Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,26

the best buddy a guy can have.

At 2 a.m. on the dot, my phone buzzes. Instead of being annoyed and pissed at the world for being woken up, I shoot straight up and snatch the phone. My body must’ve been ready for her. For her texts, I mean.

Dang it.

Marisa: You awake?

Now I am. I squint at the bright screen as I type. Yeah. Dont you ever sleep girl?

Marisa: Insomnia is NOT my friend. Im wasting time by watching youtube videos. I just watched the chipper jones retirement ceremony. SO MANY FEELINGS.

That’s one thing that would beat sleeping. Its like u want me to drive over there at 2am

Time ticks by, minute by minute. She’s either fallen asleep, or I’ve crossed the creeper line. I put the phone back on its charger, but the second I relax against my pillows, the phone buzzes again. I snatch it up.

Marisa: Maybe.

Well, hell.

Don’t tempt me. I can make it happen. I can have my shoes on and be out the door in less than sixty seconds. Just say the word. Say the word.

Please say the word?

Marisa: Don’t you have a test AND practice tmrw? You cant be driving across town this late.

Correction: I totally can. For her, I’d miss an entire night of sleep. But she does have a point. Practice kicking into full swing means that sleep is going to be nearly non-existent for the next few months. Youre no fun, I type back.

Marisa: Night, Austin. Good luck on your test. =)

Total buzzkill. In the best possible way.

chapter eight

Let it be known that I am a CHEMISTRY GENIUS. Okay, not really, but I did just knock my test out of the park. I think.

Once again, everyone’s already cleared out of the classroom by the time I finish my test. At least this time I’m not ready to slam my head against a wall. With a wide smile, I grab my bags and take my test to Mr. Matthews’s desk, placing it front and center. He holds my gaze while picking it up.

“You seem a lot more confident,” he says.

My smile grows. “I got a tutor.”

Nodding, he peers at my test. “No blank answers. That’s a good start toward passing.”

A guy can hope.

He grabs a red marker from his penholder. My eyes widen. “You know, I think I’ll grade it now so we can see where you stand. Practice starts today, right?”

Does he want me to pass out cold on his floor?

Before I can muster a response, he takes the marker to the page. Yeah, I can’t watch. I whirl around and stare at the back wall, which is covered with a blown-up version of the periodic table. Shame that wasn’t up when I took my last test.

“Austin,” he says a moment later. Cringing, I turn back around. He holds the paper out for me, facedown. My hand trembles ever-so-slightly as I take it from him.

Seventy-two. Not genius-level, but it’s a C. I’ll take it.

“Significantly better.” He recaps the marker and leans forward. “I’d say your tutor’s earned a thank-you. Keep that up along with your homework and participation grades, and you won’t have a thing to worry about come March.”

My shoulders drop as I blow out a breath. I’ve got a ways to go, but this is one heck of a start. “Thank you, sir.”

I hurry into the hallway and duck into the restroom so I can change for practice. The locker room’s better, but on Coach’s field, if you’re not early, you’re late. Every minute counts. After locking the stall door, I kick off my boots and jeans and stuff them into my gear bag. As I tug on my practice pants, my phone buzzes from inside my bag. And again. And again. And again.

What the actual hell.

I dig into the bag and grab my phone from my jeans pocket. Four texts light up its screen.

There’s one from Brett, reminding me that practice starts today. No shit.

One from Eric, telling me they’re on the field. I’m coming.

Another from Jay, asking where the hell I’m at. Calm yourself.

And finally there’s Marisa, asking how my test went. She gets a reply. She’s prettier than the other three.

Test went good, I type back. OMW to practice. Hows work? I place the phone on the floor, even though the germs on a guys’ bathroom floor likely rival any hotel bed sheet. I yank off my shirt and replace it with a fresh T-shirt. The phone buzzes, echoing against the tile. I plop down on the floor