BENCHED

by Abigail Graham

  For some reason, no one seems to be feeling it today. The mist drizzle into a light rain as the next play starts, and I start to shiver under my pads. I try to warm up, but the cold sinks into my bones. Before the setup, I find myself watching the princess again.

  I whack my own helmet with the side of my hand, trying to knock her out of my head. The Honey Badgers are trying to kill me. That's what it feels like, anyway. One more hit and they might just rip my arms off. I feel like I got in a fistfight with a freight train and he called in his buddies for help.

  We can't even make a first down. The ball stops in the middle of the field and we end up punting. I retire to the sidelines while the Badgers try to ram the ball in our end zone. Somebody, somewhere, is laughing at the way we describe these things.

  When Ransom Kaye takes the field with his offensive line, he looks at me and smirks.

  Rage heats my veins like iron wires pulled through my muscles. I want to run out there, rip his helmet off, and bash him to death with it. After what he did, the simple fact that he walks around a free man is insult to the very concept of justice. I hope our line breaks his damn legs.

  Somehow I look past him and lose track of the game. The princess is watching intently. She must not know much about football—Dee is bouncing in her seat and gesturing as she explains it all to her while they share a pile of nachos dripping with cheese. I swear she sees me looking and our eyes lock for a moment again before she turns away.

  She's so damned pretty. Her features are somehow sharp and soft at the same time, her eyes large and liquid. The faint pink tinge in her cheeks from the unseasonable chill makes her even cuter. Her eyes find me again, and she turns to talk to Dee. Are they talking about me?

  I shake my head. No way she'd even notice some hick football player. She's a princess; I grew up in a trailer.

  Doesn't stop me from thinking about her.

  I've been catching glimpses of her on campus since I started school—she started the same year, I think. She's like a beautiful phantom, something otherworldly and ethereal that brings light and color into the world in her passing.

  Oh for fuck's sake, Jason, get your head out of your ass. You've never even met her and you're not going to. Besides the fact that she is way out of my league, if I try anything her bodyguards will tear me apart.

  Of course, I can't see any bodyguards now. Usually they're hovering behind her like big Viking-esque shadows, ready to pounce on anyone who so much as looks at her. It's sort of an unwritten rule on campus that you don't approach the princess.

  I wonder if that's lonely. She doesn't look like she rejects the crowd around her now. In a hoodie and jeans and sitting with Dee, she could just be an ordinary, average student.

  Except there's nothing ordinary or average about her. The most I've ever seen her is in class, and every time I do something tugs in my chest, urging me to try talking to her no matter what her apelike bodyguards say about it. I have this throbbing desire to at least try, and yet….

  There's a place in this world for guys like me, and princesses don't fit into it.

  The game comes back to me like a bomb dropping. Possession of the ball has changed hands once more, and we have a chance to score again before the third quarter ends.

  Ransom is still on the field as I run out. He grins at me.

  "Get ready to taste turf, Hayseed," he yells.

  That fucking name. Who calls people that? Really?

  I point at him and grin. You'll get yours one day, you miserable puke.

  Head in the game, Powell. Focus. Get that ball down the field.

  We're down a touchdown. We need to tie it up.

  I glance over and see the princess, and the thought she's watching me—even if she's just watching the game—lights a fire in my chest, and I eagerly await the snap.

  Ana

  I should have thought to wear sunglasses. I must get a pair of sunglasses. I have a condition called heterochromia iridium. My right eye is blue, and my left eye is green. It makes escaping notice difficult. My eyes are the first thing most people see, and when I look anyone in the face, I know I'm announcing myself. I may be the only girl on campus with this trait.

  It makes me easy to pick out of a crowd, as if being myself didn't make it easy enough. Everyone on campus knows what I look like. There's less of a commotion now than there was when I first arrived as a freshman, but now the incoming students have to gawk at me when I walk from class to class or eat in the cafeteria, until they grow bored.

