Catching Jordan Read Free

“living life like I’m going to hel tomorrow.”
    But I feel like a normal teenager. Wel , as normal as I can be. I mean, obviously I think Justin Timberlake is a mega-hunk, but I’m also over six feet tal and can launch a footbal fifty yards.
    Other ways I’m not normal?
    A girl who hangs with an entire footbal team must hook up al the time, right?
    Nope.
    I’ve never had a boyfriend. Hel , I’ve never even kissed a guy. The closest I’ve ever come to a kiss happened just this past summer, but it was a joke. At a party, one of those cheerleaders suggested we al play a game of seven minutes in heaven, you know, the game where you go into a closet and kiss? Somehow Henry and I got sent into the closet together, and of course we didn’t kiss, but we ended up in a mad thumb-wrestling match. Which turned into a shoving match. Which turned into everyone thinking we’d hooked up in the closet. Yeah, right. He’s like my brother.
    It’s not that guys aren’t interested in me, because they are, it’s that most of the guys I know are either:
    1. Shorter than me;
    2. Pansies;
    3. On my team;
    4. Al of the above.
     
    I would never let myself date guys on my team. And I’m not interested in any of them anyway. Riding buses to and from games for years has turned me off to al of them ’cause one bus ride with my team produces more gas than a landfil .
    Besides, I don’t have time for guys, and if I suddenly were to start acting like a girl, the team might not take me seriously. And I can’t afford to lose my confidence—because I’m the star of the Hundred Oaks Red Raiders.
    The star Alabama wil love on Friday night.

knee problems
    the count? 20 days until alabama “Take five,” Coach cal s out.
    Wednesday afternoon. Two days until our opening game.
    I rip my helmet off, jog over to the bench, take a seat, and open my playbook.
    “Woods,” Henry says, sliding up next to me on the bench. “Take a break.”
    “I couldn’t get the timing for the screen pass right.”
    He leans over onto his knees and spits between his cleats. “You saved the play by handing off to Bates. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
    “How can you be so calm?”
    Looking over at me, his blond curls fal into his eyes. “I’m not scared for you. You’re the best player in Tennessee.” He laughs. “But me, I should be learning how to drive a semi like my dad or practicing how to say, ‘Attention Wal-Mart shoppers, do not, I repeat, do not go in the men’s restroom until further notice. We’ve had an atomic disaster.’”
    I laugh. “Stop. You’re the fastest person I know—if you can’t get a scholarship to play bal in col ege, no one can. You’re a kickass wide receiver, and you’re smart.”
    Smiling, he leans back and folds his hands on top of his stomach. “Are we stil on to do something after practice?”
    “I should watch more film…”
    “Woods, you promised!” He scrunches up his face at me.
    “I doubt Liz Heaston and Ashley Martin partied much in high school.”
    “I’m not talking about partying. I’m talking about you and me hanging out—same ole, same ole. Besides, they were kickers. It doesn’t take a lot to kick an extra point.”
    “And look at them! Liz Heaston? Two extra points in her whole col ege career! And that was just Division I I. And Ashley? Wel , sure. She kicked three in a game. And that was Division I—Jacksonvil e State, but stil .” I shake my head. “I wanna play for real.”
    “But we’ve barely seen each other in a week,” he says quietly, and I think about how much it would suck to achieve my dream of playing for Alabama but have no one to share it with, ’cause my best friend has found better stuff to do.
    “Forget the film—we’l go out. Just us, right?”
    “Of course.” He leans over onto his knees and says, “So what do you think of Marie Baird?”
    “She’s better than Kristen, I guess.”
    “I’m thinking of asking Marie out.”
    “What happened to