by Allie Gail
“It’s supposed to be semiformal,” I reminded her.
“Well…if I find something I like tomorrow, I might get it anyway. If it’s not too much. I only have like a hundred and twenty bucks in my bank account.”
“I could put it on my card and you could pay me back later,” I offered.
“Yeah? Hm…I might just take you up on that.”
The announcer’s echoing voice cut through on the loudspeaker again. “Kensington takes the pitch from Murphy…fires a pass to a receiver…and he’s wide open! Caught at the ten yard line and into the end zone! Touchdown!”
Dana jumped up and shrieked along with the crowd while the marching band played our fight song from the stands. The cheerleaders jumped and kicked and shook their pompoms wildly. Even I had to applaud that one.
“Touchdown pass by number forty-two, senior Rob Kensington to number twenty Colin Hayes, also a senior.”
I could feel butterflies dancing in my stomach at the mere mention of his name. All of a sudden I was restless, anxious to move around. “Let’s go get a Coke,” I suggested, tugging on Dana’s sleeve.
“Right now? You just had a Coke!”
“I’m sleepy. I need caffeine.”
“Oh, all right…” She followed me up the steps and toward the concession booth. We saw Jordan Cox in her sequined majorette uniform and white boots, waiting in line to use the restroom. She waved to us so we walked over.
“Hey. What are you up to?”
“Just getting something to drink,” I told her.
“Aren’t your arms cold?” Dana wanted to know. The temperature was around fifty degrees, a little on the chilly side for a skimpy sleeveless leotard.
“Please - this is nothing. Try twirling in November when your hands are numb. At least the cheerleaders get to put on sweaters when they get cold.”
“Want my jacket?” I offered. It was just a light windbreaker but better than nothing.
“No, I’ll snag a jacket after halftime. Thank you though.”
I thought I heard the word interception over the loudspeaker, but it was hard to tell. The echo was worse back here for some reason. Cocking my head, I tried to interpret what was going on through the sudden yelling from the stands. Dana and Jordan had fallen into a discussion on next Friday’s parade, and I tried to tune them out.
“Is Kyra doing your hair this year?”
“Yeah…I’m checking out at eleven to go get it done. Still can’t decide whether I should wear it up or down.”
“I’d wear it down. It looks sexy that way. Maybe just add a little curl…”
“Shoestring tackle sent him to the turf hard…he does appear to be injured…”
“Listen,” I interrupted. “I think someone’s hurt.”
“Not from our team, I hope,” Jordan commented.
“Come on - let’s go see. We can get a Coke later.” Linking her arm in mine, Dana fluttered her other hand at Jordan. “Take it easy.”
We wandered back to the stands, craning our necks to try and catch a glimpse of the player who was lying flat on his back on the field. He was surrounded by a huddle of blue and gold uniforms. Which meant it was one of ours.
“Number fifty-nine senior Jonathan Ellis made the tackle…let’s hope the running back is okay.”
My heart stopped beating for a minute. I swear it did. Not waiting to see if Dana was following, I sprinted down the steps to the chain link fence that separated us from the field. Curling my clammy fingers around the steel wire, I watched in dread as the players began to disperse, giving me a clear view of…yes, damn it to hell, number forty-two. But the coach and another player were already helping Rob to his feet. After a few brief words spoken between them, Coach Simpson began to assist him off the field.
“And forty-two being helped off the field by Hillcrest coach Mark Simpson…he does appear to be okay.”
The sound of applause rang in my ears as I stood frozen, clutching the fence while they drew closer to the sideline. The coach said something to him and after Rob nodded, he was released and Simpson jogged back onto the field to speak to the referee. Limping toward the bench, Rob pulled off his helmet and shook his head so that fine droplets rained from his sweaty hair. Beside me, I heard Dana say, “He’s all right.”
But I still couldn’t move. And just before he reached the bench, something made him look in our direction. His eyes met mine.
He winked.
By the time Rob made it back home, I’d already been dropped off by Dana and was impatiently awaiting his return. It wasn’t just because of what happened at the game - I knew by now he wasn’t seriously hurt. The house just felt empty without him. It’s hard to explain, but I’d sort of grown used to his presence. Even though we rarely spoke, I’d become accustomed to knowing he was always nearby. Which is weird, since it never used to bother me to be alone. I usually preferred it.
My head snapped up from the TV at the sound of a car door slamming outside, and a moment later he sauntered into the house, disheveled and grimy, duffel bag holding his football gear slung over one shoulder.
“Hey,” he said.
“You okay?” I tried to sound casual, not too concerned.
“Yeah. Just took a hard fall.” He tossed the bag in the laundry room and added, “I’ll be sore as hell tomorrow though. I’m gonna go take a shower.”
“Okay.” I stayed up, mindlessly watching some comedian on Comedy Central while waiting to see if he’d come back out. Before long, I heard him messing around in the refrigerator.
“How long’s this chicken been in here?” he called from the kitchen.
“I don’t know…a while, I think. I personally wouldn’t eat it.” Wandering in from the living room, I smiled at the sight of him leaning over into the fridge. A position which provided an impressive view of his backside. All he had on was a pair of shorts, too. Ooh la la. Maybe he should’ve played tight end instead.