  If only someone would talk to me instead of stare. So far, only Dee has been brave enough. She was the first person to just walk up to me and, as the Americans do, say, "Hi." Somehow my bodyguards were willing to let her sit with me in the cafeteria while I picked at lukewarm spaghetti and greasy meatballs one afternoon late last year.

  I snap out of my thoughts as the game resumes. It becomes a grind, the ball going back and forth. After the Knights make an extra point, neither team scores again for the rest of the first half, and then in the second the Knights manage one field goal.

  In the end, the Knights win by three points. It feels like a pyrrhic victory as they leave the field. It was a close-run thing, the Badgers nearly making it into the end zone twice. If it weren't for a mistake by one of their players who dropped the ball and another who slipped on slick grass, the Knights would have lost.

  "Come on," Dee says, grabbing my arm.

  I rise with her, and we toss our trash, then join the throng of students walking away from the stadium. I keep my head down but look around, scanning for anyone snapping my picture or pointing me out. Every time I leave my room like this, I feel a nervous energy. The fear of getting caught becomes excitement and folds back into fear again, swinging one way or the other, taking my stomach with it.

  "That was interesting," I tell Dee.

  It was. I was rather wrapped up in it by the end. Whenever one of the hulking defensive players knocked Jason Powell down, I cringed and craned forward to see if he was hurt as I wrung my hands together.

  I sigh. "I should get back…."

  "Oh come on, it's six o'clock," Dee says. "You can't go home yet."

  "Someone might recognize me."

  She sighs, having heard this before. "Okay, hold up."

  Dee takes my arm, and then leads me off the sidewalk and into a little convenience store that sits along the road back to campus. Once we're inside, she grabs a pair of cheap sunglasses in a plastic sheath, buys them from the shopkeep, and sticks them on my face.

  "There. Keep your hood up and keep those on and you'll be fine. It's those damn eyes of yours we have to worry about."

  My eyes, and my hair. It runs in my family. I have it, my mother has it, and if I have children they will have it. Hair so blonde it's more silver than gold, almost white; Mother's hair actually turned darker when it went gray.

  Add to that the fact I haven't cut it since I was twelve, and it stands out.

  I jab my hands into the pockets of my borrowed hoodie and follow Dee back toward town.

  We call it "campus," but the town of Newark and De La Warr are so intertwined with one another that they may as well be the same place. When people say "campus" it's usually the old campus they're referring to, a cluster of buildings and the "quad"; the rest is spread out through town over such a distance it can take half an hour to walk from one end to the other.

  "We're going to the Deerhead," Dee announces.

  "What's that?"

  "The bar on the corner up by the railroad tracks?"

  I shrug my shoulders.

  "You're hopeless," Dee sighs.

  "Aren't we too young to drink?"

  "I'm twenty-one, and they're more of a 'don't ask, don't tell' kind of place, especially on game night. Come on, live a little. I won't let you get plastered. Just have a couple of beers. They do have beer on your planet, right?"

  "Of course." I turn up my chin. "I have had beer before. I enjoy beer."

  "Sure you have.
Let's go."

  We walk briskly, fading into the flow of students. I feel a little more comfortable with the sunglasses covering my eyes. I can look around without worrying about avoiding eye contact.

  It takes almost half an hour to reach Main Street with all the foot and vehicle traffic. Dee veers left, heading toward the bar.

  It's an aged building, one of the oldest on the block, all brick with big windows. Inside, the floors and furniture and bar are all worn smooth by feet and hands, though the floor is covered in sawdust. Dee and I weave through clusters of students to the bar.

  "Barkeep," Dee shouts, slapping the bar. "Bring me two of your finest cheapest beer."

  The aging bartender doesn't even spare me a glance as he sets bottles in front of us.

  "Run me a tab," Dee says.

  "Pay now."

  Dee fumbles in her pocket until I slip out a twenty and slap it on the counter. I turn my back to the bar and sip the beer.

  It's bitter and watery. I glance at Dee, wondering why she's downed half the bottle already.

