Read Never Gonna Tell for Free Online Page A

undefeated and on its way to the state championship for the third year in a row. In rural Tennessee, there is nothing bigger than high school football, and our star quarterback, Hunter Everett, was a god among men in our town. He can do no wrong. In the two years since he made the varsity team, he hadn’t thrown a single interception or been sacked, and his completion percentage rivaled Tom Brady. He is All-State, All-American and destined for his choice of colleges—and then most likely a career in the NFL.
    But all of a sudden, Hunter started losing. Not the team, just Hunter. He went from zero interceptions in over twenty games to three a game. We’re not talking tipped balls or the defense being in the right place at the right time. These were throws that seemed to be aimed directly at his opponents.
    Not only did he throw interceptions in the game, he started allowing sacks. It was like he would just stand in the pocket and brace for the defenders to hit him, not even making a big effort to get the ball to one of his wide-open receivers before going down.
    The coaches thought at first that he might have had a medical condition that was causing his playing to suffer so much. Yes, because everyone’s first thought should jump to “It must be a tumor.” Idiots. They tested, scanned, and probed every inch of Hunter but couldn’t find anything wrong with him. Well, physically anyway.
    Their next conclusion was that it was some type of performance anxiety: the pressure of the scouts and college getting to him. He began to see a therapist, and teachers exempted him from projects and assignments. Funny how losing seemed to make everyone feel sorry for him rather than be pissed as hell. He got more sympathy than when his mom passed away from cancer.
    Oddly enough, after just one of these therapy sessions, Hunter went back to his old self. His passing percentage shot back up, and we’ve won the last four games. All over town people praised the therapist, believing her to be some sort of quarterback whisperer. Everyone seemed to think that Hunter had suffered from performance anxiety and had been miraculously cured.
    Everyone but me.
    I have a different theory, a much darker and more cynical version of events. I think one of two things happened to Hunter: either he got himself in trouble with steroids, and it adversely affected his performance, or someone else got into trouble—like maybe his high school sweetheart, Beth—and he was throwing games to help her out of a jam. She was rumored to have had a problem with Adderall last year when she was cramming for finals. Maybe she never kicked that habit, and the cost of her daily fix was more than she could handle, so Hunter was betting on himself to lose and then throwing games.
    No matter the why, if I can somehow prove that Hunter has thrown games, it will be a huge story—one that could make a big difference in how my college applications are perceived. I’ve been suspicious about what happened ever since his miraculous comeback. That’s when I began researching the story. I don’t have a lot of confirmation yet, but the one lead I did get has me chomping at the bit to find out more.
    After doing a cursory search on the therapist who supposedly cured Hunter, I found that she received her doctorate at some third-rate school in the Caribbean, and before Hunter, she hadn’t worked with athletes at all. Instead she’d worked with inmates at a correctional facility in California. So, how did she go from prisoners in California to high school athletes in Hope Mills? It didn’t make a lot of sense and raised a lot more questions than answers.
    “Late day, sweetie?” Dad asks as I walk in the front door. School only let out just over an hour ago, but he’s not used to me staying after for anything, especially with both Charlie and Kally gone now. They’re my tickets to a social life.
    “Not really, just working on some stuff.”
    I toss my backpack on the floor and