“Well, he can have three more.” Jess grabbed her best friend’s hand and pulled her up, and the two of them followed Greg out of the stands and down to the sidelines.
Once the crowd started to clear, they were able to have a moment to talk with Chris. He grinned when he saw them.
“Hey Miranda. What’s up, Jess.” Then his eyes landed on Greg and he nodded curtly. “Greg.”
“Hey, good game, man,” said Greg.
Chris considered even that with suspicion. “Thanks.”
“Looks like you picked the right sport,” Jess said, and Chris grinned.
“Yeah, I’m all right at it.” Then he turned to Greg. “You play any sports?”
Greg shook his head. “Nah. Used to play soccer, but I’m not that competitive.”
Chris looked him up and down then his face softened. “That’s cool. Our kicker used to play soccer, but a lot of good that did for him. Not a single made field goal or extra point in this whole game. I would say it’s unbelievable if he didn’t do it every freaking game. Says he’s in a slump. Psh. Some slump. You ever try place kicking?”
Miranda snuck glance at Jess that said something along the lines of, “Boys, amIright?”
Jess grinned.
“I’ve never tried, but I’ve thought about it.”
Chris nodded, then turned to one of his teammates. “Williams!” He held up his hands, and Billy threw him the football he was holding.
“Here. Let’s give it a go.”
Greg hesitated, and Jess didn’t have to guess why; she knew why. He was still too high. She knew because she was still too high.
“Come on,” Chris urged. He pulled off his jersey and pads, leaving only his Underarmor. “I just played an entire football game. What’s your excuse?”
Greg looked at Jess, who shrugged and nodded. “Go ahead. Why not?”
“Fine.” A mischievous grin cracked his lips. “But you’re gonna try with me.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her behind him as he jogged after Chris.
A few little kids were tossing around a Nerf football and running after each other in the end zone, but Chris cleared them out. “All right, Jess, you hold, Greg kicks, I catch.” He bent down and showed her how to hold the football, seemed to consider it, then suggested she just shut her eyes so that she didn’t take her finger off it too soon.
Once Chris was set up behind the goal posts and Jess had the ball set on the fifteen yard line with her eyes shut tight, she said, “You better not kick my hand.”
Greg replied with, “Wouldn’t dream of it,” and then a moment later the ball disappeared from beneath her fingertips. She opened her eyes and saw it sail through the uprights. “Wow. Good job.”
Chris threw the ball back to Greg and waved them away. “Five more,” he hollered.
Greg kicked off his Converse, leaving him in sock feet, and they moved back to the twenty.
Each time Greg made it, they moved back five more yards, until the ball was on the thirty, and Greg hooked it left and missed.
“Aww, good try,” Jess said.
Chris jogged over with the ball. “Not bad, Burns. Especially considering you had no practice. You ever thought about playing football?”
Greg chuckled before realizing that was not the correct response. “Not really. It would be impossible to do football and theater, anyway.”
Chris looked at him like the words were spoken in a different language, and perhaps to change the subject, Greg looked at Jess. “Your turn.”
“For what?”
“Kicking. You said you would.”
“Did I?” She decided that being high around people other than Greg was not all that fun, because she had to pretend she wasn’t high, which took away from it considerably.
“Sure,” said Chris. “Give it a shot, Jess. I’ll hold for you. Greg, you catch?”
Greg nodded and jogged to the back of the end zone.
“Don’t worry, we’ll start at the fifteen.” Chris led the way to the marker.
Jess tried to remember the last time she’d kicked anything. Was it really seventh grade PE? Surely she’d kicked something since that week of kickball—a week she’d rather forget due specifically to her inability to kick the ball between first and third base. “How about the ten?” she said, since there was no reason why she would be any good at this.
“Fifteen first.” He set the ball on the ground at the fifteen yard line and stood up. “Okay, so here’s an easy trick. You’re right footed, right?”
“No idea. I think both are bad at kicking.”
“What hand do you write with?”
“Right.”
“Okay, so you stand behind the ball, take two giant steps back and one step to the left. Then you take a few steps up, plant your left foot by the ball, body aimed toward the post, lean back and kick. Easy!”
“Repeat the last … no, all the steps again?”
He walked her through it slowly and then knelt to hold it. “Kick it like it insulted your mother,” Chris said. There was no way he could have known that meant she was imagining it was Trent’s head.
She ran to it, kicked it as hard as she could, and watched it slice right down the middle of the goal posts, which, from her basic understanding, was what it was supposed to do.
Chris stood, looking impressed. “Damn, Jess.”
“Nice!” Greg shouted.
She was surprised herself. Her approach felt about as off-balance as it could be, but the contact with the ball had felt about as natural as walking. “Beginner’s luck.” Maybe the weed had somehow helped her coordination.
“Let’s see when this luck runs out, then.” He motioned for the ball, and Greg threw it to him somewhat sloppily—not the tight spiral Chris threw.
They moved back to the twenty. “Ready?”
“Nope.” But she paced out the steps and then kicked again.
“You know, that’s actually like a twenty-five–yard field goal,” Chris said, once the ball had gone straight between the uprights. “That’s not easy.”