  Jason

  I don't think I'm going to feel dry again for a long time. The mist soaked me to the bone, and my joints are achy and stiff.

  After I shower up and dress, I find a cluster of players waiting for me. Aheahe and Akele, my offensive linemen, stand a head taller than everyone else. Even people who know the Thunder Brothers do a double take when they see them. Almost seven feet tall and completely identical—they are twins, after all—the brothers weigh almost a half a ton when you put them both together. Despite their rotund appearance, they're solid masses of muscle and move with a fluid grace made almost eerie by their sheer size.

  They both grin when they see me.

  "Deerhead!" Akele shouts.

  I roll my eyes. Last thing I'm in the mood for is booze. I need a long, hot soak to get the ache out of my joints. The curious fire I felt from seeing the princess on the sidelines has turned into a weight in my chest, like I swallowed a bag of lead and it's working its way down.

  I can't deny them though. For one thing, I have to live with these two. Maybe seeing their drunken escapades will cheer me up. They have a massive appetite for alcohol—and everything else, really—and Akele turns into a philosopher when you get the booze in him. Last week he gave the other drunks at the Deerhead a three hour lecture on deindustrialization in the American South and how it relates to… something. He makes it funny somehow.

  The players aren't the only ones heading our way. The cheerleading squad has changed into a colorful array of crop tops and booty shorts and is sequining their way down the sidewalk behind us. Gabriel and the color guard are behind them, mingling with a press of students. Quincy is a senior, and he's been the De La Warr Knight, our mascot, for two years. He takes it deadly seriously, especially when he's hammered.

  I have a suspicion we'll all be in dire straits tonight. Sure we won, but the Badgers almost clawed our throats out on the field. I feel like half the hits I took should have gotten a penalty flag, and that's just me. Maybe I'm just being a sore winner.

  I don't feel like I won anything today.

  By the time we get to the bar, I'm ready for a drink after all. I need to loosen up. Maybe this week I'll actually take one of the cleat chasers home with me for the night. For some reason, the thought of that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

  I don't know why. It's not like I have a shot at my dream girl. I'm sure princesses don't frequent dives next to railroad tracks.

  Akele and Aheahe stomp into the bar, pressing through the narrow, little doors, and I walk inside behind them.

  The world freezes over like someone hit a giant Pause button. I stop in my tracks, because Princess Anastasia herself is sitting in a booth with Dee, holding a beer in her slender fingers.

  She looks at me, and it's like a physical blow, all the air shoved out of my lungs at once. I can feel the heat of her gaze on my skin. Her hood is down and her thick, blonde braid hangs over her shoulder down her chest, shining like pale gold in the dim lighting of the bar. The big goofy shades she picked up somewhere make her mysterious, like a femme fatale.

  She looks cold, but she must be warm. Warm, soft lips, pale pink like frozen berries. Her jeans cling to the lush, curvy lines of her long legs, and even in a baggy sweatshirt I can tell she's curvaceous and soft in all the right places, begging to be held, caressed, squeezed, licked. My dick starts to harden just from looking at her, and then her eyes lock on mine.

  She has the most fucking beautiful eyes I have ever seen.

  A cheer goes up in the bar, as if we won a real victory today. The sound washes over me as the princess stares back, and I can barely hear it over the rushing of blood in my ears. I don't know why, but it's like I've never seen her before. Hell, this feels like I've never seen a woman before. Every fiber of my body wants her. I take a step toward her without thinking.

  Dee scowls at me, but she takes Anastasia by the hand and pulls her out onto the floor as some jackass puts "We Are the Champions" on the jukebox.

  I glance at Akele. He grins.

  Ana

  "They're here."

  A cheer goes up as the players walk in. They no longer wear their uniforms, but they're easy enough to pick out. Even the smallest is one of the largest men in the room.

