I decided to pretend that I didn’t know Dad was kidding. “Well, there’s running with Lexie and Marina. The cross-country coach told us to keep training all summer.” I looked at Mom and Dad, hoping that this one fact would make them see that I had my own life and couldn’t just drop everything to work on the campaign. All I got was silence. So, I kept going. “And I have football.”
“Tessa,” Mom said. “Football is a free-time activity you can do with your friends. You need to think beyond summer. You are starting high school. The choices you make now are going to impact you for the rest of your life. Working on the campaign will open so many doors for you. In a few years, you could be an assistant in the mayor’s office, and then, someday, maybe you’re helping me run for Congress.”
How had this happened? Two minutes before, I’d been an eighth grader peeling a tangerine, and now I was trying to get Mom elected to Congress? It was too much. They’d never needed my help before. They just ignored me as long as I met all their expectations. Why did they need my help for this campaign? I’d been doing fine leading my own life outside their work-obsessed ones. Now Mom had planned out my whole future without asking me. I needed to escape.
Mom and Dad went back to their laptops, and I reached for my phone. Luckily, talking with me had wasted too much of their time. Back to work.
I had to tell someone about the craziness that was going on at the Dooley house. I started to call Marina, then stopped. Marina wouldn’t get it. She would listen for a few seconds and then switch the subject to something that interested her more. She definitely wouldn’t understand why it was such a big deal that Mom was against the new football stadium. And Lexie would be overjoyed by the fact that my mother was running for mayor, popularity thoughts instantly floating through her head. Also, I didn’t want them to know I’d lost my medal.
I knew who would get me. So I sent a message to Caleb, wondering what it meant when I needed to share this news with him rather than my best friends.
FRIDAY, MAY 13
Dobie was getting impatient. “Dude, will you hurry up?” he said, shining the light from his headlamp into my eyes. “We’re going to be late. Nick’s already there, and he says they’re waiting for us.”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” I said. “These rocks are slippery. And it’s dark.” How had I let Dobie talk me into this?
I could have been home watching baseball or lifting with Charlie and our younger brother, Luke. Instead I was scrambling up the west bank of the Pilchuck River toward the underside of the Verlot Street bridge, where we were meeting Nick, a couple of other eighth graders, and a bunch of guys from the high school football team.
Part of me was excited. Only a few eighth graders every year had the chance to be a part of the plunge. If I survived, it would be something Charlie and I would always have in common. He would be proud of me, and that meant a lot. Still, I was scared. “This is crazy,” I said when I reached the top of the bank. It was now a short dash to the bridge, which was busy with cars, even though it was night. We’d have to stay out of sight.
“What’s crazy?” Dobie asked. “This is fun. You gotta lighten up. Live a little.”
Dobie was right. I wasn’t much of a risk-taker. I didn’t like the idea of getting in trouble or cracking my head on a rock in the river. I was the good son, the one who never got in trouble and always followed the rules. But I also hated being left out.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Isn’t there a rule that you shouldn’t jump off a bridge just because someone else did it?”
“Yeah,” Dobie replied. “Unless you’re asked by Brian Braun and Aaron Parker.”
We reached the bridge undetected.
“Up there,” I said, pointing to a wide metal beam, where Nick and the other eighth graders were standing and staring into the darkness.
Bolted to the underside of the bridge was a very large sign that said NO TRESPASSING. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
Dobie and I climbed up to the beam and shuffled out to the middle so that we were over the deepest part of the river.
“Get ready to jump,” Brian ordered.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember what Charlie had told me. Charlie had done the same jump and survived. Point your toes down. Keep your arms at your side. Watch out for the rocks. Charlie was the one who had ultimately convinced me that I needed to do this. He’d said football wasn’t just about making the team. Almost anyone could do that. It was about being a part of the team. According to Charlie, jumping off the bridge was a tradition and an honor, and I would understand why when it was all over.
“One,” said Brian.
“Man, that’s a long way down,” Dobie muttered.
“Two.”
“We’ll be fine,” I promised him.
“Thr—”
“I CAN’T DO IT!”
We couldn’t tell who had panicked. It wasn’t me, or Dobie, or Nick. But whoever it was had yelled loudly enough to be heard over the traffic on the bridge. Suddenly there were voices calling over the rail, faces looking to the water below.
“What’s going on down there?”
“It’s a group of kids!”
“They’re jumping!”
“JUMP!” was the last thing I heard Brian say before he leapt into the river. Aaron was in the air right after him.
There was nowhere to run. People were everywhere, on both sides of the bridge. We had two choices.
“See ya,” Dobie said.
I watched him drop into the water.
“Lord save me,” Nick muttered.
And he was gone.
“You need to come off the bridge now,” someone said. “The police are on their way.”
“Tell them I’m sorry,” I said.
