There he is. He strides onto the field, his face hidden in his helmet.
"I can't believe we're doing this," Dee says, her voice swallowed by the cheers.
Fidgeting nervously, I tug on my hood and fold my sunglasses to hang on my collar. If he can see my eyes, he'll know me. Anyone would know my eyes. I stare down into the field, willing him to look up.
Somehow, even with his helmet, I manage to spot his eyes. He has the handkerchief I embroidered tied around his upper arm, tucked halfway under the sleeve of his jersey. My heart lifts, joy swelling in my chest until Dee puts a hand lightly on my shoulder and pushes me back down into my seat.
With a sigh, she plucks the sunglasses from my chest.
"Cover up those baby-blue-and-greens, Your Majesty."
I tuck them back in place and watch. The Knights will play offense first. I feel like I'm going to float out of my seat as the ball soars across the field, driven far by the Honey Badgers' kickoff.
"It went too far," I whimper.
A Knight catches it at the ten yard line. It's all too fast for me to see who it was. They run hard and fast, crashing into the opposing players with such force that I can feel it through my seat and the soles of my feet. I look for Jason, trying to see if he's hurt.
There he is; he's fine, he's on his feet.
He has to play now though. When the teams take position again, Jason sets up with the others, and my chest tightens, my hear climbing a little higher in my throat with every beat.
"He's going to be okay," Dee promises me, sensing my agitation.
I nod.
The first play is a pass. Jason throws the ball and avoids a tackle from the opposing player. His friend Izzy makes the catch and runs with it.
"He made it," Dee explains. "First down."
"Why is the man in the striped shirt gesturing?"
"Penalty. The Honey Badgers lost another five yards."
"Oh."
She sounds nervous.
By chance, I happen to look down. One of the opposing players is looking our way. Tall, with long, dark hair, imposing in his pads and cleats. I remember him from the bar fight.
Dee grabs my arm. "Don't look at him. He'll know your face."
I look away abruptly, turning back to the field itself.
"That's Ransom Kaye. The Honey Badger quarterback. We can't let him see you. He has a thing with Jason."
"A thing?"
"Yeah, a thing, Princess."
"What is 'a thing'?"
"I can't really talk about it. You'd need to ask Jason."
"I will."
She grabs my arm again. "Princess. It's not a light conversation topic, know what I mean?"
"I'm not sure I understand."
"There's something really bad between them. You need to ask at the right time. Maybe it's better if he decides to tell you when he's ready. I mean if he is. I shouldn't have said anything. Just stay away from Ransom. He's bad news."
"I will," I assure her.
Jason
The last person I need to see is Ransom Kaye.
The arrogant fuck takes the field, carrying his helmet like a crown. Here he gets cheers and not jeers, and he plays it up to the hilt, mugging for his home crowd. The cheers shake the turf under my feet as I watch our defense line up.
Football teams like to shit-talk each other, but the truth is, Ransom is one of the better quarterbacks in our division and he'll probably go pro someday. The thought of it just grinds on me, like two big hands twisting my spine together.
Before the snap, I catch his gaze as he stares into the crowd. It's hard to make anyone out in the rain. Ana shines like a light, a beacon to a safe harbor. I spot her with only a glance, and she looks right at me. The world folds up, the distance closing between us until I feel like I could reach out and scoop her up in my arms.
Ransom is looking her way, the son of a bitch.
Wait, he's not looking at her.
Ana must not have seen her, but Professor Grandolf is in the stands, two rows back and six or eight seats away from Ana. She has the hood of her poncho thrown back, and her dark hair clings to her head. She looks at someone on the field and licks her lips.
Then she makes a little motion with her hand, sticking her finger through her thumb and forefinger. I know that gesture. What the hell?
Ransom laughs, the sound punching through the rapidly increasing rain. Coach and his assistants are all in ponchos, and the rest of the offensive line is huddled under blankets.
I just stand there and let the water soak my hair and run down my face, watching. Every time a play starts, I pray to hear a scream and see Ransom lying on the turf with his leg folded the wrong way or clutching a broken arm. Something that would take him out permanently. The scouts are already here, watching him.
The son of a bitch is going to go pro. He's going to rake in tens of millions of dollars, marry a supermodel, live the life. I don't want any of that, but knowing he'll get it leaves a horrid taste in my mouth.
Ransom walks between the raindrops. He should be in prison for what he did, but he got out of it because of who his dad is. It was a night a lot like this. Rainy and humid, the kind of night where the water falls but it doesn't want to stay put and rises from the ground as a mist. A day that should be cold, but isn't. I'm soaked with frigid rain, but I'm sweating under my pads because the air is turning unseasonably warm. It's either a second wind for summer or a farewell, depending on how you look at it.
Ransom and his offensive line execute a long pass perfectly. No slipping on wet grass or dropping a slick ball for them. It carries them ten yards down the field and closer to the goal. Every second or third play, they make a first down and keep the ball moving.
Our boys make it a hard-won fight, but it's still a won fight. Ransom carries the ball into the end zone himself, and the home crowd roars with glee.
