by Claire Adams
The second quarter started and I found myself watching Zack more and more. I could hear Jess flirting with the guy she was wrapping around her little finger, but my attention was entirely on Zack. He clearly wasn’t distracted or cracking under the pressure—he was on top of the game, working hard, staying focused. It seemed to me like he was probably not even remotely thinking about me, and while part of me was relieved, another part was depressed. The second half went back and forth; we scored, and then the other team managed to even the points; then, just like the first half, everything was neck-and-neck, with the teams moving from one end of the field to the other, not quite able to make a break through each other’s lines long enough to get another touchdown. It was a nerve-wracking game, and the cheers and shouts around me never abated for even a moment; if I wasn’t focused on taking notes on the game, watching to try and work out the different strategies, I might have been swept up in it myself.
The second half finally ended and the two teams ran from the field to go back to the locker rooms to rest and get ready for the back end of the game. The half-time show would be longer for this game than usual, and I was looking forward to watching the marching bands perform. The cheers cut back slightly, but didn’t die as the show got started. The two marching bands came out onto the field and started up, getting ready to do their competing routines. Even as I got excited, even as the two bands geared up and began playing, my mind was on Zack. I pictured him in my head in the locker room, drinking water or Gatorade, listening to Bullden catechizing the team—telling them what they’d done wrong in the first half and getting them hyped for the second half of the game. With a tie on the scoreboard, there’d be pressure for both teams to try and get the first score right out of the gate.
I watched and didn’t watch as each marching band took the field in turn. Our marching band went first, and I absentmindedly sang along with the crowd as they went through their four songs, recognizable classics that I thought had probably been played at every major football game from the first year the songs came out. I took pictures of the formations, grabbing as many as I could. I would have to ask Jess later on just what had been played, because I wasn’t sure I would be able to remember it. But I had the pictures, and I didn’t think the half-time show would be a major focus of the article and the features anyway. When the other team’s marching band took the field, I managed to pay a little more attention, catching a more modern song—OK Go’s Here it Goes Again among the more classic selections. I got one or two pictures of their routine, but it wasn’t important enough to do more than that.
“So what do you think about the first half?” I asked someone near me.
I started collecting quotes, recording people as best as I could in spite of the shrieking, screaming, cheering noise that surrounded me. I grabbed a quote from Jess and the guy she was talking to just as a matter of course—it probably wouldn’t make it to the final article, but it gave me something to do while I was waiting for the game to start up again.
From the start of the second half of the game, it was clear that both teams were looking to create a lead and break the tie. The two teams took the field with just as much energy as they had at the beginning of the game, rushing out and looking absolutely determined. The other team—the Wild Cats—managed to break through our defense and get a touch down all in one play a few minutes into the third quarter. I was on my feet, snapping pictures and taking notes in my mind and in my notebook throughout the fraught quarter. Our team tried to even the score but couldn’t seem to quite break through the other side’s defense. I thought to myself that the other team’s coach, Gulder, had clearly stressed defense in his team’s half-time briefing. I caught a few quick glances at the sidelines, watching the rest of the team, watching the coaching staff pacing, working hard to try and find a way to get that all-important score. The other team expanded their lead with another touchdown, and there was a collective groan through our side of the stadium while the other side shrieked.
I kept hoping that we would pull the lead that the Wild Cats had on us closed; but as the third quarter ticked down to the final seconds, we all knew it was impossible. We would have to have a monumental fourth quarter—we would have to at least tie the other team in order to get into overtime, where we might be able to pull ahead. It would really be a miracle if we were able to pull ahead before regulation time ended.
At the beginning of the fourth quarter, the first play by the other team—one of their key defensive players went down and we made it halfway into their end of the field before one of the other tackles brought our player down. We still had possession of the ball. The defensive lineman was obviously hurt; he didn’t get up for a long time and the refs came out to assess the situation. There was no penalty—the tackle had been perfectly legal—but as medics came out and helped the player limp off of the field, it was clear that he wouldn’t be playing for the remainder of the game. It was his bad luck, I thought with a bit of sympathy.
The loss of the other team’s key defensive lineman seemed to galvanize our team— finally they were able to break through fast and effectively. We scored a touchdown on our very next play; it didn’t even the score, but at least we weren’t so far behind. My heart was pounding in my chest and the people in the stands around me were losing their minds, screaming and shouting, cheering and chanting. The other team managed to continue to hold us off through a few more plays—they intercepted once and then lost possession of the ball in the very next scrimmage—but it was clear that they were really suffering from the loss of their best defensive player. I was worried about their offense; it had always been strong, and with one of their other players down, they’d be looking—at least subconsciously—to even things up and maybe take out our quarterback.
