Catching Jordan by Miranda Kenneally Page A

shorts and shit.”
    “Right…” Ty says, smirking. Ty’s signature smirk is about the sexiest thing on the planet.
    “I wear clothes to bed!”
    “That sucks .”
    I slap Ty’s shoulder. “So…your grandfather is taking care of everything then?”
    Ty rubs the back of his neck, sneaking a peek at me. “No. Not exactly. He can’t afford it either ’cause he doesn’t get good health insurance, and it’s not like his insurance could cover Mom’s care anyway. My mom’s parents died real y young, so my dad’s father was nice enough to take us in. I mean, he doesn’t have to help take care of Mom at al .
    “So…um, we’re living off the money from sel ing our house right now. And yesterday, I found a job doing dishes for a restaurant on Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays. They were nice enough to work around our footbal schedule, but I don’t know what the hel I’m gonna do.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Even if I get a job after high school, I’m not going to be making enough money to support my sister and get Mom the care she needs at the same time.”
    “Job? What about col ege?”
    “Woods…I can’t go to col ege.”
    “You have to go to col ege. What about Notre Dame? You’re NFL material!”
    “You don’t think I know that?” Ty says quickly. Then he jerks his head, as if he’s mad at himself. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to say it like that. What I meant to say is that I want to go to col ege, and I want to play bal more than anything, but I can’t just take four years off and leave my sister and mom to fend for themselves. Papa doesn’t make much money at al …he’s already taking on more than he can handle by feeding my sister and me.”
    “But there’s gotta be something. You’l get a scholarship.”
    “Scholarships don’t put food on the table.”
    “Then why are you playing bal now? Why aren’t you working more than three days a week?”
    He takes my hand again, caressing it. “I love footbal . When I was a kid, my dad and I would throw a bal around for hours. We did that almost every day…up until, wel , you know, the wreck.”
    “So you just want to play bal ?”
    “This season is kind of like my last hurrah, because after this, I have to get a real job and stop dreaming.”
    I squeeze his hand. “You know what I think about dreams?”
    Ty smiles slightly. “What?”
    “That if you spend too much time dreaming, you’l stop actual y doing. And when you actual y do stuff, there’s a good chance things wil work out.
    We make things happen by attacking, not by sitting around dreaming.”
    “This is gonna make me sound like a jerk, but what exactly would you have to dream about anyway? Your life is, like, perfect.”
    I laugh loudly. “You’re kidding, right?”
    Ty shakes his head.
    “Okay, wel my problems are nothing compared to yours, but my dad doesn’t believe in me at al and hates the fact that I play footbal .”
    “Real y? But your dad seems so cool on SportsCenter .”
    “He’s very cool…as long as you don’t bring up my playing footbal .”
    “Your dad’s wrong.” He goes back to caressing my hand.
    My body feels so hot. “Thanks.”
    “Can you come in for a few?” Using his thumb, Ty points over his shoulder at the house.
    “Yeah,” I say with a smile.
    Hel , I’l come in for the rest of my life.
    Wil I get to sit on his bed? Does he have graph paper bedding?
    We hop out of my truck and go up to the porch, and as I approach the door, I start to freak a bit. How could I be so self-absorbed to obsess about being in his bed when his mom is here, paralyzed?
    When Ty opens the door, he reaches back and grabs my hand, leading me inside. Everything seems meticulously clean. Would I find any dust in this house? The living room is total y 1970s, complete with a brown plaid couch. I love it. Maybe I can buy the couch off them and then they’l have more money. But from what I know of Ty already, he would never accept handouts.
    A beautiful girl