Close to Me Read online

  Close to Me

  Monica Murphy

  Contents

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  Untitled

  Prologue

  Freshman Year

  Chapter 1

  Sophomore Year

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Junior Year

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Untitled

  Senior Year

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Untitled

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  Falling For Her

  Did you know?

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Monica Murphy

  About the Author

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  We were

  Just friends

  That spoke like lovers

  And that seemed to be enough for

  Two teenagers who were scared to love one

  another.

  (k.a.t.)

  Prologue

  There are significant moments in life, ones you can’t help but keep tucked into your memory banks. Even if you don’t want them, they’re in there. Lingering. Reappearing when you don’t want to remember. Making themselves known during a particular time, almost as if to say, “Ha, told you so.”

  Those are the worst.

  Mostly, when I look back on those times, I think, That’s where it all changed.

  I’ve had moments like that with one person in particular. I didn’t want him in my life, though he was always there. I ignored him, which wasn’t easy considering the small school we both attend. Pretending someone doesn’t exist doesn’t mean they’re invisible, though.

  I still saw him. How could I not?

  And it doesn’t mean I was invisible either. He still saw me.

  He saw right through me.

  Freshman Year

  One

  I met him the first week of school.

  I was mad.

  Pissed at my parents. Pissed at the world.

  A fourteen-year-old girl with a grudge and a fuck-you attitude is the worst thing ever. Trust me.

  But deep down, I was alone and sad and I had no friends. We moved to this small, nowhere town the summer after eighth grade, and the resentment built within me, slowly but surely, with every day that passed. I felt it grow, until it threatened to choke me, consume me by the first day of school.

  I show up on campus, no one paying any attention to me, and that hurt. The high school was small, cliquey. Most everyone had gone to school with each other since the dawn of time, and I was an outsider. After being there for a couple of days, I could tell they weren’t really interested in me.

  Except for one.

  I’m waiting for my mom to pick me up after school when I hear someone speak.

  “What’s your name?”

  Those were the first words he said to me. This boy is older, I can tell. A junior, I think. Cocky, confident, hot. During lunch, everyone called him JT and I heard someone mention he was the quarterback of the varsity football team. That should’ve been my first clue, but at the time, I was clueless.

  All I cared about was that he actually spoke to me.

  “Um.” I stand up a little taller, tossing my hair behind my shoulder with a careless flick of my fingers. “Autumn.”

  He smiles, revealing bright white teeth. “Well, Um Autumn, it’s nice to meet you. I’m JT.”

  When he extends his hand out toward me, I stare at it stupidly for a moment, not sure of what to do next. Dumb, right?

  “Hi.” I finally take his hand and shake it, a little too enthusiastically.

  The moment he releases my hand he takes a step back, slipping his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. He’s tall and lanky and has dirty blond hair and blue eyes. He’s the most popular boy in school and no one had to tell me that.

  I just knew.

  “Maybe we could hang out sometime,” he says with a shrug and a little smile, like no big deal.

  This is a huge deal. Maybe not to him, but definitely to me.

  “Um, sure.” I nod, shocked and pleased he would say such a thing.

  “We should talk on Snap,” he continues.

  My parents won’t let me have Snapchat. Dad says I’m too young, but he’s so overprotective, it’s ridiculous. Mom thinks he’s being too strict, and I agree with her.

  “I don’t have Snap,” I admit, feeling like a little girl when I see the surprise etched all over JT’s face.

  “You should get it. Let me know when you do.” He smiles and starts walking. “Bye, Um Autumn.”

  “Bye,” I call, watching him leave. A sigh escapes me once he rounds the building and disappears, and that’s when I hear someone laugh.

  A boy.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I glare at the guy who’s sitting on the cement bench, head tilted to the side as he contemplates me, hair dark as coal falling over his forehead, covering one eye. I don’t recognize him, but that’s no surprise considering I’ve been at this school for only three days.

  “You really think Jonah Taylor wants to hang out with you?” he asks, as if he had been listening in on our entire conversation.

  I’m instantly pissed. A constant mood for me lately, yet I’m still not quite used to it. I’ve always been the good girl, and I definitely don’t tell people how I really feel.

  Turning to face him, I rest my hands on my hips. “Who the hell are you?”

  My outburst surprises me, but I remain cool. Anger is power, I remind myself.

  Besides, I have nothing to lose.