“I’m friggin’ starving,” he mumbled.
“Want me to fix you something?”
“No…that’s okay.”
“You sure? I don’t mind.”
Straightening, he closed the refrigerator door and transferred his attention to the freezer. “Wanna split a box of cheese sticks?”
“Sure.” Actually I wasn’t hungry at all, but it did provide an excuse to hang out with him for a while. Setting the oven to preheat, I pulled out a baking sheet and dropped it with a loud clang on top of the stove. When he turned to hand me the DiGiorno box, my eyes were instantly drawn to the raw gashes and scrapes on one of his knees. The bleeding appeared to have stopped, but it still looked painful enough to make me cringe.
“Holy barracuda, Batman - that is gross!”
Plunking down on a chair, he shrugged apathetically. “Comes with the territory.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Nah, not really.”
“You want me to get something to put on it? There’s some hydrogen peroxide in my bathroom.”
“No.” He looked at me as if I’d just offered to rub Drano all over it.
“It won’t hurt,” I assured him, pulling out a chair on the opposite side of the table.
“It’s fine.”
“Okay - if your leg gets infected and falls off, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“If my leg ever falls off, I give you my word I won’t hold you responsible.” He indulged me with a benign smile.
“That was a great pass you made tonight.”
“It was a no-brainer. He was wide open.”
“Still…” He sure wasn’t much for compliments. I always thought men liked having their egos stroked. “It was a good play.”
No response to that.
“Um…did you ever decide whether you were going to the dance or not?”
“No.”
“No, you didn’t decide or no, you’re not going?”
“No,” he repeated.
Da fuq? Before I could figure that one out, the oven beeped and I ho
pped up to shove the cheese sticks inside before sitting back down. “Then you’re not going?” I rephrased my inquiry.
He shook his head.
I drummed my fingers on the table, wracking my brain for something interesting to say. I sure as hell couldn’t rely on him to inspire stimulating conversation. He was making no effort whatsoever. “So…”
“So.” His eyes, still fixed on me, gleamed with wicked amusement. That rotten jerk - he was doing this deliberately! Trying to see just how uncomfortable he could make me, simply for the fun of it. Well, two could play that game.
“Tell me something.” I propped my chin in one hand and locked on his gaze with the most penetrating stare I could muster.
“What would you like me to tell you?”
“Why did you say that you weren’t sorry your parents had died?”
If I’d expected to coax a reaction out of him with that invasive question, then I was sadly mistaken. Other than a firm resolution, there was no change in his expression at all. “Because I don’t lie.”
“Then you actually meant what you said. You’re glad they’re dead.”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t really mean that.”
“If you say so.”
“Then you did mean it?”
“I get the feeling we’re going in circles here.”
“Why would you say something like that, Rob? Whether you meant it or not? What, were your parents horrible people or something?”
Oddly enough, that was the clincher. The sparkle in his eyes no longer held restrained laughter. It hardened instantly into a cold glint. “Not at all. They were ideal parents, the kind every child dreams of having. Ward and June Cleaver right off the screen. My father in particular - just ask anyone. They’ll tell you what a stand-up fucking guy he was. How devoted he was to his precious son.”
I studied those eyes for a minute before gently reminding him, “I thought you said you never lied.”
“Maybe you should Google the word sarcasm. There’s a difference.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t get along with them?” I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what to make of his outburst.
“Oh, no…we got along great. Every day was rainbows and puppy dogs.”
“Sarcasm again?”
“You catch on fast, grasshopper.”
Then did you set that fire? Were you responsible for their deaths? Those were the nagging questions I didn’t have the nerve to voice. Mainly because I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he might reveal. Deep down, I couldn’t make myself believe he’d do something so vicious…but I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to prove me wrong.
“Why didn’t you get along?”
“Oh, you know…the usual. I wanted to stay out all night raping and pillaging and they disapproved.”
“I think you have the monopoly on this sarcasm thing,” I informed him.
“You have a pretty good handle on it yourself.” The steeliness in his eyes softened a bit.
“Would you prefer we change the subject?”
“Yes. I think that would be a good idea.”
“Okay.” What to ask, what to ask… “Are you trying for a football scholarship?”
“No. Academic.”
Well, he was just full of surprises, wasn’t he? “Where are you looking to go?”
“FSU.”
“Frostburg? Really - me, too!” It wasn’t as much of a coincidence as it sounds. Frostburg State University was a choice based on convenience - it’s a ten minute drive from here so I’d be able to attend college while continuing to reside with my dad. Did that mean Rob had the same intention? “What are you planning to major in?”
“Computer science.”
Another shocker. “Wow. I never would have pictured you in that field.”
“What about you?”
“Elementary education.”
“Sounds about right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno…you just seem good with kids is all. Peyton really likes you.”
I smiled at his mention of the scrappy little girl. She seemed to like him too, from what I could tell. “Peyton likes cold ravioli. What does she know?”
