by Rina Kent
No. I was done with that thought process. This was a good thing. We were just going to watch a friend play football. Nothing bad was going to happen. No blackmail was involved, even if we’d never had an actual conversation about what would happen if I didn’t show up to this game. That was over. Camden wouldn’t—
“Can I get a Gatorade? Camden said they have Gatorade here.”
“Yes, you can get a Gatorade.”
I grabbed Jordan’s hand as we got closer to the gates, but he snatched it back. There were so many people flocking around in blue and black Panthers gear. Several of the people we passed, I didn’t recognize. All this for a high school football game. If we had this kind of turnout for concerts, I’d have a heart attack on stage.
“One Gatorade, please,” Jordan said, slapping the money I’d handed him onto the concession stand counter. The lady with blue and black war paint under her eyes offered him a kind smile as she picked up the cash.
“What kind would you like?”
Jordan looked up at me. “What kind does Camden drink?”
“Blue, please,” I said to the woman. That was a guess. I had zero care on what type of Gatorade my enemy drank. No, not my enemy.
Damn this was weird.
After Jordan got his Gatorade, we walked up the ramp into the stands. The national anthem was finishing up and everyone was still standing. I recognized the girl singing from my trig class.
The song ended and people began taking their seats. My eyes darted around the stands, searching for an opening. Jordan had been right, we should’ve left sooner.
“Over here.” Jordan tugged me along with him up the stairs. I scanned the rows, trying to see where he’d spotted, and when I did, I froze. There was an open space, but it was just above Hunter’s parents, or at least the woman I recognized as his mom.
Jordan whipped around when I’d pulled my hand from his.
“I think I see better ones over there.” I pointed in an arbitrary direction and took a step down. The players took to the field and the people in the stands started cheering.
“No, it’s fixing to start. Come on.” He grabbed my hand and started pulling me up the stairs again. I tried to protest, but he wasn’t having it. He was a ten-year-old with a one-track mind.
“Excuse me,” I muttered to no one in particular as we shuffled our way down to the empty spot on the bleachers. People craned their necks to see around us, as if they didn’t want to miss a moment of what was happening on the field. I don’t think it’d even started yet.
We made it to our seats just as “Panthers will start with the ball” blared from the loudspeakers positioned around the stadium. I looked out over the field, searching for Camden. I couldn’t remember what his number was, but with as many people I noted having #8 sprawled on the back of their shirts, I guessed it was that. Sure enough, #8 stepped into the quarterback position.
I could tell it was him with his signature confidence and smooth composure, even if I hadn’t known what position he played. Several of the players’ helmets moved as if looking up in the stands, but not his. His was still, his complete focus on the field. I wish I could lie and say I didn’t find it sexy. Or maybe I shouldn’t want to lie. Maybe it was a good thing to think the guy I was talking to was sexy.
So, so weird.
The ball snapped and Camden caught it with ease. He looked downfield and jerked his arm before slyly handing the ball to another player who ran several yards and evaded two tackles before being taken down.
The crowd roared and Hunter’s mom stood up, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Way to work as a team, boys!”
She sat down, her back straight and laser focus on the field. Hunter’s dad mumbled something to her that I couldn’t make out with all the noise, and she looked to him only a moment before going back to the field.
When I glanced over at Jordan, he was sitting on his hands and perched on the edge of his seat. His eyes were comically wide. “Having fun?” I asked, leaning in next to his ear.
He briefly looked my way before nodding and going back to the game. Football wasn’t really an interest of mine, but it was for Roman and Jordan. They put the Dallas game on every weekend, and Roman had even taught me some about the game when I was younger. It wasn’t the same on TV as it was in person, though, especially with players that I knew. Finally, I was starting to understand the appeal.
The ball snapped, and Camden threw a pass down the field. One of our players almost caught it, but it slipped through their hands.
Hunter’s dad perked up and shouted, “God dammit! Give it to eighteen!”