“Really?” It had felt easy.
“Is this seriously your first time trying?”
“Yep.”
Chris nodded approvingly. “Nice. Then you must be a natur—”
The realization seemed to hit both of them at the same time, and they locked eyes, though their reactions couldn’t have been more different.
“No …” she said, feeling hot dread creep up her spine like mercury in a thermometer.
“Hell … yes,” he said, his eyes as wide as they would go, looking at her adoringly.
“No,” she repeated. Then she pointed threateningly down at him at where he knelt. “Stop. Don’t say it. It’s not that.”
But that didn’t wipe the goofy grin off his face. “Okay, fine. I won’t say it.” He stood, motioned to Greg, then once he had the ball back in his hands, he added, “Let’s just scoot back five more and see what happens.”
She begrudgingly agreed, holding out hope that what she thought was happening wasn’t actually happening.
Once she made it from the twenty-five, there was no need for discussion. Chris got the ball back and put it on the thirty, and Jess heaved a sigh and took two steps back and one to the left. Her eyes accidentally fell on Chris, and he was still grinning like a fool.
I hate you, Dad.
Greg looked small at this distance, the goal posts towering over him, and she decided that making it from the distance where Greg missed would most definitely not be good for their budding relationship. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the best course of action here. She’d just kick the football wide, then this whole thing would be over with and she could go make out with Greg some more.
She jogged up to the ball in a half-assed effort, trying to aim her body toward the stands to hit it wide right and only put enough force behind her kick that it would make it halfway to the end zone, if that.
But that’s not what happened.
Despite her best efforts at fail
ure, the ball sailed through the uprights, perfectly centered.
She watched it go, and couldn’t blink. “Holy …”
“Praise God!” Chris shouted.
Greg had to punt the ball for it to make it all the way back to Chris. He pulled it into his chest and then backpedaled five more yards.
“I dunno,” she said, “I think my leg hurts.”
“Just one more! I want to see you make it from the thirty-five! That’s already longer than Rivera’s alleged personal record.”
He knelt down with the ball and held it there, waiting for her.
“Can we just be done? Please?” This felt like torture, being pulled farther and farther away from Greg with each perfectly executed field goal.
Greg liked her. Not her God powers. This unfortunate discovery could only get in the way of that.
“Just one more,” Chris said. “I promise I’ll let you stop after this one. Come on! This is awesome!”
“Fine. Just one more. Then I’m done. For real.” That’s when she noticed the small crowd of players and coaches gathering to watch.
She looked at Miranda, who was leaning against the fence that surrounded the field, arms folded casually across her chest. At that distance away, Jessica couldn’t make out Miranda’s expression, but she hoped it wasn’t as excited as Chris’s.
“You got this!” Chris said encouragingly.
I know. That’s the problem.
She took her steps and kicked the ball from the thirty-five, and it went sailing end over end through the air for another field goal.
Chris couldn’t get enough, and as he scooted back to the forty, pulling Jess with him despite their agreement that the last one would be the last one, she couldn’t help but lament how tiny Greg looked almost half a field away. Where was he to save her now?
Only, she knew she couldn’t be saved from this, not really, not even by Greg.
Once she made it from the forty, Chris moved the ball from one side of the hash marks to the other, and she made both of those angles, too.
It’s a goddamn miracle.
She was saved from having to show off anymore when two of the coaches jogged over.
Coach Rex she recognized. He was the head coach, maybe in his early forties and shaved his head to hide his hair loss, though he often went days without doing so and the male pattern baldness became obvious. He wasn’t overweight, but he also didn’t seem particularly in shape, as the minimal jog over left him slightly short of breath. She considered telling him that he should find a new way to lock his office door if he didn’t want kids making out in it, but that would’ve raised far too many questions that she didn’t want to answer with Greg nearby.
It was strange, though. Looking at Chris now, their make-out practice had seemed so long ago, but it was only earlier that day.
The other coach she recognized from passing in the hallway, but she didn’t know his name. He was young, tall and lean, with wild blue eyes that bulged slightly in their sockets. Was he perpetually like that, or did she only see him during moments of utter disbelief, like when he was monitoring student behavior in the cafeteria and when he’d just witnessed a random girl kicking fifty-yard field goals like it was nothing?
The young coach was the one who spoke first. “Coach Patterson.”
He held out his hand and she shook it. “Jessica.”
“You practice that much, Jessica?”
Chris answered for her. “That was her first time. Can you believe it?”
Patterson pulled off his cap and scratched his head. “That was quite something, young lady.” He replaced his hat and stared down at her, his wide eyes making him appear almost as revved up as Chris. “You ever thought about playing football?”
On the drive back to Jess’s house, whatever closeness and genuine connection she’d felt with Greg just hours before had dissolved into an invisible wall and measured speech. Maybe it was just the weed wearing off, but she thought it was more likely the poorly timed discovery of her miracle.
“I should’ve told you this earlier,” she said, “but Jesus came to me in a dream and told me that I have to start finding my miracles. So—”
He took one hand off the steering wheel and held it up between them. “Stop. It’s fine.”