They nearly achieved it. In one of the plays in the middle of the fourth quarter, Zack went down under what was practically a dogpile of players from the other team. He was down for a few minutes, but before they could bring the medics out, he was on his feet again, shaking himself off, hopping up and down in place before he resumed his normal position. The next play after that we managed to finally even up the score—Zack using a deceptive move to convince the other team he was going to try for a pass instead of a throw, and then getting the ball as far downfield as he could to the running back who caught up to it just in time. I nearly went deaf once more with the shrieks that came up from our side of the stands, but I was grinning as broadly as anyone.
So, with only a few minutes left in the game—and the championship riding on it—the two teams were once more tied. My mouth was dry, and my heart was racing. We could end up in overtime, which wouldn’t be a bad outcome—as long as we won it. I noticed, almost absently, that I was becoming more and more invested in the game, in spite of wanting to remain impartial, in spite of convincing myself that I didn’t care who won. If we couldn’t score something in the next play or two, we would go into overtime—provided we could keep our defense up and keep the Wild Cats from scoring.
The other team started its play. Everyone in the stands—on both sides—was standing up, chanting, screaming, clearly at their wits’ end with excitement at the prospect of such a close game. I had my camera ready. If the other team managed to somehow get a touchdown in their play, they would have basically won—it would be nearly impossible for us to score sufficient points before the time ran out. I was bouncing on the balls of my feet at the snap, watching, watching. Waiting like everyone else in the crowd was. For the moment, I wasn’t a reporter at all; I was just another spectator, watching the fates of the two teams unfolding.
In a moment that made everyone go silent, our team intercepted the ball in the midst of a pass. After a shocked moment, everyone on our side cheered. We made it onto the other side of the field, landing in the Wild Cats’ territory by fifteen yards before they were able to scramble up their players enough to tackle the player. We had possession of the ball once more. There was time for one more play. I was in an agony of
anticipation—what would the decision be? Would we go for a touchdown—a decisive victory—or would there be a field goal attempt? Just enough of a score to win the game by a few points. Both would be major risks. Zack ran to the sidelines to confer with coach Bullden, and some of the players switched up for the last play of regulation time. I wasn’t sure whether the shrieking of the fans or the pounding of my blood in my ears was louder. I watched the two sides form up. The players were in a tight formation, and I saw Zack and another player cautiously moving farther back from the line of scrimmage. It could be a field goal. It could be.
The play started and I watched with wide eyes: it was a field goal attempt. I clenched my hands into fists—it was a major risk. The defense kept the other team at bay while they set up the kick. I jumped up and down with everyone else, screaming as the kick launched the ball into the air. I watched as it turned end over end, moving inexorably towards the crossbars. Would it be good? Would it go through, or fall short, or would it hit instead of getting through?
It went through—and everyone went silent for just a moment, reeling in the stands. There were 30 more seconds left in the game, but there was no real chance for the other team to make the points up. The final play was almost anti-climactic, a formality to run down the clock. The game was decided and everyone in our side of the stands was cheering and screaming, already starting to celebrate.
I sat down heavily in my seat, happy but exhausted at how nerve-wracking the game had been. I knew there would be major celebrations in the city—a party at the hotel, partying in the parking lot, and probably wherever else any group of fans for our team were staying or could congregate. For sure, the football team would be living it up for the rest of the night. I stood as soon as I could recover from my shock and delight and snapped pictures of the field, the crowd, everything going on. Our team was running around the field, leaping up and down, the players delirious with excitement at their win; I managed to capture the moment when they upended the cooler of Gatorade on coach Bullden.
For a long time it seemed as though the on-field celebrations would never end. The members of the team were holding the trophy up in the air, kissing it, dancing with it—and I couldn’t blame them. Slowly, as gradually as molasses, people in the stands started filtering out; on the other team’s side of the stadium, they were subdued and quiet, probably talking amongst themselves about how they’d do it differently, or how next year would be better. On our side, no one seemed to want to leave, but everyone knew that there was a better celebration to go to. I looked around for Jess; she was making out with the guy she’d been flirting with, the two of them kissing in such a hot and heavy way that they were only one or two steps away from public indecency. I decided that I’d wait for her at the gate.
I watched the people passing by as I stood by the gate, waiting for Jess to finish up with the guy she had apparently decided to make out with. I didn’t know if the bus for students had already left, but there would almost certainly be cabs that we could take to get back to the hotel. If Jess had decided to take the guy with her, I’d have to hang out at the pool or somewhere else; maybe I’d start working on the rough draft of the front-page piece since I couldn’t exactly stay in the room while she screwed someone. But I was thinking longingly of the big, plush bed that had come with the room—bigger than my twin bed at the dorm at least, and much more comfortable. My body ached from all the tension in it, and I hoped that at least she would kick the guy out after she’d finished with him. I was glad—really glad—that we had separate beds.
After a few minutes, when the steady stream of people leaving the stadium had died down to a trickle, Jess appeared—and I was surprised to see that she was by herself.
“Hey, Evie,” she said with a self-satisfied grin.