  “I’m your new best friend who’s going to tell it to you straight.” He leans back against the bench, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

  “I don’t need a new best friend.” I sound sulky, and maybe I’m feeling that way too. I didn’t want this guy to burst my JT-induced happy bubble.

  “Then let me offer up a word of advice.” He hesitates for barely a second. “Jonah Taylor could give two shits about you.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say sarcastically.

  He shrugs. “Just trying to keep it real.”

  “Are you friends with him?” Doubtful.

  The boy snorts. “Not really.”

  I knew it. “If you’re not friends with JT, then I really don’t think you should be offering me any advice about him.” I turn away from the jerk, eager to head for the pickup/drop off line where Mom is most likely waiting for me, when he says something that stops me dead in my tracks.

  “They made a bet about you. The whole varsity football team. Whoever’s the first one to get a
pussy shot from you on Snap or Insta or whatever wins one hundred bucks.”

  Say what? Slowly, I look at him over my shoulder once more. “What did you just say?”

  Another shrug. He doesn’t bother looking at me. Instead, he pulls a matchbook out of the ratty backpack sitting next to him, tearing a single match out before he runs the red tip across the roughened cement side of the bench. The match catches fire, and he brings the flame to his face, his eyes narrowing as he studies the orange glow. He’s holding the match so close, I’m afraid he might burn himself if he doesn’t watch it.

  I’m starting to think he’s a complete idiot.

  “They know who your dad is,” he offers casually, still not looking at me.

  Unease slithers down my spine. This means the boy knows who my dad is, too, and I hate that. No matter where I go, I can’t get away from the fact that my father is retired NFL superstar Drew Callahan.

  Sometimes it’s really annoying.

  “Do you know who he is?”

  The boy nods, remaining silent.

  “Are you in on this pussy shot bet?” I can’t believe the word pussy fell from my lips so easily. I don’t think I’ve ever said that word out loud before.

  He finally turns his focus on me, those big brown eyes meeting mine. “No.”

  I don’t believe him. “How do you know about it then?”

  “I hear talk.” Another shrug. “In the locker room.”

  Great. Just great. They’re talking about me in the locker room? “You’re on the football team too?”

  I find this hard to believe. He doesn’t look like a football player. He’s not big enough. Too skinny.

  “JV.”

  Junior varsity. Maybe he’s making this up. “What position do you play?”

  He shakes out the match and lets it fall to the ground. Thin tendrils of smoke rise from it before disappearing into the air. “Quarterback.”

  Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

  Forget this boy. Forget JT too. They’re all quarterbacks like my dad. Meaning they all want to get close to me because of my dad.

  Never because of me.

  Without another word, I turn and walk away, praying I never have to talk to him again.

  I didn’t ask his name, and he didn’t ask mine, but he knew who I was.

  Eventually, I’d know who he was too.

  Sophomore Year

  Two

  I’m spying. I’m good at it, better than my brother Jake, who crashes through a room even if there’s nothing to bump into, and then there’s my little sister, who has the biggest mouth EVER. Ava is eleven and a total pain in my ass. Mom says it’s because she looks up to me, that’s why Ava follows me everywhere.

  Whatever. She’s always getting in my business, digging through my room, going through my makeup, my face wash, my freaking tampons. Trying to steal my clothes, even though she’s smaller than me. It’s annoying.

  She’s annoying.

  And then there’s the baby of the family, Beck. He’s six, and he looks just like my dad, even more so than Jake. As in, Beck’s the actual spitting image of my father when he was the same age, and that melts our mom’s heart. Combine that with him being the youngest, and he has Mom wrapped tight around his dirty little finger.

  His finger is dirty because he’s the boy-est boy of all boys. When we moved to this house in the mountains, Beck’s heart filled with absolute joy over the fact that he had acres of land to explore. He’s always digging up something, even old animal bones, which is freaky. Falling and hurting himself is part of Beck’s daily life—he broke his arm last year and it didn’t even faze him, though I thought Dad was gonna flip out. Can’t wreck his throwing arm, you know.

  What Beck really is, is totally lovable. Even I can admit that.

  I’m veering off topic when I should be listening to what my dad is saying to my mom. They’re having a big discussion, and I’m praying it has nothing to do with me.

  “…I thought we moved up here to get away from it all. So we could just focus on our family and nothing else,” Mom says, sounding mad.