“You don’t believe me.” She should have known. Even with all the mounting evidence, he didn’t believe.
“I … I don’t know what to believe.” He kept his eyes glued to the road as they waited at the stoplight. “Tell me this, though. Have you really never kicked field goals before?”
“No, I swear. That was the first time.”
Her answer seemed to cause him physical pain, and he scrunched up his face against it. “I just … I don’t understand. It’s not your fault.”
“I didn’t give Coach Rex a definite yes. I just said I’d come to one practice. We don’t even know if I got the part as Isabella, and rehearsals won’t start for another two weeks.”
“No, I get it. I think you should do whatever you want to do.” His forced tone made it clear that everything would be just fine, so long as what she wanted to do was theater and not football.
“I’m just going to feel it out.”
Greg laughed dryly. “You know, if you did decide to go with football, I bet it would drive Sandra crazy, having to cheer for you once the squad is finalized and starts going to games.”
“That’s true.” But Jess wondered why his mind was back on Sandra.
They pulled up into her driveway, and Greg put the truck into park. “Should I come in? Your mom might want to get a read on the guy who keeps driving her daughter home.”
Jess knew that, first, that wasn’t necessarily true, and second, with the downward turn this night had already taken, things were precarious enough without tossing the unknown of Destinee to the mix.
“Maybe some other time. She opens at Walgreens in the mornings, so she’s probably already asleep.”
Greg looked out his window toward the doublewide. “Nope. There she is. Wide awake.”
Through the living room window, Jess could see her mother sitting on the couch yelling animatedly at the television.
“Uh, well, she looks busy. Maybe some other time.”
“Okay, whatever you say.” Greg turned to her and smiled. “Let’s see each other tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Cool.” He leaned toward her and they kissed slowly. A spark lit inside her, and she thought it was hope. But it could be hormones.
“I’ll text you,” he said as Jess grabbed her backpack and got out of the car.
“Night.”
“Night.”
She shut the heavy door of his El Camino and went inside.
The Bachelorette was blasting on the TV when she set down her bag. Destinee paused it and then looked at her daughter. “Damn, baby. Rough day?”
Jess sighed. “Long.”
Destinee patted the couch next to her, and Jess realized that all she wanted in this whole world was to flop down on the sofa and tell her mom about her day. So that’s what she did.
Once Destinee finally took no for an answer as to whether Jess knew where she could get “some good weed in this ass backwards town,” her mother moved on to more important topics. “So I guess we need to get you some football pads and condoms.” Destinee paused. “Shit. I never thought I’d be saying that to my daughter.”
“You can hold up on both of those, Mom. I don’t want to have sex with Greg, and I don’t know that I want to play football.”
Destinee scoffed. “Psh. Both of those things are inevitable. If Greg’s as hot as you say he is, and he’s what, sixteen?” Jess nodded. “Then, yeah, y’all will need condoms sooner than later.”
“But I don’t want to have sex with him!” Jess repeated.
Destinee winked. “Yet. And you know what? Don’t have sex with him a minute sooner than you want, but once you want it, wrap that shit up and go to town.”
“M
om.”
“What? You said yourself that God doesn’t care. And from my own experience, I know that to be true. Trust me, baby. So if God doesn’t care, why should you, as long as you’re being safe?”
Clearly she wasn’t going to let it go. Jess rolled her eyes. “Okay. If you really want to buy me condoms, go for it. I can’t stop you. But the football pads are expensive.”
“First of all,” Destinee said, “condoms aren’t exactly cheap. Second of all, what kind of mother would I be if I didn’t buy you everything you need to perform the miracles God gave you?”
Jess sighed with exasperation. “No, you aren’t listening. I don’t know yet if I want to play football.”
Destinee nodded and was silent. Then, “So you know what I said about sex? Not a minute sooner than you want to?” Jess nodded. “That doesn’t apply to doing what you were put on this earth to do. You don’t get to wait till you’re ready. You got to start as soon as you know what it is.”
“Says who?”
Destinee jumped in her seat and turned to face Jess directly. “Me, baby! There’s no way for you to know this about me, but I used to be one hell of a science geek. Got the brain for it.” She pointed to her head as visual evidence. “But I kept telling myself I would start focusing on it next year, then the next year, and so on. In the meantime, I started focusing on boys. Then before I ever got to get great at science, you came along.”
The fact that her mother had any academic interests ever was news to Jess. “But that’s not quite the same. You got pregnant by God. I don’t know if there’s anything you could’ve done to prevent that.”
“Well, I didn’t have a fancy doctor in my sex ed class telling us about condoms and birth control pills, so I guess we’ll never know if there was anything I coulda done to prevent it, because I didn’t do a single thing to prevent it.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” She allowed herself a moment to move past idea of her mother having unprotected sex with God. “I just mean this is God we’re talking about. Once he decided you were going to be the mother of his daughter, there probably wasn’t anything you could do to stop it, right?”
Destinee squinted at Jess, scrunching up her face. “Wait. You think God raped me?”
And It Was Good (Jessica Christ Book 2) Page 8
