Chapter One

The Name

Growing up in the small town of Odessa, Texas word travels around fast. Faster than a bullet train. One person can tell someone something and the next day the whole town will know your little secret. Doesn't matter what you do, secrets are hard to keep down here in Odessa.

My secret started at the end of my junior year of high school. I had just turned seventeen, and my daddy gave me his old car. Silver, beat up old 1970 Ford Mustang. That car was older than I was. Ran well when it wasn't raining, and got me place to place. But I wasn't about to complain to my dad. He told me if it was good enough for him then it was good enough for me.

Some people know me as Darla Gaines, Coach Gary Gaines' daughter. That's how I was introduced to people since the day my dad got the head coaching job for the Permian Panthers. This killed my dreams of ever dating a football player. If I even thought about going up to a football player they would walk away from me so fast that I thought the wind blew them away.

But being the Head Coach's daughter had its perks, it was as if I was on the football team as well. Teachers would never fail me, people gave me free food, and I had about 60 guys willingly to have my back if anyone ever tried to mess with me. Only downfall of being the Head Coach's daughter was what I had mentioned earlier before. I just couldn't date a football player. Even I had my eye on one already.

It wouldn't come to a surprise to anyone if I had said I like Don Billingsley. Hell, everyone liked him. And if you didn't like him, then you definitely weren't from Odessa. Don was everything a girl wanted. Future star of the football team, gorgeous, and everything you're parents didn't want you to date. He partied, he drank, he slept around, and he used his football player card as much as he could. Meaning he enjoyed getting free things as much as a poor man.

Don and I had known each other since we were seven and he had started playing football for the local elementary school. And he would bully me all day every day until 5th grade. People told me Don had only picked on me because he liked me, but the thing was he picked on every girl. He was a player at a very young age.



When I was a freshman, my dad had already had a year of being the head coach under his belt. One day after school, he had asked me to run into the field house to get his playbook. Now for those who don't know, the field house is where the coach's office and the players' locker room and weight room are all in one building. And all the doors look exactly alike. So I had no idea what I was walking into when I stepped foot into that building. I walk into the field house and make a sharp right like I thought my dad had told me to do, but what I ended up walking into was Don Billingsley getting out of the shower with a towel in his hand and nothing else.

"What the hell are you doing in here!?" He yelled at me and quickly covered himself up.

"I . . . um . . . playbook . . . dad . . . Sorry!" I quickly shut the door and felt my face burn with embarrassment.

I ran out of there as fast as I could. I could hear my father screaming at me about the playbook but I kept running until I saw my front door. And I never went back into to that field house since.

But here we are, 2 years later, waiting for school to let out in just a few weeks. And I still can't get the image of Don in the locker room out of my head.

I had expected him to tease me about it the next day. But he avoided me as much as I avoided him. I figured he thought if word got back to my dad what I had seen, he would make sure that Don wouldn't have it anymore.

"Today class," Mr. Anderson spoke loudly and looked at every single one of our faces until he spoke again. "We are starting a new project." Everyone groaned long and loud. "Hush!" He silenced the class. "You keep complaining and I'll take away the opportunity for y'all to have partners." People smiled widely and sat up straight in their desk. As if perfect posture was going to make that man let us pick who we were going to work with.

"I will be pairing you up by random. By using," He spun around and picked up a rather girly looking hat. "This." More groans. "I said hush!" He said and put his hands on his hips. Sometimes I thought that man was as fruity as a bowl of pebbles.

"Now pass this hat around and draw a name. Only a selective amount of people are in this hat so not everyone will draw." I smirked at the sound of that. Mr. Anderson has a tendency to play favorites. 

But if it were up to him, it would be the ones who actually passed that class. Not the football players.

"Brian Chavez." Karen Wilmot called out. Brian turned around and smirked at her. Karen and Melissa Harriett are known to be the towns' sluts. And I wasn't saying that to be mean, in fact Karen is a really good friend of mine.

"Mike Winchell." "Ivory Christian." "James Wilson." The names were all called out until there were only two slips of paper in the hat. It was either Boobie Miles or Don Billingsley. And I was the next one to draw.

Mr. Anderson shook the hat in front of my face, as if that made anything better. I reached my hand into the hat and my eyes immediately looked over at Don. He was staring back at me. His eyes cold and distraught, as if to say "Don't pick me."

I licked my suddenly dry lips and pulled out the slip of paper. I pulled it close to my face. I couldn't tell you why my hands were shaking as I looked away from Don and down at the paper. I unfolded it and glared down at the name.

Don Billingsley

I looked up and straight at Don. Mr. Anderson coughed and I remembered I had to say the name out loud. "Um, Don Billingsley." I cast my eyes down at my desk and I heard a loud groan coming from the other side of the room.

"Enough class," Mr. Anderson said, but I knew he was only talking to one person.

Don Billingsley