The water came so fast that I had no time to think. I was in the river, being pulled gently downstream by the current. When I broke the surface, I could see Dobie and Nick crouched behind a boulder on the bank. It was an easy swim to shore, and I quickly left the water and hid with my friends. Spotlights searched the area.
Soon we were in the thick woods that covered the hillside. Grasping roots and tree trunks, we pulled ourselves to level ground, where we sat shivering in the dark until we thought nobody was still looking for us.
We jogged across the bridge in soggy shoes, and in the moonlight we saw two figures near a signpost. They ducked into the shadows as we approached, then reappeared when we were closer. I recognized Aaron and Brian.
“What’s up?” Aaron asked. “You guys good?”
“We’re good,” said Dobie.
Brian stuck out his fist for Dobie. “That took guts,” he said.
“What happened to the other guys?” I asked.
“Probably home hiding under their beds,” Aaron replied.
“Chickens,” Brian added.
Aaron nodded in agreement. “Anyway, they’re out.”
“Out of what?” I asked.
“Out of this,” Brian answered.
“What about us?” Dobie asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” Aaron replied. “You guys are definitely in.”
We split up a few minutes later. Aaron and Brian headed down Verlot Street toward town. Dobie, Nick, and I went the other way toward our neighborhood. Even though it was a mild night, I was starting to shiver in my wet clothes. The high from the plunge was wearing off. Dobie and Nick continued to relive the jump like it was the most amazing thing they had ever done. Part of me envied them. Why did I have to be the only one silently stressing about what could have happened? But another part of me felt like a warrior. I had jumped. I had survived. I was in. And that felt really, really good. Charlie would be proud.
—
Dad was waiting in the kitchen when I slipped into the house later that night. He didn’t have to ask where I’d been. He had done it, just like Charlie, and now me.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m all right.”
“Scared?”
&
nbsp; The question surprised me. Dad never talked about being scared of anything, except taxes, bills, and his customers switching to concrete siding. I saw no reason to hide the truth. “A little,” I admitted.
“You should be,” Dad said. “Jumping off a bridge is stupid and dangerous.”
“Am I in trouble?” I asked.
Dad shook his head. “Not this time,” he replied. “What you did tonight was a tradition. I get that. Tradition is important. You need that as a team. But from now on, no more bridges. And don’t tell your mother.”
“No problem,” I said, relieved.
Dad squeezed my shoulder. “Glad you’re home.”
“Me too,” I said.
I went upstairs to my room, closed my door, changed into dry shorts, and passed out face-first on my bed. I didn’t wake up until morning.
SATURDAY, MAY 14
The first time Caleb ever touched my hand was the day he showed me how to throw a football. We were ten. That was before I started playing flag football, before we started hanging out together whenever we had a chance, which was challenging, since we went to different schools. But the last time he touched my hand, we were walking to get doughnuts. That was last month. Now we weren’t just friends. We were something more. I just wished I knew what.
I finally got to tell Caleb the whole story on Saturday morning. When I’d texted him earlier in the week, he had written back:
Whoa, you’re going to be famous.
When I found him on Saturday, he was standing on the corner, looking proud. His hands were stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
Based on what I knew about boys, I figured Caleb was either going to kiss me or shoot me in the face with a water gun. I took my chances.
“Hold out your hands,” he said when my eyes were closed.
That was a twist. But I did it.
A second later something cool and metallic was resting on my palm.
I opened my eyes to see my medal.
“I found it in the park,” Caleb said.
“You went back?” I asked.
“Yesterday.”
“I’m going to hug you.”
“Okay.”
Caleb was tall enough that my head fit snugly under his chin. He had black curly hair that hung over his ears and forehead, and he was stronger than most of the other boys. That was because he had real chores, like hammering aluminum siding onto houses, a kind of muscle development completely different from the muscles you get from setting a table. He looked like he could play any sport he wanted.
After I hugged him, I noticed a big red welt on his leg.
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“I jumped off a bridge,” he said with a smile.
“Ha ha. Seriously, tell me.”
Caleb stopped smiling. “Seriously, I jumped off the Verlot Street bridge.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Why would you jump off a bridge into a river at night? That seems epically stupid. No offense.”
Caleb shrugged. “I guess I had to.”
“Why? Because everyone else did it?”
I listened as he explained the plunge and Aaron Parker and how it was a tradition for the football team and how all the men in his family had done it too.
“You’re crazy,” I said.
“Oh, like you wouldn’t have done it,” Caleb said.
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” I said. “Especially if it could get me killed. I have a mind of my own.”
“So do I,” Caleb answered.
I looked him in the eyes. “Doesn’t seem like it.”
“All right, fine,” he said. “Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But I survived. Now I can say I did it.”
Was this what boys lived for? To defy death just so they could talk about it later? I would never understand them. As for Caleb, he really meant it that he thought he had to jump off the bridge. Like when I threw a ball for Oreo and he fetched it even if he didn’t actually want to. He just wanted to make everyone happy. How could I not fall for a guy who just wanted to make everyone around him happy?
