I had to bail on Uncle Dusty to be here, taking stupid pictures at Cypress Prep’s first home game of the season. Friday nights are our busiest at the diner, but he assured me he can get by without me. Doesn’t change the fact that I’d much rather be there, waiting tables, than sitting here on these cold bleachers.
Jules and Scar, on the other hand, love it. Scar even dragged Shane out here to watch. From the looks of it, I’m the only one who’s miserable. Nothing like enduring the chilled rain and being forced to snap pictures of my nemesis to kick off the weekend.
Thank God I listened to the forecast. First thing I did when I rushed home between school and the game was grab one of Mike’s oversized jackets from the closet. Which is when Scar and Jules begged to come watch King Midas and crew likely bring in another win.
These are difficult waters to navigate. So far, I’ve successfully hidden the true nature of my dealings with West. The last thing I need is Scar and Jules intervening. Not when I’ve worked so hard to stay off school administration’s radar. This may stem from some deep-seated trust issues with authority, but I could see it now. I turn West in, his parents strike back, next thing I know I’m finishing out the year at some random, alternative school for troubled children. Goodbye college plans.
Long story short, I’ve settled on suffering in silence for the remainder of my time here.
It only helps that West seems resigned to let the world believe Pandora’s ruse—that there’s some sort of romantic involvement between us. Although, for his own reasons, I imagine. Most likely because he knows how the idea of it sickens me. In fact, aside from setting the girls loose on me, no one else seems to know about the toxicity between us. This reminds me of a statement he made last weekend. The one about my only response to being told to “jump” should be “how high”. With how the girls haven’t spread the truth around school, I can only imagine they’d given in to that twisted rhetoric.
But I digress. Apparently, I’ve got pictures to take.
West snaps a pass across the field and I capture the image with my phone just as the ball leaves his hand. We’re deep into the fourth quarter and I hate to admit it, but he’s managed to impress me tonight. Although, not nearly as much as he’s impressed Jules and Scar. Both will be hoarse by morning with how they’ve screamed for the team.
For West, in particular.
Ugh … traitors. Even if they don’t have a clue that I hate his guts.
My phone buzzes and, glancing at the screen to see who’s texted, I stare at a snippet of the tenth message Ricky has sent in the last hour. Without opening it, I’m certain it has nothing to do with me having Shane in my care. Because, if it is about that, he’d text him directly. This is something else.
Like, the same conversation he’s been trying to have with me for weeks.
I’m jarred from my thoughts when Scar jumps to her feet, screeching in my ear. Dane—who I’ve come to learn is wide receiver extraordinaire—has been on fire tonight. The throw West launched was plucked out of the air so gracefully the whole thing played out like a choreographed dance. They’re graceful and yet fierce, in tune with the game. In tune with each other as they move across the field. It’s no wonder they went undefeated last season.
“Do you think you can get the Golden boys to sign my t-shirt?” My sister, the turncoat herself, asks. “I mean, since you and West are basically a thing,” she adds. “Their autographs will definitely be worth something one day. Just look at them out there!”
She’s trying to gut me. She has to be.
Jules catches my gaze and cracks up, but Shane isn’t nearly as amused by Scar’s newfound obsession with the triplets. If I’m not mistaken, he looks a little bothered by it. Poor kid.
When Scar turns to face the field again, I don’t miss that those stars are back. The ones I’ve seen in our mother’s eyes over the years. The ones that make me worry Scar will fall victim to some of the same snares.
The crowd explodes in a deafening roar when Cypress Prep scores another touchdown, bringing the final score to an embarrassing forty-eight to twelve.
Well, embarrassing for the other team, that is.
However, our guys aren’t celebrating like I would expect. Instead, they’re surprisingly subdued as the stands empty and fans rush to the sidelines. And the center of their attention seems to be QB-1. West.
For the sake of my role with the paper, I focus the lens of my camera on him, zoom in, and snap a picture just as he flashes a smile at some kid who’s brought his football to the field to be signed.
“See? I’m not the only one!” Scar pleads. “Even that kid knows we’re witnessing history in the making.”
I barely get to roll my eyes when another message comes through. This time, I open it and Jules must see my expression shift, because she speaks up.
“Everything okay?”
I don’t answer right away, because I’m suddenly distracted by the roar of a motorcycle engine. Ricky revs it when he spots me from the parking lot, letting me know the text stating that he wasn’t afraid to show up here if I didn’t answer hadn’t been an empty threat. Guess he wasn’t in a mood to be ignored today.
Jules lifts a few inches out of her seat, just enough to see what I see—a very frustrated Ricky Ruiz pulling off his helmet, likely headed toward these bleachers to speak his piece.
“Um … need me to keep an eye on these two while you take care of that?”
Frustrated,
