Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
It stunned her, and in her eyes, I watched the battle wage between the OSU fan and the mother who wanted her daughter to be happy. It was surprisingly short, and ended in my favor. “Well,” she whispered, “that’s”—she struggled over the words—“going to take some getting used to.”
She looked horribly uncomfortable, and my father stared at the tabletop like he’d rather be anywhere else, but I felt lighter. Admitting it to both my parents and myself was freeing.
My mother leaned her elbows on the table. “I know how much cheerleading means to you, but, Kayla, I think you know what you need to do here.”
My dad abruptly joined the conversation, and his eyes sparkled with amusement. “How about you give the book to me? I’ll look through it, make some notes. See if there’s any room for improvement before you drive it back to him.”
Neither my mom or I cracked a smile. He shrugged, dug out his keys, and slid them across the table toward my mother. “You should drive her.”
She shot him a look that said, you’ve got to be joking, and passed the keys on to me. “No. Baby steps, Bob. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact our daughter loves a Wolverine.”
I looked at the playbook. I grabbed it, stuffed it in my bag, and picked up the keys. “Thank you.”
“Don’t speed,” my dad warned. “You get caught by a state trooper and they find that book? They’ll throw your ass in jail for not turning it over to Coach Vaughn.”
I was sure he wasn’t joking.
I tried not to speed, but Jay’s phone went straight to voicemail when I called him repeatedly, and he didn’t return any of my messages. It was the eve of The Game and potentially the biggest one in Michigan’s history, so he was probably shuffled from practice, to the team dinner, and to a press conference. If the coaching staff was like ours, he’d get in trouble just for looking at his phone.
When I got to the campus and parked, I scrolled through websites on my phone until I found the location of the rally. I’d have to run. I tucked the playbook under an arm, and flew—
Crap! I skidded to a stop. I was still wearing my red OSU cheerleading warm-ups. Back to the car I went, stripping down to a pair of black shorts and a plain white t-shirt. And it made me realize I wasn’t being smart about this.
I yanked my organizational binder out of my backpack—thank God it didn’t say OSU on it—and popped open the rings, pulling the papers out and chucked them in the car. Then, I closed the smaller playbook inside the binder, disguising it.
I ran fast, not only because I was in a hurry, but to avoid the frostbite. It was freezing outside. I didn’t have to use my phone long to tell me where I was going. I ended up following the mob.
A temporary stage had been erected in front of the fieldhouse. Football players, cheerleaders and coaching staff looked out onto the parking lot before them, which was packed with Michigan fans. It was a carpet of blue and yellow. I couldn’t see Jay at first, but my heart lurched when I did. He looked nervous, and it was a shock to the system to see my confident boyfriend like that. How the hell was I going to get to him?
I shivered in the cold and scanned the crowd until I spotted what I was looking for.
“Hey, you!” I yelled, overly enthusiastic.
The guy was sitting on a bench, and worked on a homemade sign that read “Hail Yes!” He turned his attention to me and stared with disbelief. He was probably trying to figure out where he knew me from as I jogged over.
“Hey . . . you,” he repeated, skeptical.
“Can I borrow that?” I gestured to his large blue marker, and didn’t wait for an answer.
I set the binder down on the empty bench and plucked the fat marker from his hand. He watched me critically as I pulled my shirt away from my body and wrote ‘Go Blue’ on the tight white cotton in big letters, two lines. It was probably lopsided since I had to scribble upside-down, but it would work.
“Thanks,” I said, capping the marker and tossing it back to him.
He was looking at me funny. Actually, he was looking at my chest funny. I glanced down and cursed. When the shirt had snapped back into place, the “G” and the “O” each circled a boob. I looked ridiculous.
The crowd was dense as I got closer to the stage, but the good thing about being petite was I could slip through tight spaces. I worked my way up to the front of the temporary railing, but I was still too far away, and there was an army of security guys between me and Jay.