Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1) - R.S. Grey Page 0,84
Gossip site after gossip site, magazine after magazine, Facebook post after Facebook post…I was officially the most hated person on the internet.
She’ll never be Caroline.
Shouldn’t she be focused on the games?! How does she have time to become a mistress?
She’s pure trash. She couldn’t keep her legs closed for a few weeks? What part of ENGAGED didn’t she understand?
I refuse to watch the game today! I won’t be supporting her OR her career. #Loser
She’s pretty, but she’s nothing compared to Caroline.
#TeamCaroline
Is anyone else boycotting the soccer game today?
My daughter looks up to these girls.
How does #AndieFoster still have any sponsorships?
What a whore.
I was still reading through #AndieFoster on Twitter when Kinsley and Becca pulled my phone out of my hand.
“Stop! I was reading those.”
Kinsley shook her head. “No. It’s not healthy, Andie. Those people don’t know you. They’re bored and stupid. Ignore them. They’ll be on to the next story in a few days.”
I stared back down at the paper, wrinkly and smeared with tears. “She sent the story.”
“I saw it.”
Of course she’d seen it. Everyone had fucking seen it. Every person I’d gone to high school with, every girl on my college soccer team, my parents, grandparents, enemies, friends. Every single person was waking up across the world and reading the #1 headline on every major news outlet: me.
Kinsley dropped to the floor and wrapped me up in her arms. “I’m so sorry, Andie.”
My tears mixed into her hair as she held me there, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around me.
“What happens now, Kinsley?”
“I honestly don’t know, but there was a media shitshow after everyone found out I was seeing Liam while he was my coach, and here’s what I wish someone had told me then: you’re an adult, and you haven’t done anything wrong—even though they want you to think you have. There’s a little bit of blood in the water, and they think they’re sharks, but they’re actually vultures, Andie, and if you don’t give them anything, they’re powerless. Hold your head up high.”
Easier said than done.
As I got ready for the game—well, got ready to sit on the bench and watch the game—I fielded phone calls from my mom, my dad, my manager, Coach Decker, and a dozen or so unknown numbers that kept hounding me. I ignored everyone I could and spoke briefly with everyone I couldn’t. My nerves were shot and my emotions were raw. I finally stopped crying long enough to dab concealer under my eyes and brush on a bit of mascara, but I knew it’d be gone well before the end of the day. Kinsley and Becca had everything waiting for me by the door when I was ready to leave. We walked in silence to the elevators and then stepped inside when the heavy doors slid open. There were already people inside and when I took a spot near the doors, all conversation came to a screeching halt.
“Are you Andie Foster?” one guy asked.
I kept my eyes on the doors and stayed silent.
“Hey baby, where’s that mask?”
“That’s enough,” Kinsley snapped, turning around and leveling him with a sharp stare. I could feel the tears starting again, but I took a shaky breath and willed them away. Stupid Elevator Guy was only the start of it. As we made our way through the lobby, I heard the whispers and chatter.
“She doesn’t look like a slut,” one girl said to her friend before they both broke out into laughter.
I ignored them and pushed through the glass doors, anxious to step into our team’s bus. Kinsley and Becca led the way and I took the first full breath of the morning once the door closed behind me. Coach Decker was sitting up front with Liam. She offered me a short nod.
“Chin up, Foster. Let today be about soccer and nothing else.”
I nodded, trying to absorb her words, but it didn’t help. As I walked down the aisle of our bus, I felt the stares from my teammates. Most of the people who should have been there for me the most were just as curious, wide-eyed, and annoyed with me as anyone else. They might’ve stood behind me before the injury, but now I was no more than a distraction to them. I moved to take a spot beside Michelle near the back, but she reached for her gym bag and tossed it on the seat just before I moved to sit.
“Sorry, need the space,” she said, slipping her earbuds in and turning to