Hunter’s mom touched his arm, but he shook her off.
I looked out over the field to see who number eighteen was. He was the running back who’d run the first play. Hunter.
The next two plays went to Hunter, and he managed another first down. When Camden threw the ball again, to a different receiver this time, it was caught and the Panthers scored the first touchdown of the game. The crowd went freaking insane, and I found myself clapping and smiling along with them. The enthusiasm was contagious.
Maybe this wasn’t as stupid as I thought.
The offensive players trotted off the field, while defense pulled on their helmets and trotted to prepare for kick off. Camden took off his helmet and ran a hand over his hair to smooth it back from his eyes. He didn’t look into the stands, but my eyes caught Hunter’s as he waved. He had a grin on his face that sent blood rushing to my cheeks. His mom waved back, and a gust of air ran over my lips in a nervous chuckle. He wasn’t waving at me, he was waving at his parents. He probably didn’t even notice I was—
“Camden!” Jordan stood and waved his arms in the air like he was a tourist trying to hail a taxi.
“Sit down!” I tugged on his shirt and turned my head to let my hair cocoon around my face, as if it could really shield me from embarrassment. I’d worn it down tonight because Camden had said he liked it that way, and now I felt like the world’s biggest idiot. The stadium lights felt like they were aimed directly at me, acting as spotlights for my unease.
“Hi there.” The voice belonged to Hunter’s mom. I cleared my throat and turned to face forward as if I hadn’t just been trying to go incognito. She wasn’t paying attention to me, though. She was talking to Jordan. “Are you a friend of Cam’s?”
“He’s Eden’s boyfriend.”
“No.” A bout of nervous laughter bubbled in my chest. “He’s not. That’s ridiculous.”
Hunter’s mom turned to me. I expected her smile to fall when she recognized who I was. Needles pricked my skin at the prospect, starting from my forehead and traveling to my chin as the blood drained from my face. But she didn’t frown. Her smile widened, and she held out her hand. “I’m Sherry.”
I stared at her for a moment longer than necessary before blinking and placing my hand in hers, allowing her to give it a shake. “Eden.”
“Eden, what a nice name. Will you be coming to the post-game celebration at our house? Any friend of Cam’s is a friend of ours.”
Hunter’s dad stared straight ahead but grumbled, “It’s a party, Sherry. Not a ‘post-game celebration’. Don’t be so politically correct.”
“Right,” she said, her smile hardening. “Party.”
“Uh… No. I have to get my little brother home.” I nodded toward Jordan. “Thank you, though.”
She glanced at Jordan and nodded, the kindness in her eyes never wavering. “Ah, of course. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
Jordan was too focused on the field to register that Sherry was speaking to him, and she chuckled.
“Pleasure to meet you too,” I said.
With that, she turned to face the game, immediately cheering on the defense who’d given the other team a second down.
I shrank in my seat, staring out at the field, but not bringing myself to look where Camden had been. I shouldn’t have felt weird for coming tonight. We weren’t enemies. We were…
friends. Maybe more than friends. I shouldn’t feel like coming here had let him win. It wasn’t a competition anymore.
But it wasn’t that simple. I couldn’t lay down all my defenses just because I was starting to have feelings for him.
So instead of watching the second quarter of the game, I watched Hunter’s parents.
His dad, who’d I’d learned was ‘Gene’ from Sherry asking if he was thirsty, sat with his muscles tensed. He was leaned forward, hands on his knees. He didn’t clap when the Panthers scored, even when it was Hunter doing the scoring, but I watched as his posture tightened when a pass was dropped. If I craned my neck, I could see his hands balling into fists.
He cared about this game in a way I had a hard time fathoming. But he seemed to care more when they messed up than when they did well.
Then Hunter fumbled the ball.
Mr. O’Reilly slingshotted out of his seat. His fists at his sides were clearly visible now, and my eyes locked onto the white knuckles. “Hang onto the damn ball, Hunter!”