“Kids are perceptive. It’s a trait people seem to lose as they get older. The ability to scratch the surface enough to uncover a person’s true character. Or maybe it’s just that they see only what they want to see.” He sighed, and there was a distant kind of sadness in his voice as he added, “You never really know anyone, Sara. Remember that.”
“You talk as if you know this from experience.”
“A person can learn a lot in a very short time.” He held my gaze for a moment before abruptly jumping to his feet. “So! Do we have any marinara for those cheese sticks?”
We sat in the kitchen together talking that night for over an hour. Neither of us touched on any more deep topics, opting instead to keep things light. Mostly talk about school and football and the upcoming homecoming festivities. But in that brief time we shared more words than had ever passed between us. Maybe he hadn’t let me in yet, but he’d opened the door. And I could sense a shift. It was gradual, and it was subtle.
But it was there.
8
Riley called me Saturday afternoon while I was stripped down to my boyshorts and bra in the dressing room of a local boutique. He wanted to find out what color dress I was wearing, saying he’d like to make sure the colors in his tie matched. I couldn’t be sure if he was actually that thoughtful or his mother had put him up to it. Probably the latter.
The dress I ended up buying was one Dana picked out, and as soon as I tried it on I knew it was The One. It was a short and flouncy cocktail dress in a deep, dark purple. The straps were beaded with sparkling rhinestones, along with a strip of beading around the cinched waist. And the sweetheart neckline was cut to show just the right amount of cleavage. Dana proclaimed it to be jaw-droppingly sexy. I swore to her I’d never doubt her fashion sense again. The shoes we chose were silver platform sandals to match the beading, and deciding to opt for simplicity, the only jewelry I bought was a pair of dangly rhinestone teardrop earrings that went perfectly with the ensemble. I already had a white gold tennis bracelet I could wear.
I helped Dana select another dress as well, charging it to my credit card with the unspoken understanding that she’d pay me back as soon as she could. We’d done this before - she was always good for it. Her choice was similar to mine in style, but strapless and apricot in color.
The week leading up to homecoming was crazy. Other than Wednesday when I had ballet practice, I worked every afternoon alongside Dana and the rest of the volunteers helping to finish up the float. Since we were both also heading up Friday’s senior skit, we spent theatre class most of that week trying to direct a bunch of rowdy students who were basically only there to get out of their regular classes. It was total chaos. On top of that was the neverending supply of homework, although some teachers were slightly more lenient during spirit week.
Ever since Dana had discovered Trent’s interest in her, we’d taken to eating lunch at the same table with him and his cronies. It started off a little awkward for me for two reasons. First, because I didn’t want Riley getting the idea that I liked him as more than a friend. I mean, he was nice-looking and fun to be around and all that, but there was just nothing there. Nada. A great big void. I found out pretty quick that it wasn’t going to be a problem though - he was much more of a gentleman than his horndog buddies.
The second reason was that Rob was also a part of this group, and I just knew that sooner or later my attraction to him was going to become obvious. I tried to hide it, or ignore it altogether. But my heightened awareness of him kept me from ever being able to fully relax, and every time he moved I found my eyes following him like a magnet. It may have been paranoia on my part, but I felt like my emotions were tattooed on my skin, just waiting to be exposed.
Dana checked out right after Frida
y’s pep rally to go get her hair done, so I was the lone sheep among wolves at lunch that day. The guys were already pumped about the game and for those forty minutes their misdirected energy was centered on me. Part of that stellar conversation went something like this:
Doug: Anyone else’s chicken sandwich smell funny? Seriously, this don’t smell right. I think something might be wrong with it. Here, smell this…
Trent: Get that shit outta my face, man! What’s wrong with you?
Doug: Just smell it!
Trent: I’m not smellin’ your goddamn chicken sandwich!
Doug: Fuck you - if I wind up with food poisoning then I’m gonna kick your scrawny ass!
Trent: Bitch, please. (looking at me) You believe this guy can kick my ass?
Me: Uh…yeah.
Colin: You guys, check this. Staci told me she’s not gonna be wearing panties under her dress tomorrow night.
Trent: Does she wear ’em any other time?
(Rob nearly chokes on his Mountain Dew and starts coughing.)
Colin: Man, you don’t know what you’re missing. When we’re dancing and she starts grinding that ass up on me…
Me: (with a mouth full of salad) Dude. I’m trying to eat here.
Doug: Daaaamn...wonder if I could talk Melanie into that?
Riley: Why don’t you ask her and let us know how that turns out.
Trent: You planning on going commando, ballerina?
Me: Hadn’t planned on it.
Trent: I think the entire female student body needs to show their support for the players by coming to the game tonight without their panties. We should make it mandatory. Who’s with me?
Colin: Hell yeah…especially the cheerleaders!
Trent: Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!
Me: What part of ‘I’m trying to eat here’ is incomprehensible to you?
Riley: Myers, stop being a dick.
Trent: Be kinda hard to concentrate on the plays though. We’d probably get our asses handed to us.
Rob: Not happening. Tonight’s gonna be a blowout. They haven’t won a game all season.
Riley: (looking at his phone) I gotta run talk to somebody for a minute. Sara, will you watch my food so these jackoffs don’t do anything to it?