  I recognize Jason as he walks in at the back of the procession, flanked by the two biggest men I have ever seen. Jason is well overs six feet, but they tower over even him and are both twice as wide as he is, so much so they go through the door in single file.

  My eyes lock on him and I stare dumbly at him. I have never seen a man so handsome in my life. I can just imagine those full lips on mine, touching his massively muscled chest with my hands. His own look big enough to circle around my waist with ease. A flutter of desire in my chest sends a shiver through my body, and I remember the electric tug I felt toward him on the football field.

  "Go talk to him," Dee urges.

  "Who, me?"

  My answer is cut off by more cheering. There is a music machine in the corner, brightly covered in neon lighting. Someone slaps it and it starts playing a song.

  "What is that?" I shout at Dee.

  "'We Are the Champions.' Queen. If that thing starts playing Loretta Lynne, run."

  "Who?"

  "Write it down and look it up later," Dee says, sighing.

  I'm about to do just that when she grasps my beer and forces me to tip it back until I've chugged it.

  My head swims a little, but I am no stranger to drink. Mother started cutting wine into my water at table when I was thirteen. There is always drinking at state dinners, and I have to be able to keep a clear head.

  Nevertheless, I stumble a little bit as she pulls me out onto the floor, at the same time shoving another beer into my hand.

  "What are we doing?"

  "Dancing," she yells.

  Dancing seems to consist of grinding up against other people, who have also been drinking this so-called beer. I gulp some down to wet my dry throat and do my best to start dancing.

  I have no idea what I'm doing, but no one seems to care.

  By the third beer I have begun to enjoy myself. Sweat prickles on my forehead, so I throw my hood back. Dee gives me a sharp look.

  My two-foot-long rope of a braid falls down my back. I turn and suddenly find a pair of arms looping around me.

  Jason Powell pulls me against him, my chest pressed to his.

  "Hello, Princess."

  I flinch. Did anyone else hear him?

  My eyes travel from his chest up to his face and meet gaze as he looks down on me. The naked lust in his eyes makes my heart pound, but there is something more. Almost a reverence in the way he looks at me, touches me. He pulls me closer still, and the heat of his body soaks into mine. I can feel the ridged muscles of his belly pressed against my stomach, and my hands rest on his sides and start moving on their own, caressing him.

  "Did you really think I wouldn't recognize you? Your eyes
are incredible. Let me have a look at them."

  He reaches for my cheap sunglasses, and I smack his hand away.

  "You presume too much," I snap.

  "Well excuse me, Princess," he grins, resting his arms on my shoulders.

  I sway, caught up in the music. He pulls me closer and looks down at me. I am tall for a woman, but he's taller, towering over me by close to a foot.

  "What did you think of the game?"

  I swallow, hard. I need another beer. Where's Dee?

  "You played well."

  "Liar," he says. "We got our asses kicked."

  "You won."

  "It's not about winning."

  "No, it ain't," a big voice booms. "It's about a beautiful death."

  I flinch at his words. The giant, one of the two that followed Jason into the bar, looms over us both, hefting in one hand an enormous beer mug so large it must hold a liter or more. He drains half of it in one long pull.

  "Don't let him scare you," Jason chides me. "I'll protect you. Besides, Akele here is a cuddlebug. He just likes that woo-woo bullshit."

  "Woo-woo?"

  "He means philosophy," the giant named Akele thunders. "Jason does not understand the ways of the warrior poet."

  "Whatever," Jason says.

  I start tugging at my hood. The swimming confusion of the alcohol fades and it dawns on me. He knows who I am.

  Jason pushes the hood back down as I fumble to pull it up, but my braid dragging it back down.

  "Hey, it's okay. We're all friends here."

  The other giant strides up and nods his agreement.

  I feel a little surrounded.

  "Easy," Jason says, letting his arms fall away from me. "Why don't you come over and sit down with us. Akele, grab Dee, will you?"

  "You know Dee?"

  "Know her?" Akele thunders. His laugh sounds like it comes from a storm cloud. "She's my ex!"