by Kara Bietz
I glance at my lap and try not to laugh. Beside me, Bucky’s shoulders are bouncing up and down, and I know he’s not going to be able to hold it in much longer.
“Ms. Eccles tells me that it took her team the entirety of their morning practice to get the piglets into a cage so that Mr. Redd could come pick them up,” Mr. Campbell tells us, pausing the video just as one of the Taylor football players slips and takes a tumble. He’s suspended in midair with his arms outstretched on the paused computer screen.
I bite my lip and try to think of every sad thing that’s ever happened in order to keep from laughing, but Bucky can’t contain it anymore.
He throws his head back and lets out the loudest whoop I’ve ever heard. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mr. Campbell, but that was just the best prank we’ve ever managed to pull off,” he says, gasping for breath. “Throw me in detention or suspend me or whatever, but you can’t deny that that”—he points at the paused screen—“is one of the funniest things you’ll see today. This week. This year!”
Mr. Campbell lowers his head, and I think I see him fighting to keep his quivering lips from smiling. He clears his throat and looks up at us again. “I understand that this prank war with Taylor started long before you were born and it’s a tradition that both schools have had a hand in perpetuating,” he says. “But someone could have gotten hurt out there trying to catch these greased pigs. In fact, one of the maintenance staff did slip in some pig excrement while attempting to catch one of these little guys.”
All of us lower our heads, not so much in shame but so no one can see us laughing.
“Brian Redd, we know you were involved because you so thoughtfully left a sign for your family farm, instructing the Taylor Titans on where to return the piglets,” Campbell says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’ve also got a picture of your license plate as you drove away from the scene.”
“I’m sorry, sir. We didn’t mean any harm,” Bucky says next to me, but I know he’s proud of himself. This prank will probably be talked about in his family for the next seventeen generations.
“Elijah Vance, the maintenance man managed to snap a picture of you as you were climbing the fence to get into Mr. Redd’s car,” Campbell says, bringing up a blurry picture of the back of someone’s head on his computer screen.
My heart leaps into my throat. “That’s not Elijah,” I say quickly, swallowing hard and pointing to the screen. “That’s me.”
Elijah turns his head and looks hard at me. He narrows his eyes and shakes his head ever so slightly.
“Julian,” Coach Marcus says, uncrossing his arms from his chest. “We’re pretty sure—”
“No, that’s me,” I say. “I was the one on the other side of the fence, greasing up the pigs. It was just Bucky and me. The prank was my idea, and just Bucky and I executed the entire thing. Well, with the help of Mr. Redd’s piglets,” I say.
Mr. Campbell peers at me over the top of his reading glasses. “You know I can’t let this go unpunished,” he says.
“I understand that, Mr. Campbell. But Elijah had nothing to do with it,” I say, nodding at him.
“He’s telling the truth,” Bucky says, nodding. “Only Julian and I were at Taylor this morning.”
Coach Marcus looks me in the eye. “If that’s the case, then the two of you will sit on the bench for the game against St. John’s tomorrow night,” he says. “If that’s a suitable punishment for you, Principal Campbell.”
“I think that’s probably sufficient,” he says. “And, boys, let’s call an end to the pranks this year, okay? We’ve got a real chance of getting at least to the regional playoffs, and I really don’t want two of my best players sitting on the bench for the next few weeks until the Taylor game,” he says, shaking his head.
“Yes, sir,” I tell him. “And I’m really sorry about all of this. If it helps at all, I told the team we were going to help Pastor Ernie and Figg clean up that empty lot on Main near Ron Redd’s this weekend. I told them it was the price we were going to pay for continuing the prank war.”
“I think that sounds like a great idea. Maybe in the future we can do away with the pranks altogether and just focus on the community service. What do you think about that, Coach Marcus?” Mr. Campbell says, folding his hands on his desk.
“I think that sounds like an excellent plan,” Coach says.
“You’re all dismissed. Get yourselves back to class and learn something, yes?” Mr. Campbell waves toward his door, and we all get up and go into the hallway.
Coach Marcus heads toward the gym and Bucky starts walking back to class, but Elijah grabs me by the elbow and pulls me toward the hidden space beneath the stairwell.
“Why did you do that? You were scot-free! You could have just told them it was me, and you’d be playing this weekend,” he says.
I shrug. “What good would it do me to play if you weren’t on the field protecting me?” I say.
“Yeah, but now you’re in trouble,” Elijah says.
“But you’re not,” I tell him.
He looks me in the eye, and I see the muscles in his jaw relax.
“We’re going to make sure that Meridien sees the real Elijah. The Elijah I know,” I tell him. “I can’t do anything about what happened twenty years ago, other than make sure as many people as possible know the real story, but I can see to it that no one makes the mistake of judging you ever again.”