I spot Grandolf clapping and cheering, the only person in a whole section of what must be De La Warr students, while Ana and Dee look mournful. As she huddles under a hood in the rain, Ana's sadness gives her an unearthly beauty. Something in her calls out to me to give her comfort, hold her and tell her it will be okay.
When I take the field, I can feel her watching me. I spot her a few times, craning forward in her seat, talking to Dee with worry etched on her face every time I take a hit and get knocked down.
That happens a lot. It feels like my offensive line is made of Swiss cheese and the Badgers are trying to kill me. Ransom watches from the sidelines under the hood of a poncho, grinning as I take beating after beating. It was bad last week, but here it's even worse.
It's only by luck that I don't end up with a broken rib or ankle. One of the Badger tackles rams his helmet right into my side, but the ref doesn't call a penalty on them.
By the time we start counting down to the end of the game, my team is beaten in spirit as well as in body. The point where we could have clawed our way to victory is over. The cheerleaders have given up, and the mascots have abandoned the field.
It's marking time now. We can't just forfeit or we probably would. Coach looks sullen and disappointed as he paces the sideline, refusing to make eye contact with me except when he's calling plays.
We end up in overtime with a tie.
Ana
The Knights enter striking range of the end zone, but their passes are intercepted and their runners tackled. Jason tries to run the ball in himself, and doesn't make it by less than one yard.
When the ball is punted back to the Honey Badgers, Jason retires sullenly to his bench, gulping a sports drink from a huge squeeze bottle. I want to run down to him. Dee touches my arm, somehow knowing my thoughts. I look at her.
"He's a big boy, and the Badgers haven't even scored yet. They can still pull it out."
The back-and-forth grows more intense with each play. It becomes brutal, the players roughing each up other so much that penalties are called on both sides. Dee patiently explains what they mean and what's goi
ng on as we watch, and I take notes with a small pad and pencil I brought with me to help better understand his game.
By halftime, there is still no score. The players retreat inside during the break. Dee pats me on the shoulder and goes to bring us back soft pretzels and sodas. I eat half of my pretzel and give the rest to her. Worrying that Jason will be hurt makes me sick.
When play starts again, I watch in silence. There is little cheering on either side. The game is hard fought, and by the final quarter there is still no score.
"What happens if neither of them score?" I ask Dee.
"Overtime," she sighs. "We stay longer and they play until somebody gets a touchdown or a field goal or whatever. It's called sudden death."
"I don't think I like the sound of that," I tell her.
"Yeah. Me either."
I check my phone. I shouldn't be too long getting back to the house. My absence will be noted. I would like to think Thorlief would understand, but I never know. They're not my men, they're my mother's.
By the end of the final quarter, there is no score. The fifth begins.
I see Jason on the sidelines. He looks away from me, shame on his face. He toys with the cloth wrapped around his arm as he watches the offense slowly capitulate to the Honey Badgers, shoved down the field one play at a time. His coach yells at the referees, and the mood in the stands is one of exhaustion.
The game ends when the Honey Badgers, forced to either punt or kick a field goal, take a long shot from the middle of the field that almost doesn't make it through the uprights, but still nets them three points and victory.
My shoulders slump.
"We should see if we can find Jason," I tell Dee.
"They'll be getting back on the bus to go home."
"Please?"
"Princess, you can't be seen by anybody. We need to get back or those angry Viking dudes that follow you around are going to start getting suspicious."
I sigh.
I text him.
Anastasia: Jason, are you all right?
I wait, my tension growing every second, for his reply.
Jason: You came. I don't care about anything else.
Anastasia: Yes you do. I want to see you. I have to go back to the college now.
Jason: In the morning. My week starts tomorrow, right?
Anastasia: Yes.
Fortunately for my nighttime excursions, Dee has a car. At least, it looks like a car. It is a Honda hatchback from 1992, and it takes her five minutes of grimacing and grunting to start it before it coughs to life and rattles for a solid minute, before it smooths out enough that she can wrestle with the gearbox. The seats are adorned with Lycra covers emblazoned with cannabis leaves, and the car smells of the McRib sandwich, thanks to the pile of boxes in the backseat.
Once we're off, I rest my elbow on the door and prop my chin on my hand, staring into the night.
"What's the matter, Princess? I thought you'd be happy."
"They lost. Jason will be hurt. It saddens me."
"He'll bounce back. They just need to buckle down a bit more. It's not like they got their asses kicked one-forty to nothing, Ana. It could have gone the other way."
"Hrmmph."
"That's not what's bothering you."
I let out a long, long sigh. We will be in the car for better than an hour.
"Want a McRib?"
"No."
"Okay, then tell me what's wrong."
"I agreed to date Jason for a week."
"That's what you wanted, isn't it? You like him. I don't know why, but you like him."
"He reads to me," I say softly.
"Okay, that's a little weird. Look, I'm not judging you. Honestly. I mean if he was down, I'd probably do him too. If you're going to lose your virginity—"
"It is not about that," I say, more harshly than I mean to. "No one has ever made me feel the way he does."
"Whoa, whoa, calm down," Dee says, "Easy, Princess. Sheath your claws. I'm worried about you."
