby in her arms, on Isabella …

“I bet you’re the best dancer, Marnye. You’ve always been good at everything you do.”

The limo rumbles down the hill, but Isabella never looks at me. Jennifer makes small talk, but only Zack returns her constant chatter.

It’s a huge relief when we get to the field and climb out, separating to head to our various activities: Charlie, Jennifer, the baby—whose name is actually Marley, too much like a mixture of mine and Charlie’s for comfort—and Isabella head into the bleachers to watch while Zack trots onto the field, and I join the cheerleading squad.

The scouts aren’t hard to spot in the audience. By the time half-time rolls around, I know exactly which ones they are. They rarely smile, but they get excited when Zack does something just right. Jalen, too, for that matter which sucks. Jalen doesn’t deserve to be quarterback, doesn’t deserve to be scouted. I learned from Miranda during one of our slumber party chats that he used to lie to Ebony and tell her he was wearing a condom when he wasn’t.

That’s sexual assault, in my book.

Now I don’t feel nearly as bad for revealing that she was planning on cheating on him.

Just before our half-time show starts, I notice Zack slipping money into a player’s hand from the other team. It’s such a weird thing to notice, this subtle clasping of palms. But I don’t miss the wad of green that passes between him and Corb Lambert, the star player for Grenadine Heights.

Huh.

Is Zack paying him to throw the game or something? He wouldn’t though. I mean, I don’t think Zack would do that and I don’t believe that Corb would risk his chance of getting scouted for some chump change.

I don’t have time to worry about it before the show, getting in formation with the group, and executing our dance. We’ve been using these games as practices for our own competitions, rather than anything more than that. Cheerleading isn’t what it used to be, just some throw away sport to support the boys. It’s a full-blown athletic