Elijah reaches for me and holds my fingers in his. “Thank you.”
“I won’t let them underestimate you, either,” I tell him. “There’s way more to you than your last name. And everyone ought to see that.”
Elijah leans forward and his soft lips find mine, our fingers still holding on tightly to each other. With his other hand, he grasps the hem of my T-shirt.
I reach my arm around his waist and pull him closer to me.
“You deserve at least that much,” I say when we break apart.
· twenty-eight ·
ELIJAH
It’s homecoming morning, three weeks since the big prank. I walk the block and a half from our apartment on Hugo Street to Rudy Street with Coley in tow, the garter I’ve made for Julian on a metal hanger.
“Uncajulian likes flowers?” Coley asks, her dark French braids bouncing on her head as she skips up Ms. Birdie’s front stoop.
“He’ll like these,” I tell her.
Ms. Birdie opens the door before I ring the bell. “There’s my sweet baby girl! Come on in here, you two.” She stands aside and lets us in. Coley runs to the kitchen and puts her princess lunch box in the refrigerator.
“G’morning, Birdie,” Coley says, wrapping her arms around Ms. Birdie’s thighs and squeezing hard.
“We’re going to have us some fun today, girl,” Ms. Birdie says. “Go on and find Uncle Julian for me, okay?”
Ms. Birdie turns to me and gives me a hug. “Let me see those flowers, now.… Oooooh! Elijah! You’ve outdone yourself,” she says.
“I found him!” Coley yells, pulling Julian down the hallway toward the kitchen, where I’m waiting for him.
“You sure did!” Julian says, carrying a gold-and-white garter in his arms.
I help him into his, making sure it’s tight on his bicep over his football jersey. He helps me into mine, adjusting it so it doesn’t cover my football number.
“I’ve got to get a picture of this,” Ms. Birdie announces, pointing her cell phone at us. We pose at the front door, our arms around each other’s shoulders, showing off our homecoming mums.
“You look like you’re going to get married!” Coley singsongs, dancing around us at the front door.
We all laugh, and Ms. Birdie sends us out the door. “I’ll see you both at the Taylor game tonight! Miss Coley and I are picking up your mom and Frankie at five o’clock,” she says to me.
We meet Camille at the end of the driveway. She’s wearing a mum the size of a small island around her neck. It is all lit up with flashing white lights and jingles
with about a hundred bells when she moves.
“Wow, Bucky did a nice job,” Julian remarks, pulling some of the long ribbons out and examining the baubles that are glued to them.
“He’s probably been planning this mum since kindergarten.” I laugh.
“He did do a good job, right?” Camille smiles down at her mum and fingers the ribbons and glittery tulle. “Wait until you see the garter I made for him! I can’t wait for the dance tomorrow night.”
“Hey, let’s not forget about the real reason we’re wearing these big flowers today.” Julian chuckles. “Let’s kick some Taylor ass tonight before we start worrying about the dance.”
We turn the corner onto Main Street, and Julian grabs my hand and squeezes it. I squeeze back.
“Speaking of, what are our chances of beating Taylor tonight?” Camille asks. “I mean, they did strike first in the prank war this year, and you know what that means.”
“Our prank was ten times better than theirs. That ought to count for something,” Julian says, laughing. “I say we spread a new superstition that whoever does the better prank wins the homecoming game.”
“I think we have a good chance,” I say. “Their defense has no depth, and their quarterback is way too jumpy. He throws the ball without taking a breath because he’s afraid he’s going to get sacked. They’re okay, but there’s no way they’re winning tonight.”
Camille looks at Julian and raises her eyebrows. “Look at Mr. Confident over here.”
“You heard the man. There’s no way they’re winning tonight,” he says, winking at me.
I glance over at the garter on Julian’s arm. I’ve glued a couple of tiny pigs to the bottom of one of the ribbons.
“How’s Frankie doing? Is she coming tonight?” Camille asks about halfway to school. She’s holding the mum away from her neck now, as if it’s already become too heavy to let hang.
“She likes her classes,” I say. “The school told her she’ll be done with the CNA program and be able to start working at Crenshaw County General in just a few months. She’s talking about moving into an apartment of her own, maybe closer to the hospital, after she gets a job. And who knows, I might go with her after graduation.” I shrug, with a slight smile. “Ms. Birdie’s really helping her out by watching Coley every day.”
“Ugh, graduation. I know it’s only October, but graduation is all I can think about! I have got to start working on all my applications after this weekend,” Camille says.
“Tell me about it.” Julian sighs. “I’ve got a ranked list of all the colleges I’m going to apply to, I’ve hit up a few teachers for recommendation letters, and I’ve got all of my SAT, ACT, and AP scores headed to the right schools,” he says, listing everything he’s managed to do in just the last week. “I’m ready. Or at least, I hope I am.”