“What about your boytoy?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
Jess shrugged. “He wasn’t that great of a kisser. Anyone who isn’t a good kisser isn’t good in bed either, so I just made the excuse that I had to share the room with you and gave him a fake number.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know if the bus is still here or if it’s gone already. For a guy who didn’t kiss that well you certainly gave him plenty of time to improve.”
“I was caught up in the excitement of it,” Jess said with an indolent shrug. “I mean, there were like three or four guys watching you all game—you could’ve easily had a we just won the game make out session yourself.”
I shook my head. “I was more interested in getting plenty of material for the article. C’mon, let’s see if we can catch the bus or at least a cab. I’m exhausted.”
We both turned to head out.
“Evie! Evie!” A man’s voice calling my name made me stop in my tracks. I turned around slowly; I was so exhausted that it didn’t occur to me that there were only a few people who could possibly be in the building still who would know my name, much less my nickname. So, when I spotted Zack running towards Jess and me, it actually surprised me.
“Looks like you’ll get your make-out session after all,” Jess told me in a quick aside as Zack came up to us.
He must have been the first one into the showers; he was clean, dressed in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt, his hair still damp but no sign of his exertions on him whatsoever. He stared at me for a long moment, smiling slightly, looking me up and down.
“Bullden told me he’d requested you to cover the game,” Zack said, the smile still not leaving his face.
“I’ll just go check on that bus,” Jess said, walking away quickly and leaving us perfectly alone in the echoing hall.
I looked down at my feet for a moment. “How did you know I was still here?” I couldn’t quite look Zack in the eyes. I was so ashamed of how I’d broken things off with him—and I was shocked that he had sought me out.
“I didn’t know, but I hoped. If I hadn’t been able to catch you here, I’d have just found your hotel room.”
For a long moment, there was nothing but silence between us. I didn’t know what to say—I didn’t know how to feel. I swallowed against the tight feeling in my throat.
“I wanted to apologize,” I started, speaking slowly, trying to keep my voice level. “I shouldn’t have gone crazy like that. I should have let you explain what the situation was instead of just assuming…” I swallowed again.
“No—I mean, I understand. I don’t have the best reputation. No one at the frat does.” Zack was still staring at me. I could feel his gaze lingering on the curves of my body, and then on my face, drinking me in.
“Still, I knew you before that. I should have known…” I shrugged. “I should have at least given you a chance to explain.” I finally worked up the nerve to look up, to meet his gaze. Zack was smiling still, looking as hot as ever.
“You know, Evie, I don’t even care,” Zack said, moving closer to me. He dropped his hands down onto my waist, holding me in place, only a few inches away from me, and my heart was beating faster again—only this time not from the thrill of the game but from the sudden rush of desire. “All I want—all I’ve wanted ever since you showed up in my life again—is to be with you.” He smiled again and leaned in closer. “If you’ll be with me, I can forget everything else.”
“Don’t forget your classes,” I said, smiling up into his eyes. “You still need to graduate someday, you know.”
Zack closed the distance, pressing his lips against mine. He kissed me hungrily, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist, pressing me against him. I moaned against his lips, feeling the heat of his body through his clothes, remembering all the times we had been together. Zack’s tongue batted against mine, plunging deep into my mouth, tasting and exploring me as if it had been months or years instead of a few short weeks since we’d broken up.
I lost track of time and place, uncaring of anything but the feeling of Zack’s body pressed against mine and the taste of his lips. If my phone, stuffed into my pocket, hadn’t vibrated, Zack and I might have stood there
for hours continuing to kiss each other, with no more concern for the rest of the world than a couple of statues—at least until security came through the clear the building. But the buzz of my phone startled me enough to break the kiss, and I pulled back, reeling, my mind spinning with a dozen feelings at once. I slipped my phone out of my pocket irritably, wondering who in the world would text me at a time like this; it was Jess.
I am on the bus and it just left the stadium. I may see if any of these nice gentlemen with me is interested in sharing their room for the night. Have fun! I groaned and showed Zack the message. He laughed, pulling me up against him and kissing me lightly on the forehead.
“We’ll grab a cab,” he said. “We can start off in your room and if your roommate hasn’t found someone to spend the night with we’ll go to mine.”
He took me by the hand and led me out of the stadium, and I didn’t think there was a single woman in the city who was as happy as I was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was strange to realize that I felt nervous as Zack and I turned the corner in the hall leading up to the hotel room. Zack and I had had sex plenty of times; he had seen me naked when we were in high school and he had seen me naked a little over a month before. But there was something just a little bit different about this time—something that made it more like the first time we had ever had sex together. I fumbled with my key card, my hands shaking just enough to make it fall to the floor. I knelt down and grabbed at it before Zack could, forcing myself to focus just enough on the task at hand to keep from dropping the card once again and managing after two attempts to get it swiped and read properly. The door unlocked and Zack propelled me through it, following quickly behind me and closing out the world in a quick movement that I had to envy; wasn’t he tired after the tough game he’d played?
