Me:Good night, Alex. Get a good night’s sleep.
I’mready for some football. Today’s game starts at eleven in the morning. I guess I should say kickoff is at eleven. I wake up at seven thirty to get ready since my dad will be here in an hour. Dad wants to tailgate. He’s wanted me to come tofootball games with him in the past, but I wasn’t interested. Now I am.
The weather is sunny and warm, so I decide to wear shorts with his jersey. I slide on some old cutoff jeans shorts along with a tank top to wear underneath the top. I tried the jersey on last night, and it’s actually huge on me. It goes down past my knees, so I need to either tie a knot in the bottom or tuck it in a little bit. I opt for tucking. I pull a lot of it back out, so it’s not all stuffed into my shorts. I choose my lucky purple Converse tennis shoes. I don’t actually know if they’re lucky, but they are Wildcat colors. I guess we’ll see after today’s game. I don’t bother with makeup since I’ll probably get hot and sweaty out there, but I do put on some clear lip gloss and mascara. I stick my keys, ID, and some cash in my front pocket, even though I know my dad will pay for everything. It’s impolite to assume that, even if he is my dad.
I walk out into the lounge to wait and spot my roommate and resident Leviathan standing in the kitchen. Ugh. I just can’t deal with her today. Luckily, she’s hung over—not that it makes her any more pleasant. I’ve come to realize that she’s much less talkative on those mornings after a long night of drinking and whatever else she does. A quiet Brooke is the only good kind of Brooke.
Alas, she’s not going to remain silent this morning. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“It’s called a jersey,” I speak slowly since she seems to be having a tough morning.
“I know what it’s called, you twit. Is that Emerson’s jersey?”
“Well, since it says E.M.E.R.S.O.N. on the back.” I point to my back with my thumb while turning around for her to see his name. I’m facing her again in no time. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say that, yes, it is his jersey.”
“Is that his frigging away jersey?” she asks, sounding perplexed.
“Yes, yes it is.” I know I’m acting smug but who cares?
“Since when did you get to be such a smart-ass?”
“It beats being a dumb-ass,” I say, looking at her, hoping she hears the insult. Catty, I know.
“I can’t believe he’s letting you wear that today. What did you do, beg him?”
“Why would I beg him?”
“Don’t you know the significance of wearing his jersey?”
“I’m wearing his jersey because he wants me to wear it, so everyone knows I’m his girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend? You’ve got to be freaking kidding me. That’s hilarious. That guy would never, and I meannever,have you as his girlfriend.”
“Yeah, you’re right. As usual.” I nod. It feels great to mock her. A knock on the door brings the conversation to a halt, thank goodness. I greet my dad with a kiss on the cheek. Brooke keeps her mouth shut. At least she can figure out that she shouldn’t be rude to parents. My dad doesn’t even look at her. He was really nice to her when I moved in, but he probably remembers she’s the one Bradley cheated with. While he pretends she’s not there, he asks me if I’m ready to head out. He’s got everything packed in the cooler that we need, along with a grill for hot dogs. That’s when he notices my shirt.
“Say, isn’t that Alex’s away jersey?”
Brooke groans.
“Yes.”
“Did he ask you to wear his jersey to the game?” Dad has a look on his face like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Yep. He sure did.” I smile in Brooke’s direction.
“Wow! You know what that means, don’t you?” His grin is going to take over his face if he doesn’t watch out.
“It means that he likes me, Dad, he really likes me,” I say with a laugh. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m ready to watch some football.”
Dad, as a donor to the school, has a parking pass for special events. So, we get to park in the lot right next to the stadium. While Dad sets up the grill and other tailgate necessities, I walk over to the Will Call window to pick up our tickets. By the time I get back to our parking spot, Dad has the hotdogs on the grill. He’s drinking a can of beer and sitting in his fold-out chair in the sun. He’s totally decked out in purple and white—purple baseball hat, purple polo, white shorts, white tennis shoes, and purple footie socks. Yep, purple footie socks. I’d be embarrassed, but why bother? He’s excited to be here with me, and that alone makes me happy. He could be painted head to toe in purple, and I wouldn’t care. Wait, I might care about that.
“Got ’em.” I wave two tickets above my head.
“Let me see.” His giddiness is contagious.
I hand him the tickets.
“Wow, these even look different than regular tickets. There’s gold leaf or something on them. Holy shit, Stella, did you see the seat numbers?”