Camille laughs. “How did I know you’d basically already be done?” She turns to me. “How about you, Elijah? Any idea what you might want to do after graduation?”
I shrug and my cheeks burn. A thought started to grow in my head soon after the rest of my family got back to Meridien and I watched Frankie start taking classes, but I haven’t even told Julian about it yet. I’ve been helping Frankie study for her anatomy quizzes, and it turns out I’m pretty good at understanding the classification of muscles and the inner workings of the nervous system, too. I started thinking maybe I could be an athletic trainer. And once I started thinking about it, it was all I could think about.
“I downloaded the Coastal Texas application a few days ago,” I finally say. “I’ll probably fill it out after homecoming. I don’t know; maybe I’ll even try to keep playing football. As a walk-on or something,” I say to my shoes.
“As a walk-on? No way,” Julian says, gripping my hand tighter. “You’re good enough to get a scholarship, Elijah! You should talk to Coach Marcus about getting you some film. I can help you, if you want.”
I turn to look at him and smile. “I would like that.”
We get to school, and everyone is gathered on the steps, showing off their mums and garters and taking selfies with their homecoming dates. Bucky shows off a tremendous blue-and-white garter and kisses Camille about a hundred times while they take silly pictures together. I take a few minutes to really look at the garter Julian has given me. On one of the ribbons is the date of our first kiss three years ago and the date of our second kiss just a few weeks back. I try to keep my smile to myself, but it doesn’t work. I give Julian a little elbow and point to the dates, and he gives me a sly smile and winks. My heart melts like hot butter.
Julian goes back to studying his garter. He pulls one of the ribbons away and points to a bit of blue fabric I have glued to the end. “What is this?” he asks.
“It’s a piece of your very first football jersey,” I tell him. “From when we played peewee ball together way back when. Ms. Birdie let me have it.”
He looks at me, a soft smile on his face.
“It’s when I knew,” I say to him, shrugging.
“It’s when you knew what?”
“That at the end of the day, no matter what we may have been through, I’d always have your back.” I smile.
Julian reaches for my hand and holds it tight as we walk up the steps into school together.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Though my family and I only spent a handful of years as residents of Texas, the impact made on me by the people I encountered and grew close to will live with me forever. In a sense, this book is my love letter to Texas and the friends I left behind when we moved away. To the students and staff of Cypress Ranch High School, thank you for showing me the importance of tradition, introducing me to the spectacle that is Texas high school homecoming weekend, and helping me realize that the friends we surround ourselves with daily show us how to grow into who we were always meant to be. An extra-special thanks to JQ, KS, LP, MB, RS, KA, AR, EC, and MH. Love you, ladies.
To my brave and beautiful daughter, LB, may you and your friends always be able to find a happy ending for yourselves in the pages of a good book.
To my intuitive and empathetic son, RB, thank you for supporting your mom and for your willingness to answer endless questions about the culture of high school sports.
To my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, thank you for trusting me, and thank you for knowing what this book could become. It’s been a long road, and you’ve had my back every step of the way.
To my editor, Hannah Milton, thank you for your willingness to listen and your unending commitment to making this a story that I am endlessly proud of. Your input was invaluable, and you forced me out of my comfort zone and made me push the boundaries of what I thought I was capable of.
Thank you to Ashlena Sharma for the gorgeous, pitch-perfect cover art.
To the rest of the team at Poppy/Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, thank you for shepherding me and this book through the process, and getting it into the hands of the readers that need it the most.
I don’t know how anyone does this work without an intricate network of amazing friends you can call on for sprints, gifs, laughs, and support. To the Handspun sprinting crew, AP, and VAS, thank you for always showing up for me. Thank you to SW, LH, and SR for consistently keeping me upright and being my handful.
The squeeziest hug to JB for being the bestest best friend ever and my rock through this entire process. Endless tacos and leftover spaghetti for you. Always.
A big thank-you to my Stinky Petes and their kiddos for reading early drafts and offering input, kind words, and endless cheerleading.
Thank you to Mom, Dad, and Kristen for being my very first readers when I scrawled things in pink notebooks with a rainbow-colored pencil.
And last but not least, thank you, Steve. Your willingness to take me on long car rides to the beach, tell me stories about Johnny Cash, and listen to me blather about people who only exist in my head have done more for this story than anyone without a writer for a spouse will ever understand.
&n
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Steven Bietz
Kara Bietz was born and raised in New England but now resides in north Georgia with her family. Sidelined is her second novel. She invites you to visit her online at karabietzauthor.com or on Twitter and Instagram @karamb75.
