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“Where do you want to go?”
“My father wants me to go to Oregon, Texas A&M, UCLA. Or U of M like Brady did.”
“Those are great schools. But I asked where you want to go, not your father.” She smiles and it lights my insides on fire.
“I found out yesterday I got a full ride to Boston College. I really want to be at BC. I want to play for the team I rooted for as a kid. I want to be in my hometown and have my friends and family come see me. I want the town to be proud of the kid from Southie who made good.”
I look away from her and she lets me. I also want to be where my Ma and Law can see me play, and I can make sure they’re ok. He won’t try anything if one of us is close. When we were kids, he could get away with all kinds of shit, but since Robbie and I train constantly and are stronger than he anticipated, he watches his fucking step now.
She takes my hand. “Sounds settled to me.”
My father will rage. I’ll give Robbie a heads up. I rake her into my arms and kiss the top of her head. I pull my phone out and email my recruiter and college manager. I have to go to some office to eSign the commitment, and he’ll set up the actual signing here in Paris. Shit. I can’t believe it’s that easy or that I just did it.
“Are you always this decisive?” I ask.
She thinks for a second. “Not ever, I can’t remember the last time a decision was mine. Except skipping that lecture.” Her eyes are dancing.
She can tell me what that’s about in time but my world of stress just lifted. I’m going to sling the ball for Boston College. HOLY SHIT. I can’t fucking believe I’m going to be a Screaming Eagle.
I’m about to pull her towards me again when her phone rings. She frantically searches for it, like she’ll be punished if she lets it go. She turns away from me and smiles at her phone.
“Hello!”
A man says, “Bonjour. Salut, mon petit menteur.”
I sit straight up because he called her a little liar. She plasters on a super fake smile and glances over at me.
“Dad—”
Oh, shit. He knows she ditched. I put my hand on her knee. She flinches and moves away.
“Dad, why would you call me a liar?”
“En français.”
“Papa, pourquoi me traites-tu de menteur?”
Her face scrunches up. I slide a little closer to support her. This is intense. I’m out of view of the phone, but she still scoots away from me. WTF.
He says, “Because, young lady, you promised you wouldn’t slack off in France. You’d be the good student your mother and I trusted you to be. And you’ve already disappointed us by skipping class.”
“I didn’t really.”
“I can see you’re on the Metro.” Why did she pick up FaceTime?
“I already passed that class, Dad. It’s review. I could take the test today,” she pleads with him and moves further away from me. I don’t like any of this.
“En français!” His voice booms through the train, and everyone looks. Her eyes begin to glass over.
This guy needs to meet my pops. They’d probably hate each other, resulting in a bar fight brought on by my dad saying, “You think you’re better than me?” I have a hunch her dad would reply, “Yes.” But neither of them is correct.
She says nothing, and I can tell she wants to run away from me. That’s not going to happen. I know a thing or two about fucking bullies.
“Oui, Monsieur. Mes excuses. Je ne suis pas nécessaire dans cette classe et j’ai un après-midi libre. Je me dirige vers.”
She freaking apologized. The fucking class is an elective.
How she acts when she gets off this phone call will teach me a new thing about her. If she cries because she disappointed him, then I’m not sure she’s the person I’m infatuated with. But if she’s pissed about how she handled it, well, then she’s exactly the girl I think she is.