"Why?"
"I don't want you to get hurt. You already know this thing has a time limit, right? It's not going to last."
"I do not want to think about that."
"So don't. Don't let it hang over your head. A thing isn't beautiful because it lasts. I saw that in a movie."
I shrug.
"Have your fun. Have your week, then let it go if that's what you need to do."
"I am sick and tired of hearing what I need to do."
"I know. Just sit back and relax. Nap a little if you want. I got this."
I heed her words, kicking the seat back. It makes a soft sound of rustling McRib boxes and empty soda cups. I close my eyes, but I do not sleep.
By the time we get back to campus, it's full dark. Dee stops the car a block from my house. I hug her and step out, hands in my pockets, hood up, eyes behind darkened lenses, and make my way to the backyard to vault the fence.
Once I slip through the window and close it, I quickly bathe and change into my sleeping clothes, and sit on the bed with my laptop. I have been studying the game of football, reading about famous players and teams, learning its ways. I want Jason to be happy with me.
I hunch back against the wall and hold it in my lap.
I enter Ransom Kaye into Google. That is the Badger quarterback's name; I looked it up on the roster. There is a profile on him on the school website, but nothing I do not already know.
Perhaps if I search for Jason.
Jason Powell nets more results. I scroll down the page. It is not an uncommon name, so there are many unrelated news items, not about him.
It is a long shot, but I try Jason Powell Ransom Kaye.
Nothing. The results are even more jumbled.
I am about to give up on this silly idea when I realize I haven't tried an image search. I click the little tab, and the page fills with pictures.
Jason is younger and smiling in the top result. I click his image. It's a yearbook photo, from when he was in high school. It seems he and Ransom were on the same team and played together. Or rather, Jason was the starting quarterback and Ransom was his second stringer, his backup.
There's a picture of the two of them together. Jason's yearbook photo comes up more than once because it is on many pages.
The old news page is brief, and offers me little information, but what I read scours me like a whip nevertheless.
Delaware State Police this morning investigated an accident on State Rt. 15 north of Hartly. Lauren Powell (37) and Henry Powell (37) of Dover and a juvenile (name withheld) were driving in a 1999 Plymouth minivan when a 2011 Ford Mustang crossed the center line and struck their vehicle, which overturned and caught fire. The driver of the Mustang was a juvenile and his name has been withheld.
Henry Powell and the juvenile were pronounced dead at the scene. Lauren Powell was transported by helicopter to Christiana Hospital, where she remains in critical condition.
The state police have confirmed that they believe alcohol to be involved.
My fingers feel numb. I try to flex them and gather the feeling back. My hands tremble.
His whole family. Gone.
My phone buzzes on the table. I snatch it.
You home okay, Princess?
Yes. I am well. Thank you. Are you hurt?
I'll live.
See you tomorrow?
Wouldn't miss it for the world.
When? Where?
Quad by the library. Text me when you're leaving. Early.
I will.
I wonder what "early" means.
The feeling of dread I felt as I read the newspaper article does not leave me as I brush my teeth and return to my bedroom to brush out my hair. It takes the better part of an hour, and by the end the motions are mechanical as my mind drifts to other places.
Jason
The bus ride home is a perfect opportunity for some much-needed sleep. I curl up at the back. Chester "Cheesy" Caulfield—no, really—one of the smaller players on
the team, sits next to me and gives me plenty of room. I lean away from him, and my head ends up resting on the window.
I could sleep for a week, but then I'd miss Ana. All I can think about is being with her. The loss this afternoon feels like a small thing, inconsequential. They're not going to pull me from the starting quarterback position over one game that we barely lost against the best team in the division. Coach will give us a rant about our best, and that'll be that.
As I drift between waking and the fitful half sleep that comes from your head gently thumping against glass, I get that feeling I always get after a game. The world is made of paper. It's flat and smooth and there's no place for me to grip it.
Ever since I lost my family, it's been like that. I go through motions. I lived with my uncle, but I didn't care about him. I went to school and excelled in my classes because I had nothing better to do. I played football because I was big, and I was good at it because there was nothing much else to occupy my time. I had a couple girlfriends, but fucking them didn't feel any different from using my hand.
I feel like I was born and grew and lived all in darkness, and then suddenly Ana burst in, this living light that warms everything she touches. When I'm with her, even if I can only see her, it brings meaning back into this world. I feel alive in a way that I haven't in years.
Sleep gets me after a while, but only halfway. It's more like a trance than sleep, but dreams come easily. There's a little house, not a huge mansion but not small, a warm, cozy house with a fireplace in the living room and another one in the bedroom, and I come home from a day of work teaching ninth grade English. I’ll need to have my master’s first, but that’s only another year.
It's spring and the sun is shining, birds are chirping. I have a dog, a beagle like I had when I was a kid. He runs up to the back gate and won't let me get in the house without some running and a game of fetch first.
I don't have to get inside. The kids run out and throw themselves at me. Back in the real world, I can feel myself smiling a little. I can't see their faces. They're only ideas, half-formed ideals.
BENCHED Page 32