“Gene,” Sherry said, glancing around as if she were embarrassed.
He shuffled through the stands, unconcerned with telling Sherry where he was going, not that she’d asked. He stomped down the steps and propped himself against the railing, his back coiled tight.
Sherry shifted on the bench and must’ve sensed me watching her because she turned back and shrugged. “Men.” She smiled as if it were funny, but there was no humor in her eyes. When she faced forward, we both went back to the game.
I didn’t want to watch Hunter’s parents anymore. My stomach had bottomed out after having seen the sad look in Sherry’s eyes, one I imagined was permanent. If Camden hadn’t told me about their marriage, would I have seen it? Probably not. No one around was paying any attention, and several of the dads got mad when something happened. Gene hadn’t even been the only one to yell out at Hunter when he’d fumbled.
No, I’d seen it because I’d been looking for it.
I sat up straighter and took a deep breath before turning my attention toward Jordan. “Having fun?”
He flicked his gaze toward me and nodded before going back to the game. I followed his lead. The other team had the ball, and they were at the ten-yard line. The ball snapped, and the quarterback threw it to a receiver who was wide open in the end zone. The crowd groaned.
“No, come on!” Jordan said, throwing his hands up.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling, then scanned the team to gauge their reactions. Okay, maybe I was only looking for Camden’s.
He was on the bench with his arms slung over the backrest. Hunter was beside him shaking his head and saying something, but I couldn’t see Camden’s face to judge if he was talking back. With the way his arms were draped, he didn’t appear to be worried. We were up by two touchdowns, so his lack of worry made sense, but the crowd didn’t hold that same confidence. You could feel the tension in the air.
Half-time began, and I perked up in my seat while a huge chunk of the crowd made their way to the concessions and bathroom. The band was coming onto the field and getting ready to perform.
Cheerleaders in front of the stands began a routine, and Sherry clapped and cheered along with them, her enthusiasm all of a sudden nauseating. I glimpsed Leilani at the top of the pyramid and refrained from rolling my eyes.
“Nice job, girls!” Sherry yelled, when they were done and going to get a drink of water. Jade peered up into the stands, a huge smile on her face… until she saw me, of course. She tapped Leilani on the shoulder and said something into her ear a moment before Leilani’s eyes darted to the stands, scanning until they locked onto me. A glare followed, but I looked away, focusing my attention on the band.
They started to march and our school anthem blasted from their instruments. Leilani, Jade, Mr. O’Reilly, and everyone else faded from my thoughts as I watched the performance. The cello was my instrument of choice, and concerts were where I enjoyed performing, but marching band had always fascinated me. If I hadn’t hated the idea of sitting through football games, I probably would’ve come to watch them more than the two I’d been to.
Orchestra had solo performances that were magnificent, but marching band wasn’t like that. With one person, it was chaotic and silly. The trumpet didn’t have such a beautiful tune by itself, but pair it with seven other instruments, seven other choreographed movements, and it was an appealing, complex structure. Fascinating.
Jordan turned to me in the middle of the routine. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“In a minute.”
“But the game’s going to start.” He tugged on my sleeve, but I ignored his whining. I was too concentrated on the performance.
“Come on, bud, I’ll take you.”
Paige’s voice registered from my left, and my head snapped in her direction, completely breaking the spell the marching band had on me. My eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, but Jordan jumped from his seat and ran to her before I could process what was happening.
“Paige!” He threw his arms around her waist and squeezed.
“Hey, bud.” She chuckled and rubbed his back, slowly removing her hands when she noticed me glaring at her.
“Hey, Eden.”
Sherry was glancing between us, but the tension must have been obvious because she turned toward the field and watched the marching band finish up.
I stood and took Jordan’s hand. “Come on, I’ll take you to the bathroom.”
“Paige said she’d take me.” He yanked from my hand in protest, but I grabbed it again and pulled him with me from the stands. He stopped fighting me as we descended the stairs and rounded the corner to the bathroom.
