“Kick her out! Kick her out!! CruAnna-de-Vil! Kick her out!” a group of college-aged guys shouted.
A group of women kept yelling, “Backwoods Barbie, go back to where you came from!”
“How do they know what happened with me and Blue?” I muttered. “How do they even know I’m here?” The stadium was massive.
“The interwebs know everything.” Holden tapped on his phone and turned the volume up, aiming the speaker at me.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” an announcer thundered in a dramatic, dejected voice. “Blue Bishop is nothing without that necklace. Anna Dupree is the Delilah to his Samson. The Yoko to his Ono.”
“Pfft.” My lips flapped. “It should be the Yoko Ono to his John Lennon.” I scowled at Ash. “What kind of dumb school did you attend where they can’t even get their metaphors right?”
He pursed his lips. “It’s an agriculture school.”
I threw my hands up. “You got an English Lit degree here.”
Ashton frowned. “Aren’t you planning to come here for vet school? Next year?”
“This is a professional commentator,” Holden said. “Not a VT commentator.”
“Well, he needs to go back to school,” I huffed.
“Somebody find Anna Dupree and get that necklace back!” Another announcer’s voice bellowed through Holden’s phone.
I reached under my shirt collar and pulled the chain out, studying it. Could the necklace really be the reason Blue was playing so poorly?
“You’re wearing it?” Holden’s hands gestured like his mind was blown. “Are you a monster? You may as well cut his head off, put it on a stick, and carry it through town declaring victory.”
“You better put that thing away,” Silas said, still slumped in his seat. “If somebody sees it, it might be your head on a stick.”
I gazed across the field to the Knoxville bench where Blue sat, much like Silas, slumped down, head hung over his knees.
“Why are you wearing it?” Holden gestured at the field. “Go give it to him.”
I jammed it back into my shirt. “I asked him if he wanted it and he wouldn’t take it back.”
Silas sat up, rolling his eyes. “It’s not the necklace. It’s you. You need to fix this.”
“This could be it, folks,” the announcer boomed through Holden’s phone. “Blue Bishop might be done with football after all.”
Silas’s head cocked. “Are you really going to sit here, watching him crash and burn, when you could do something about it?”
I threw my hands up. “What do you want me to do? I called and texted and he finally told me to stop. He doesn’t want to hear from me anymore.”
“Hashtag karma,” Ash snorted.
The wind gusted. I pushed my hair out of my face. “Wow. Worst uncle ever.”
“You love him, Anna.” Holden smirked.
“Facts,” Ashton agreed.
I slouched down in my seat, legs stretched in front of me. “You’re not Gen Z. Stop using our slang.”
Ashton shrugged. “Just speaking your language, darlin’.”
“You need to make him listen,” Silas said. “All the things you should’ve said…say them.”
I chewed my lip, considering their words.
