Overcast skies permeated the day of the big game and a chill filled the November air. My friends and I wouldn’t have missed it even if it had poured rain. Most of the student body showed up to cheer the Skyline Titans to victory, and they succeeded after a tough contest where they won in the final three minutes with a field goal. Alec played terrific, scoring two touchdowns.
I ran onto the field with the rest of the school. I zoned in on Alec, who picked me up and swung me around as I clung to his dirty, sweaty jersey.
“Not bad, Mays.”
He grinned. “I’m glad you approve.”
I loved being in his arms.
“You better hustle home and doll up. I’ll be there before you know it.”
“You better do the same. I hope you’re not picking me up looking like that.”
“I clean up pretty well and quick, if you catch my drift.” He released me.
I smiled. “I’m going.”
“Not so fast.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him in one fluid movement. His arms encircled my waist, holding me tight, and his lips touched mine, intense yet gentle. Heat burned straight down my torso with the velocity of a lightening strike.
“Mays! Let’s go,” ordered his coach, attempting to herd his players back to the locker room.
Startled, we jerked apart, his arms letting me go. My knees buckled, and Alec put out an arm to steady me, a satisfied smile crossing his face.
“Trouble standing?”
“Apparently,” I admitted, surprised.
He leaned closer and said softly, “Same here, gorgeous.” He broke into a run but stopped and yelled over his shoulder that he’d see me soon. He and a few other players bumped each other, still celebrating their win, before he was soon out of sight.
I walked to the parking lot where my mother waited to take me home. Despite the cold, I was on fire.
9
Homecoming
When Alec presented himself to my parents, I sensed my father’s wariness behind his polite demeanor. He didn’t realize my date would be so tall, broad or red-blooded American male. Although I mentioned he was a football player, I avoided mentioning his senior status. Now that he stood in our house expecting to whisk me away in his devil-red Camaro, there was no turning back.
“You look stunning,” Alec said as I approached in my sparkling black dress. My father agreed, but I could tell he didn’t want to hear this boy say it.
I smiled shyly. “Thank you.”
“Allow me,” he said, presenting a corsage made from tiny red roses and miniature white flowers. He carefully slid it on my wrist. I beamed, admiring the arrangement.
My mom waved her camera, indicating we should move closer. “You make such a handsome couple! Let me take a picture.”
I smiled, embarrassed, while Alec happily obliged. After we scooted together, he placed his hand on the small of my back and my mother snapped a few pictures, the flash bulb blinding us between shots.
“We don’t want to be late,” I said, antsy to leave.
“A pleasure meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Trapani,” Alec said. “I assure you, Anna is in good hands.”
My mom grabbed my hand, her eyes betraying her emotion. “Have fun, you two.”
“And have her home by midnight,” reminded my father.
“Yes sir, I will.” Alec reached out to shake his hand, a gesture I read as a binding act of agreement.
Once we stepped out the front door, we both breathed a bit easier.
“You really are gorgeous, Anna.”
“You’re looking mighty fine yourself, Mr. Mays.” Alec wore a black suit, crisp white shirt and a red and black striped tie. On his lapel was a matching rose boutonniere.
He held out his arm, and I slipped my hand into the crook, allowing him to escort me to his car. In my high heels, I welcomed his sturdy presence. He opened the passenger door and I slid into the black bucket seat.
I loved Alec’s car: loud, fast and hot, and a far cry from my family’s boring Volvo. He told me with pride it was “a 1969 Camaro SS with a four-speed 327, dual exhaust, aluminum intake with a Holley double-pumper and 4.11 gears,” whatever all that meant. He proved he could go zero to sixty in fewer than seven seconds, and I loved the telltale cranking idle and deafening roar as he gunned it down the street.
In record time, we were back at school and walking into the Homecoming Dance.
Hundreds of white snowflakes hung from the ceiling while the silver garland draping the walls twinkled in the low light. A stage stood where the lunch line normally formed and a DJ played records in the corner of the dance floor, where several couples moved to the beat. Other students flanked the sidelines, and soon after Alec and I entered, yells rang out from the football players clustered together. As we headed over to talk to them, I searched for Katy. In a sea of formal wear, I couldn’t find her.
Alec introduced me to his friends, all brawn, like him. They launched into a rehash of the game—who had made the best tackles and caught the toughest passes. I listened politely, like the other dates. Out of my comfort zone, I thought about starting a conversation with these girls, but they were seniors who cast a decidedly ambivalent vibe about my presence. One heavily made-up girl with bleached-blonde hair scrutinized me with open disdain. She whispered something to the girl standing next to her, who giggled in response. I shrugged it off. She probably