  Wait, not mad. Just irritated. And I rarely hear her sound like that toward Dad.

  “I know. And this shouldn’t take too much time away from us,” he says, making Mom snort.

  “Drew, be real right now. You’ll throw yourself into this project. You will become the best offensive coordinator that high school has ever seen. Do they not realize how lucky they are that you’re even considering this? You played for the NFL! You won two Super Bowls! You were a commentator on TV!”

  “Yeah, and that’s all behind me now. What else am I going to do with my time?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe spend it with me and the kids?”

  Dad just totally stepped in it.

  “They’re all in school. Even Beck. And now his time is tied up with football practice just like his brother,” Dad points out.

  Beck is in youth football, as is Jacob. Beck’s on the peewee team and Jake’s on the senior team since he’s in the eighth grade. Next year he’ll be at the high school with me, and honestly?

  I’m not looking forward to it.

  “If you’re going to coach anyone, coach Jake’s team. He’s your son,” Mom stresses. “He needs you.”

  “He doesn’t. My son is amazing. So is his team.” The sincerity in Dad’s voice rings true. Jake is an amazing football player, even I can admit that. And their team will most likely win their league championship. “The high school needs me more. They’re so close to being good, but they’re not quite there yet. Besides, Jake will be at the high school next year,” Dad points out.

  “And you’ll be coaching the varsity team.”

  “It’ll bleed over into the JV team and you know it. Come on, babe.” I’m not looking at them, but I can tell he just pulled her into his arms. My parents are very affectionate with each other. Sometimes almost too affectionate, like when they kiss and stuff in front of us.

  It’s gross. Who wants to see their parents act like that? They’re so old.

  “Does this mean I have to go to every game?” Mom asks on a sigh.

  Look at how easily she gives in to him. I’m surprised. She’s always trying to protect his time, especially since he retired.

  “Aren’t you already going to be at every game because of Autumn?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” She sighs. “True.”

  There’s no more talking, which tells me Dad convinced her it was a good idea and now they’re making out like teenagers.

  And that’s my cue to leave.

  I slip down the hall in pure stealth mode, back in my room with the door closed in seconds. Mom has to go to the games because now they’re my games too.

  I made the cheer team last spring. After fumbling around the first month of my freshman year like a lost little puppy, I actually made friends. Lots of friends. A couple of them were on the cheer team and they convinced me to try out for next year with them. So I did.

  And I made it.

  Doing dance for years helped, I’m sure. The fact that my dad is a football legend has nothing to do with it, which feels really good. For once I did something on my own, and I like that. I think Dad’s shadow hangs over Jake, so he always has this need to prove himself to everyone he meets. I’m guessing Beck will end up the same way, though maybe not. That kid has major swagger and he’s in the freaking third grade.

  Within minutes of me being back in my room, there’s a knock, and then it’s my dad walking through the door, a barely there smile curling his lips.

  I sit up straight on my bed, blinking up at him. If you didn’t know him at all, you’d say he was intimidating. He’s big. Tall and broad with dark hair and laser-focused blue eyes. Eyes that see everything, which is a little scary sometimes. My parents always say you can’t pull anything over on them. They’ve seen and done it all. Stuff we couldn’t begin to comprehend, Mom always adds, almost like it’s a threat.

  I don’t know exactly what they
mean, but I believe them. They scare me. And not because they abuse me or anything like that. I love my parents so much, and I know they love me too, but I’m secretly terrified I’ll disappoint them, and that is the worst.

  We remained in San Francisco for a few years after my dad retired from the NFL, and he’s still considered a celebrity there. He couldn’t escape the fame, even though he wanted to. Living in such a big city, my parents eventually got tired of it, so they decided to pick up and move us somewhere quieter. A smaller town with a good school district and not as much traffic and crime.

  We may have moved to this small town to get away from everything, but everyone who lives here knows who my dad is, especially all the boys at my school. Of course, they do.

  “Hey princess.” That he still calls me princess is a little irritating sometimes, because it makes me feel like a little girl and I’m not. Not anymore. But whatever.

  “Hi Daddy.” See? I slip into little girl mode when he says stuff like that.

  “I have a question for you.” He sits on the edge of my mattress.

  “What is it?”

  He leans back all casual like. “Would you care if I was one of the coaches for the football team at the high school?”