“Are you mad at Paige?” He stopped just outside the men’s room. Luckily, the line wasn’t long since halftime was about over.
“Hurry up or we’ll miss the start of second half. You don’t want that, do you?”
He furrowed his brow. “Are you mad at Paige?” He asked the question with more force this time, making it clear he wasn’t going to budge. For a ten-year-old, the kid was too smart.
I sighed and stared off into space, considering if I should lie to him or not. Glancing back down at his narrowed eyes, I shrugged. “Kind of.”
“Why?”
“She—” I cut myself off, realizing I had no idea what I was about to say, but knowing it wasn’t about to be the truth. He loved Paige. I wasn’t about to make her out to be the bad guy… even if that’s what she was. “We had a disagreement… Now, go to the bathroom so we can get back.”
He bit his cheek and waited a few moments before turning and pushing open the door to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he returned.
“Wash your hands?”
“Yes,” he said with an eye roll.
We walked back into the stands just as the Panthers kicked the ball to begin the second half. I crossed my fingers, hoping that Paige would be gone by the time we got back. My chest deflated when I spotted her up in our seats, talking to Sherry.
Jordan stopped me before I could take the first step up the stairs. I turned back to look at him, and my heart ached when I registered the sad look in his eyes. “I like Paige.”
I forced my lips to tilt up and ruffled his hair. “I know you do.”
With slow steps, we made our way back to our seats, my eyes avoiding both Sherry and Paige the whole way. Paige scooted over to give Jordan and I room, and we squeezed into the gap, me sitting next to Paige. Bitterness bubbled to the surface from being so close, but I pushed it down for Jordan’s sake.
“So how’ve you been, Jordy?” She leaned forward and smiled over at Jordan who finally allowed his attention to be interrupted from the game.
“Good,” he said, more cheer in his voice than he had a minute ago. “We’re here to watch Camden.”
“The team,” I corrected him, turning my head to glare so that he’d get that he needed to stop saying that. “We came to watch all the players.”
“Ah.” Paige sat
up straighter and pretended to focus on the field, but, out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glancing at me.
“So, what’s going on with you and Cam?”
“Nothing.”
“No?” One eyebrow rose, but after I hesitated, she gave a curt nod, telling me without words that she didn’t believe me.
I was here, my little brother had given me away, there were a million rumors circulating the school about me being a slut. Was there really any point in denying it?
“What I mean is,” I said, turning toward her and whispering so that Jordan couldn’t hear. “It’s none of your business.”
She met my stare. Her lips pulled into a frown, and her eyes conveyed worry, which made no sense. I’d expected her to roll her eyes or smirk, something indicating she too thought I was a slut. She’d had no problem acting that way before.
“Be careful, okay?”
I let out a dry laugh. “What?”
“He’s not a good guy, Eden. I know you hate me right now, and I get it. I really do. I’ve been the worst friend in the world, but trust me when I say, you should be careful.”
“I don’t trust you, Paige. Period.”
My voice came out louder than I’d intended and Sherry’s head turned slightly toward us. She faced forward again and leaned on her knees.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
Anger boiled beneath my skin, and it took every amount of restraint I had not to implode. With all the rumors, with her screwing Trey, letting Trey screw everyone else, she had the nerve to ask me that? As if it was any of her business. As if she was any better.
I glanced at Jordan to make sure he wasn’t paying attention to us. His eyes were glued to the football field. I turned back to Paige.
“I’m not a slut.” Venom laced my tone, seeping in with my words and coating the underlying meaning.
“But you think I am.” She shook her head and bit her lip before looking away. Her eyes welled up with tears, and my face fell. I’d seen Paige cry dozens of times, but before a month ago, I couldn’t have predicted being the source of her pain. I wish it felt good and the image of her laughing with her new friends about me would replay in my mind, but all I could see was the hurt on her face.