We stopped in town for bagels before our football game. I had an everything with cream cheese. He had a plain with butter.
“I can’t believe my mom is running for mayor,” I said, munching on my bagel.
“Could be kind of cool, right? You’d be famous.”
“Let’s see if you think it’s still cool after I tell you why she’s running.”
“You mean, like what she stands for?”
“Yeah. One is…I forget what one is. Two is something about bridges.”
“What’s three? Because so far this is pretty boring.”
“Shut up. I’m getting to the good part. Number three is, she wants to take the money for the football stadium and use it toward enhancing our education. Her words, not mine.”
Caleb’s eyes opened a little wider. Finally a reaction. “No stadium?”
“I know, right?”
“That’s crazy.”
“I then mentioned to her that I play football. Which she can never remember, pretty much like everything else I do in my life,” I said.
“Does she know you have a game today?”
“I told her. But I don’t think she really heard me.”
“My parents aren’t going either. At the beginning of the season, they asked if they were supposed to go to my games. I told them to wait for the real thing. I think they were relieved.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because my dad said, ‘Oh good.’ They’re always stressed about the family business, so they only want to go if it’s a real high school game.”
Caleb smiled, and I laughed. It was comforting to know that I wouldn’t be the only one without parents on the sideline. It was even better that the other person was Caleb, because it was one more thing we had in common. I squeezed his hand. “If you need to cry, I won’t tell anyone.”
“You rule,” Caleb said.
“Tell me that after the game,” I replied.
Tessa was kind of our secret weapon. Early on in every game, the other team would cheat on defense, trying to double up on Roy or one of the other guys, which left Tessa open. And she would make them pay. By the time they figured out she was a threat, they’d be too far behind to catch up. We racked up the Ws. Now we were one win away from the championship. But word was out that Tessa was legit. Today she’d have to beat her man straight up. I wondered if she could do it.
Tessa must have been thinking the same thing. “No way I’m getting open deep,” she said as we walked to the field. “It’s going to be all underneath stuff.”
“You’re quick,” I said. “Run a few slant routes. They’ll figure that’s all you can do. Then, BAM, give ’em a hitch and go.”
“Bam,” Tessa replied with a fist pump. “I like it.”
“I like you too,” I said.
The words hung in the air. The minute I’d said them, I wanted them back, like a quarterback who knew he had let the ball fly too soon. Did I think it was some big secret that I liked Tessa? No. She probably knew. Charlie told me girls had a sixth sense about things like that. Plus, I had bought her snacks at Pilchuck Market at least twice. But I had never actually said it. What if she freaked out? That would be bad. It would get really weird between us, and the team would need another slot receiver. “I mean, I like it,” I corrected myself in a panic.
But Tessa cut me off. “It’s too late,” she replied. “You already said it to me.”
We had come to a stop right on Verlot Street, near the Landover Lumber store. People were streaming past us with new gardening tools, freshly cut two-by-fours, and twenty-pound bags of wood chips.
“I was talking about football.”
“Yeah, but you were thinking about me. You have to admit it now, Caleb. You like me. We
’re beyond friends.”
She was so honest. So direct. How was she able to just come out like that and say everything that was going on? Her statement blew my mind. Like in earth science when Julian had asked what was beyond the edge of the universe and Ms. Baylor had said there was no scientific answer. What was beyond just friends? I had a feeling there was no scientific answer to that one either. I wished I could hide behind a stack of lumber long enough to call Charlie, but I didn’t want to make this even more awkward. I hoped Tessa had something to say. “So, then, what are you?”
“You know,” she said.
“You mean?” I asked.
She nodded slowly. I had to say, she looked very pretty in her green football jersey, long-sleeved white shirt, and gray football pants. And the eye black brought out the green in her eyes.
This was fourth and goal with no time on the clock. If I called the right play, it was all good. Tessa would be my girlfriend and we’d both know it. If I called the wrong play, it was game over. Down-set, down-set, down-set, hike! “Girlfriend?”
And that was how Caleb became my boyfriend. I was very happy, a little relieved, kind of dizzy, and still pretty confused. I realized that even when you gave something a name, you still had to figure out what it meant. I guessed that would come next. First, though, we had a game to play.
It was weird being on a football team with my girlfriend. It was even weirder when she played better than I did. At least for one game.
“Awesome game today, Tessa.”
“You were on fire.”
“Insane catch.”
“Epic.”
I went down the line, bumping fists one by one with each of the guys. “Thanks,” I said, still clutching the football I had just caught for the game-winning touchdown.
Caleb was waiting at the end. “Bam,” he said, slapping my hand. For just a second, he wrapped his long fingers around mine.
“Bam,” I said back.
“Champs,” he said with a smile.
“One more game,” I reminded him.
“We got it,” he answered confidently before Dobie and Nick pulled him aside.
The Football Girl Page 3
